The Grand Duel (The Grand Men #4)

Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Lissie

I outbid him on the boat.

I didn’t go into the auction with those intentions, but when he gave up at four hundred grand, I couldn’t sit back and watch him lose it.

Turns out the boat was the big-ticket item of the night.

The moment the announcer points across the room at me and declares the boat sold, he turns in his seat.

“Charles…”

“Don’t Charles me. Do you even have anywhere to moor it?”

“You said you have a lake.”

“My friends have a lake,” he corrects.

“Great. Put it there.”

“You do realise I’m not paying your dues on that thing? I’m all for charity, but you’ve just bid almost double its worth.” He turns back towards the now empty stage, his frustration at losing making my lips twitch. “Idiots.”

“Charles.”

He shakes his head as if he can’t even speak to me, let alone look at me.

“Charles.” I pull on his bicep, and he reluctantly turns. Leant forward in his space, I look up at him and ask, “Will you dance with me?”

He peers back over his shoulder. “No one is dancing.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Someone has to go first. Please.”

I smile when he rolls his eyes, stands to his full height, and holds out a hand to me. “Step on my toes, and I’ll fire you.”

“I’m an awful dancer. Please don’t joke about that.”

The band plays a rendition of “Vienna” by Billy Joel, and thankfully Charles takes heed and pulls me close the moment we step onto the floor, leading me.

I place my hand in his and revel in his strong body as it towers over me, never having had him this close before.

When a huff of air fans across my nose, I peer up at him, the view of the sunsetting pink sky beyond him making my breath catch momentarily.

I stare at him, at his perfectly formed stubble and straight nose.

He knows I’m watching him and when he eventually gives in and peers down at me, I can’t help my smile.

“Nothing adds up with you,” he mutters.

“How so?”

His brows rise. “My assistant, who somehow needs two jobs, just outbid me on a boat.” He shakes his head as he watches me, perplexed. “I don’t even think she needs a boat.”

I chuckle. “I don’t. It’s yours to do with what you will.”

He doesn’t get me. I can see it with the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re very handsome, Charles. I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that.”

His cheeks redden, and so do mine, the liquid courage only doing so much. I can’t believe I just said that.

“You can’t just buy a boat for eight hundred grand and then give it away. Sell it. Get some of the money back on it.”

“Do you remember the story—about my parents getting arrested?” I ask, cutting him off. “It made it to the papers and was pulled within hours of it being published. My parents sued them.”

“I don’t remember the story. Just that there was one. I’m presuming it’s long buried because I couldn’t find anything after you mentioned it that first day.”

I nod, hating that he looked me up, but understanding. “I mean, if you were the owner of a multibillion-pound empire and a news article threatened to…well, I don’t know because it never happened.” I snigger. “Maybe they would have lost some money. Damaged the practiced, pretentious reputation they keep.” I stare at his chest. “They were accused of child neglect when I was eleven years old.” I purse my lips. “Which is messed up because we weren’t neglected. We had everything a child could want in life, and we were privileged beyond belief.”

Charles shifts on his feet, his hand growing tighter on my waist. “Then why were they arrested?”

I catch his eyes and instantly wish I kept them lowered. Because we were, in a way, neglected. It doesn’t make sense. Feels wrong to admit out loud, and I never have. It makes me feel ungrateful to even think it. Like we didn’t have a six-bedroom home on the outskirts of Hyde Park to run riot in. But somewhere between the long weekends, late evenings, forgotten meals, and broken bones, our parents failed to take care of us. That’s the reality. And on paper, in any court of law, their negligence, at the very least, should have seen us under the eye of social services.

But William and Grace Elton are billionaires.

“Billionaires don’t neglect their children, Charles,” I tell him, sadness sitting heavy on my chest. “It was a misunderstanding .”

His jaw flexes, face growing savage.

“Don’t do that,” I frown, not knowing what to do with that look.

He rolls his shoulders, dropping his head back. When he rights it again, looking down at me, I can see him fighting for control.

And that stumps me, because I’m not sure anyone has ever cared so much.

“Why are you so angry?”

“Are you serious?” His tone is full of disbelief, as if he can’t understand why I’d think it wouldn’t affect him.

My eyes dart between his. “It’s such a messed up, complex situation.” I shake my head. “Don’t try to understand it. They adore me. Oddly. Just not in the way they should have at times.”

“Then what triggered an arrest?” he asks again, and my heart sinks.

Because he’s not an idiot. This is his work—his life, and he knows there would have had to be a good reason for them to be arrested.

In his arms, I feel safe. Safe to maybe say the words out loud for the first time in my adult life. Not to my parents, not to my sister, and not to a therapist who did absolutely nothing for me because I wasn’t allowed to be honest. But to this man, my boss, my friend, who seemingly, in a bizarre twist of events, cares.

I shake my head, not being able to. “I don’t want to go back there tonight,” I whisper—a plea.

His face softens, and then he pulls me in a little closer.

“When my sister got pregnant with Willow, my parents told her she had to terminate the pregnancy,” I say into his chest, giving him something. “They wanted the two of us to eventually take over Elton’s, and with no other heirs, my dad was desperate for a son,” I explain. “They felt their sixteen-year-old daughter getting knocked up was not only extremely embarrassing for them, but that it also meant her life was over. When told they would disown her if Jovie continued with the pregnancy and wouldn’t receive a penny of her inheritance, and with the complete disregard and lack of responsibility they showed for their part in their barely legal child losing her way, I told Jove we’d do it alone.” I shrug awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. “Jovie had her bags packed before I could even think on where we’d go. But it’s been three years now, and we’re doing great. I use the money from the club and Charles Aldridge to live off and support Jovie and Willow.”

“Your parents let you leave?”

I smile sadly, still remembering my mother on the floor of our entryway, sobbing. “Not with ease.” I swallow. “They sold Elton’s that year. Jovie and I each received our twenty-five percent when Willow was six days old.” My eyes meet his face, finding him engrossed in my every word. “I’ve always wondered how twenty-five percent was so easy to give up, and yet an apology—or just acknowledgement of what they did to me—to us,” I add, quickly. “Was impossible.”

“I’m sorry, Lissie.”

“Don’t be. I’ve honestly never been happier in life than I am right now.”

His brow flexes. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I miss Jovie, of course, but everything else seems to be finally settling into place.”

“I can’t imagine not being close with my parents,” he says softly.

My smile is soft and slow. “Will you tell me about them?”

He peers down at me, his mind clearly still processing my mess of a trauma dump.

I squeeze his side, wanting the fun, lighter man I had before. “ Please, Charles .”

His chest rumbles against mine. “You’ve got that off to a tee.”

“What? The way I say… Charles .”

“Yes.” He looks away. “Does things to me.”

My face burns, my smile stupidly still intact and not showing signs of easing. “What sort of things?”

When he continues to focus his attention on the rest of the room, I go up on my tiptoes and try to invade his eye line.

He ducks me.

I follow. “What sort of things, Charles?”

His mouth twists, and I let go of his hand and grab his chin, pulling his face back to me. “Huh?”

His free hand wraps around the other side of my back, holding me flush against him. He shakes his head, stare locked as we settle in the hold, our dance long forgotten.

I lift my chin, catching my bottom lip between my teeth to ease my smile. “Tell me what it does to you,” I say softly.

He leans in, lips an inch from mine.

My heart pounds, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it. Feel what he does to me.

His mouth parts, my eyes drop, arousal stirring deep in my gut at the anticipation of his lips on mine.

“No.” He spins me, catching my hand before dragging me back to him.

I throw my head back and laugh.

“Careful,” he says, and nods over my shoulder. “Your little admirer is watching. He looks thoroughly disgusted.”

I peer at the guy on the door. “Probably because he can see how in love you are with your sister.”

He sniggers.

I run my hand up Charles’s neck, fisting the hair at the base.

He swallows, hand flexing on my lower back as his eyes narrow in warning.

Turning, I spin, coming back to him even closer, our noses brushing as I place my knee between his. When I feel the hardness of his cock against my stomach, I look up at him. “Charles, you’re my brother,” I say accusingly.

“Trust me, if I was your brother, I’d be going straight to prison.”

I laugh. “Elaborate.”

“No.”

I laugh harder.

We dance for a while, our hands lingering on parts of our bodies they probably shouldn’t and our attention so lost, so firmly on each other, we knock into people constantly. We laugh—Charles laughs, and it’s the most incredible thing to watch. We drink and dance some more. And then there’s a man at our side, face stern, clipboard in hand.

“Sorry, sir, the lady is taken for this evening,” Charles tells him.

I snort a laugh.

“Miss Aldridge, if you could please make your way to the room on the left-hand side of the stage to make payment on your items.”

“Oh, it’s Mrs,” I say, maybe a little drunk. “It’s Mrs Aldridge.”

His frown tells me he’s aware Charles is my brother. “Of course. Mrs Aldridge.”

I grab Charles’s hand and pull him from the dance floor, heading for the room to pay. We halve the boat and both add to our donations, and then we leave the venue.

“I need to eat.”

“Where would my wife like to eat?”

I drop my head to his shoulder, closing my eyes blissfully. “Hmm. How about pizza?”

“And ice cream?”

I sigh. “My husband knows me so well.”

Charles

We walk shoulder to shoulder down the corridor to our suite, Lissie too busy stuffing pizza in her mouth to manage any further conversation. Not that it matters. I seem to enjoy just being in her company enough.

My steps have been slow, leisurely, during the walk home. I could blame it on the shots she made me drink, but really, it’s because I don’t want this night to end.

I’m not sure I’ve laughed so much in years.

With the pizza box and takeaway ice cream bag held in my hand for her easy access to the pizza, I hold out my other. “The key. You put it in your purse.”

“Crap,” she mumbles, sucking the barbecue sauce off her thumb and forefinger.

My jaw flexes as I watch her tongue peek out, the memory of her crawling over my lap during our night at The Nightingale and licking across the head of my cock now at the forefront of my mind.

“I know you’re my husband, but you’re not supposed to look at me as if you want to eat me.” She smiles, placing the champagne bottle she swiped off the table as we left the gala on the floor. “Probably don’t need any more of that.”

She rummages in her bag, and I scrub my free hand over my face, trying to realign my thoughts. To bring them back into safe territory.

“I think my wife is confusing the look with one of wanting to get this night washed off and to bed.”

“Oh, we’re back to denial, are we?”

My stomach twists at the fact she can read me like a fucking book.

“Give me the key.”

She slaps it into my hand but doesn’t let it go. “Give me another slice.”

I look down at the box. “We agreed sixty forty.”

“It was seventy thirty.”

“It wasn’t,” I say, moving the box away.

She leans past me, one hand locked in mine as we fight over the key and the other reaching for my pizza.

“Lis! I will put you to the floor to keep my forty.”

“Try it.”

I dip low, my shoulder nestling into the soft area around her hips. I lift her, snatching away the key.

“Charles!”

I smile because she won’t be able to see it.

I place the card to the lock and then use the main key to unlock the latch. The lights don’t even appear. No green. No red.

“I’ll pass out in a minute with all this blood going to my brain.”

“Maybe it will fix some things,” I retort.

“You were so kind earlier.”

I try the keys again. Then the handle when nothing happens. “I think it’s broken.” I lower Lissie to the ground, putting her back to the door as I try again.

“Call down to reception. They’ll have one of those ones that opens all the doors.”

I look down at her, her big brown eyes watching me. I feel her fingers at my waistband. “Stop that.”

“What?” she sings.

I look between us, at where her finger hooks into the top of my trousers. “That.”

“Is it distracting?”

“No.”

“Liar,” she says, removing her finger and then lifting her other hand to her mouth to bite into a fresh slice of pizza. “Hmm. It’s better when it’s not your own.”

I look down at the open box. “Sly, Lissie. I’ll remember that.”

“Have to have your wits about you if pizza is involved, my friend.”

I pull out my phone and call reception only to be told they will send someone up shortly but that there would be a wait.

When I hang up the phone, I sigh.

“What’s the matter, husband?”

“There’s going to be a wait.”

“So?”

“So, it might be a while before you get inside.” I look her over, her dress beautiful but barely covering her upper body.

I remove my jacket and place it over her shoulders.

“I knew you liked me, Aldridge.”

I smile, watching as she kicks off her shoes and slides down the wall, sitting outside the room. “Tonight was fun,” she tells me, finishing off the last bite of my pizza and then popping open the ice cream. “Thank you for bringing me.”

I lower myself down next to her, resting my arm behind my head and propping myself up against her thigh. “Thank you for coming.”

She holds up the bottle of champagne, and I take it, taking a sip.

“You didn’t order any ice cream,” she says.

“I did. I ordered five scoops of triple chocolate knowing if you ordered you’d ask for Neapolitan and then steal mine.”

She points her spoon in the pot. “But this melted mess is mine.”

“It’s ours.”

She dips the spoon in and begrudgingly takes a scoop. “A bite.”

I open my mouth, distracted by hers as it mimics mine. Just before the ice cream can melt across my tongue, she pulls back and smears it across my chin.

“Obviously that’s hilarious,” I say flatly, fucking fighting my smile as she chuckles.

I go to wipe it away, feeling it melt down my chin, but she grabs my hand.

She has no idea what it does to me when she touches me like that.

“You’ll get it all over your suit.” She leans in, oblivious, and licks the dollop of ice cream from my neck and jaw.

I stiffen at the heat of her tongue against my skin, at the act of it, barely breathing as she hesitates for a second before pulling back an inch.

My cock twitches in my trousers, and I close my eyes, knowing I can’t fixate on it, on the way her mouth on me just felt.

“Lis?”

“Yeah?” she whispers, and I can tell she’s as lost in this moment as I am.

“Did…did you just sniff me?” I ask.

Her eyes peel open, her cheeks flushed. “Maybe. You smell…like something I remember. I don’t know what, but it’s so fucking good.”

I shake my head, a little dumbfounded by the woman beneath me. “That’s not at all weird.” I chuckle, knowing I need to pull us back a little.

Knowing I can’t do this with her if I’m not going to tell her what happened between us in the club.

Because if I continue to want her in the way I do right now, I can’t just leave it in the past.

“You started it. You sniffed my cardigan.”

My smile is instant despite my whirling thoughts. “Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck.” She grins. “If you didn’t have a pretty face, I’d have been out the door.”

“So shallow.” I tut, not being able to help it. She’s too easy to go toe to toe with. Too easy to sit here and just…be with. And I know it’s not just the drink tonight. I know it’s more than that.

It’s because I like her.

Because I want to know more.

I tilt my head back to see her better, needing to see her better. “You think I have a pretty face, Lis?” I tease, falling right back into her playfulness.

“The prettiest,” she declares. “It annoys the shit out of me.”

I match her smile, hating how hard it’s getting to even try hiding it. “The things you do to my ego.”

“Am I stroking it, Charles?”

I shake my head, not missing the double meaning in her words. “You’re a heller.”

“ Please .” She waves me off. “You barely know me.”

“That’s not true.”

“No? You ignore me at work. I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I’m there for the most part. Unless you’re disagreeing with me.”

“That’s not true either.”

“Isn’t it? What do you know about me other than what I’ve told you tonight?”

“I know enough.”

“Like what?”

I frown up at her, the list too long. My gaze catches on her nose. “Like how it looks like you have six freckles on the bridge of your nose but up close, this close, there’s actually seven. Those two there”—I reach up and gently brush my finger over them—“they’re just so close together it’s hard to tell them apart.”

She goes quiet, and I grin. “See. I know things.”

She reaches up and bats my hand away playfully, taking hold of my hand and linking our fingers. “Four weeks ago, I’d have put money on you not knowing the meaning of a smile, Charles Aldridge.”

“Four weeks ago, I didn’t feel the way I feel right now.”

She looks to her ice cream in a bid to hide her blush. Only I caught it—stored it away, too.

I watch as she dips the spoon into the pot and lifts it to my lips. I open my mouth and take the scoop. As she pulls away, I grasp her wrist, bringing it forward so that I can suck off the chocolate on the outside of her thumb.

She chuckles and pushes my head back playfully, but I grab her arm, laying it across my chest and keeping hold of her for a little while longer.

She sighs, looking down at me. “You know, Charles, I think I might fancy you a little bit.”