I hand him my purse, which I’ve been clutching tightly. He opens it and places the vibrator inside. “When I squeeze your thigh, you will stick it between your legs, tight up against your pu**y, and then excuse yourself and go to the restroom, leaving the vibrator in place. Do you understand, Grace?”

I nod and say, “Yes, Mr. Asher,” before catching my mistake.

He smiles and takes my arm, not even asking for a correction. But if there’s one thing I’m beginning to understand, it’s that Vaughn Asher remembers everything. And he will not forget a single indiscretion. “Are you ready?” he asks as he leads me over to the restaurant foyer once again.

I nod yes and take a deep breath, not sure how I feel about this, but I’m wet, and excited, and breathless. I want more of him. He’s an ass**le, but he’s my fantasy and I’m not ready to give up just yet. We only have one day together. One day and then I go home, back to Denver, back to my life, and I’ll probably never see him again. So I’m going to try and be this girl he wants me to be.

I follow Vaughn’s lead as he takes me into the restaurant. The maître d’ makes small talk as we are led to the interior of the restaurant and then I’m looking at a table up near the window with an amazing view of the ocean. I can’t take my eyes off the people because one man looks so familiar.

The maître d’ waves us forward towards that table and my heart skips. When I look up at Vaughn, he’s grinning like a boy with a vibrator remote control in his pocket. “Grace,” he says, as we stop in front of the table filled with people. I recognize the woman I saw him with last night and the man at the head of the table. “I’d like you to meet my family.”

The men stand as Vaughn pulls out a chair for me. “This is my father,” he says, panning to the older man, “Adam Asher. My mother Corrine, my sister Samantha, her new husband Tray, and my brother Conner.”

We exchange pleasantries as the waiters fill up our water glasses and ask us for drink orders. Vaughn orders for us and then in a moment when everyone else is busy chatting about wine and whiskey, he reaches over and squeezes my leg.

I reach into my clutch and pull out the little bullet, keeping it wrapped tightly in my hands. And then, as the menus come up to cover faces, I hike up my skirt and wedge the vibrator up against my clit.

Chapter Eighteen

GettingRidOfThemIsGettingEasier

SHE doesn’t even question me. No nod, no panic, no fight.

Hmmm. I almost wish she had. I watch her lift up her skirt and place the little bullet between her legs and then she swallows hard and looks around to make sure no one saw.

No one did, but just at that moment, Conner lowers his menu and looks right at me with squinted eyes.

Did he notice me?

I smile at him and he goes back behind his menu. Grace sits with her hands folded in her lap, looking frightened. I reach over and touch her leg and she jumps. “What do you like to eat, Grace? I’ll order for you.”

She smiles at me but it’s fake. She’s doing what I ask, but she’s not comfortable with it.

Too bad.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says as she stands. “I’ll be—”

“Grace.” I pull her back to her seat. “What should I order for you, sweetie? Fish? Pasta? Steak?”

She narrows her eyes at me but I simply smile. So she takes her gaze to the menu and scans her options. “The strawberry spinach salad, please. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

She tries to rise and leave again, but I’ve got a hold of her hand this time. “What kind of wine?” I squeeze her leg again and then pat it. She looks at anything but me.

“Grace.” My sister interrupts my thoughts, and Grace’s next attempt at escape, and I realize she might be watching us closely. They all might be watching us closely. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m an event planner in Denver.” She smiles weakly before continuing. “I got a glimpse of your wedding reception, it was lovely. Just lovely.”

And now it’s Sam’s turn to be off her game, because she glances over at her new husband and smiles the same fake smile I just saw on Grace.

“This is boring,” Conner complains on the other side of Grace. “Liven things up for me, will you, Vaughn?”

I narrow my eyes at him. Asshole. He’s such a prick. He knows, he has to know. “So how’s the new venture, Conner?” I throw that out to be a dick back, because we all know Conner is no actor. His indie films were offered because of his family name, not his talent.

My father grunts from the head of the table but does not lower his menu.

“Actually, Vaughn,” Conner says with a smile that lets me know we are in fact, sparring, “I’ve started painting.”

I almost guffaw at that. Nice touch, brother. Nice touch.

“Painting?” This gets my father to lower his menu. My mother as well, only she looks pleased. Conner does no wrong in her eyes. But my father, he’s the only one who matters and now all the attention is focused on the middle child. The screwup. The wandering one. The… artist.

I almost laugh because I know what Conner really does for a living. But I’ve got an appointment with Grace’s pu**y. I reach into my pocket, pretending to pay attention to the argument over Conner’s fictitious artistic pursuits, and press down on the mechanism that makes the little bullet pulse in a repeating pattern of long, drawn-out vibrations.

Grace stiffens in her chair, but does not look at me.

I like that reaction, the abrupt stiffening. But I’m going to make her pay for it. I depress the dial on the bullet three times and Grace immediately turns to me with wide eyes.

“Is that what you did with the money you borrowed a few months ago, Conner?” I ask, adding fuel to the fire. “Buy painting supplies and studio space?”

He shoots me a death glare and I chuckle. He’s so f**king easy.

My father erupts in protest. He’s looking at me and I shrug and play dumb as he rattles on and on about how my brother will never grow up if we keep handing him money.

I flash him my serious, concerned look and promise not to do it again.

Conner vehemently objects and the fight continues.

I quicken the frequency of the bullet vibrations for Grace and she actually moans.

“Is everything all right, dear?” my mother asks.