Plus, she's sixteen years younger than me. I don't normally even think about women who aren't at least thirty years old. The things that quench my appetite are considered a bit taboo. Full consent is required, and I don't need a woman claiming she didn't know what she was getting into. You go below thirty, and you're asking for a wishy-washy woman who's still trying to find herself and can't be relied on to understand what she's dipping her toes into.

But my rules aren't helping my predicament every time I see Blakely. The desire to have her at my fingertips only gets harder to ignore. Hell, I knew before I arrived at the party and laid eyes on her that I would be in agony the entire time. And every time she sneaks a glance at me only reiterates that I should have given Hugh an excuse about why I couldn't attend tonight. So my time here is up and I need to go before my partner realizes his daughter is giving me a hard-on.

I do my business in the bathroom and make my way through the mansion, determined to return to the backyard and say my goodbyes. Halfway there, I turn the corner and run into Blakely.

Her champagne splashes on my shirt, and she frets, "Oh my gosh! Riggs, I'm so sorry!" A pink flush crawls up her cheeks, her doe-eyes widen, and she swipes at my shirt.

I grab her hand, and she freezes, her palm an inch from my pecs. My heart pounds harder in my chest and I curse myself for reacting like a teenager. It's another thing that's been happening when I'm with her, and it makes me feel exposed, instead of my normal controlled self. I state, "It's okay. It's only champagne. It'll dry."

She stays silent, her cheeks growing hotter, and I can only wonder if her ass would turn the same color after a good slapping.

I have to stop these thoughts.

Blakely lifts her chin, and the remaining room in my pants disappears. My cock painfully strains against my zipper. I scold myself again, but it's pointless. Her expression is another reminder how different she is, yet exactly what I look for in my conquests.

She doesn't have the snotty Beverly Hills air about her that most women at this party have. Her little gesture is a confident stance. It indulges my cravings further. I love nothing better than dominating a woman with a backbone, and Blakely's always had one. It drives Hugh and his wife Madelyn nuts. I'm one of the few they don't put on a show for when it comes to their daughter. Over the years, I've heard them complain too many times to count about their daughter's stubbornness, or how she forged ahead with something they forbade her to do.

Attempting to regain some control of this situation, I nod to her half-empty glass, questioning, "So you're legal now?"