Page 25 of Until I Own You

“Thank you,” I reply. “And I know it’s not really cool anymore, but I always loved watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show. Something about how every garment was like a puzzle and yet was made with so little fabric.”

“A puzzle. That’s one way to describe lingerie,” he says with a suggestive tone.

I laugh. “Well, I’m sure you have other reasons for enjoying it. But I really fell in love with the craftsmanship and…now here I am.”

We make it to the top of the steps.

Dory slides his hands into his pockets. “Well, I’d love to see your work.”

“I’m on Instagram.” I smile.

Dory’s eyes narrow, and he smiles. “That’s not how I meant, love.”

My stomach plummets in the best way. It’s clear this man is after one thing and one thing only. And I know myself. I know what I need. And I know that isn’t Dory.

But a little flirting doesn’t have to end in bed, does it?

“I’m sorry, perhaps that was too forward,” Dory says.

“You’re not sorry at all.” I smirk.

His tongue slides across his lower lip. “I’m happy to give an apology when it’s very necessary. Is it?”

I am about to tell him no when a hand grips my bicep. A hand and a grip I know too well. Looking at Seth over my shoulder, I glower. “Seth!”

“We need to talk.” With a simple nod to Dory, he says, “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No apology ne–”

We don’t remain long enough to hear the rest of Dory’s sentence.

Seth yanks me over to one of the tall columns making up the façade of the mansion.

“You’re hurting me!” I hiss.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, lightening his grip but not letting go. “Need you away from the stairs.”

I scoff. “What?”

He glowers at me. “Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Shit.

The memories that tried to creep up before threaten to resurface again, and I can’t let them. Because I know exactly what he is talking about. Too bad he doesn’t know what he is talking about.

No one knows. And no one will ever know if I have any say in it. Not even my family. Especially my family.

I shake off the past.

“I can handle steps, Seth.” We stop at the base of the column, out of sight of most everyone. “What do you want?”

“What the hell are you doing with Dory?” His chest rises and falls with clear pent-up frustration.

I shake my head. “Talking?”

“No. That’s not just talking. He’s flirting with you. And you’re flirting back.”

“So?!”

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