Page 67 of SINS & Temptation

Dumbfounded, Dillon blinks. “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“But-b...” Dante stammers for a beat. “You haven’t been seeing anyone.” His face is murderous, repeating the exact words I told him to say.

I smirk. “So?” Before any of them says a word, I point my glass across the grounds.

Kennedy. My Bella. She downed a glass of champagne already. I can think of a million better ways to calm her nerves. All pornographic.

In a dazzling black dress, she makes her way toward us. I hand her the bride’s untouched glass of champagne. “Hello, Kennedy.”

Her pout is crimped. “Hello.”

Those full lips are too fuckable for her own good. I ignore them for the moment and make brief introductions. “Kennedy, these are my brothers. Everyone, this is Kennedy.”

Politely, they exchange nods.

Kennedy wilts beneath their stares and downs her drink. I offer mine. The poor girl is going to need it.

Smoke quirks a brow. “I know you from somewhere.”

Her sheepish words come out. “I served you the court filings from Mr. Andre D’Angelo.”

Smoke’s death glare returns. “What?”

A flash of fear crosses her face. I don’t like it. Protectively, I pull her body to mine and intervene. “Smoke you more than anyone knows that what we do and who we are are two very different things.”

His expression softens with an agreeable nod.

The tension in her shoulders relax, but I don’t let her go. Foolish little Kennedy. She should’ve never crossed my path.

See, I collect beautiful things. And unlucky for her, Kennedy is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She was meant to be owned.

I was meant to undo her.

To have her. Possess her.

Own her.

Smoke raises his glass. “Then, a toast, to the bride-to-be.”

Kennedy’s wide eyes dart to mine, furious and sexy as fuck. “The what?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” I ask. “We’re getting married.”

Before she can protest or freak out or run, my lips crush hers. Her fight is meager at best. Probably because she’s about to kick me in the balls. Or is preoccupied with plotting my death.

Whatever’s going on in that fiery head of hers, one thing is clear—Kennedy is giving me the best kiss of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

KENNEDY

We’re getting married.

Three little words never sounded so bizarre. They replay in my mind on an endless loop, and my what-the-fuck meter rockets off the charts.

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