Page 11 of Tempest

Ardyn

A guy that lean should not be coated in that much muscle.

I can’t shake the thought of how Tempest felt under my hands for the entire walk from his car, to the curb, to the sidewalk, to my friends…

He was poured, hardened concrete as I gripped him. Unyielding beneath my soft skin, pushing against my bones. It was so distracting that I couldn’t remember why I swung to him in the first place, not until Mila’s scream reminded me that he nearly killed us in a high-speed collision.

Was it an adrenaline rush for him as much as it was for me? The slightest undulation of muscle played under my palms like he was reacting…

“Jesus, baby dove, you’re shaking.” Mila’s voice sounds out right beside my ear. She shoulders off her leather jacket and tosses it around my shoulders before I can protest—not that I would. She’s right, just not for the reasons she thinks she is.

I can’t still be attracted to Tempest Callahan. He’s a stupid unrequited crush from childhood. A jerk. A charlatan. Certainly not someone appropriate to care about when I’ve never been with a man before.

He’s the type who would break me before he’d bury me.

“Earth to Ardyn. Is the nightlife too much stimulation for you?” Mila waves her hand in front of my face.

My nose twitches with irritation before I school it into a serene smoothness. Mila risked a lot to get me out of my home, and she continues to do so by staying at my side despite the very real risk of no less than five Town Cars screeching to a halt in front of the art showcase, my father leading the battalion.

Instead of snipping at her that I’m fine for the millionth time, I say thank you for the jacket and turn to Clover, her thick black hair, so like her brother’s, loose and falling to her elbows. But that is where their similarity ends. Where Tempest’s eyes are a wintry green and his skin glacier pale, Clover’s kind copper eyes and warm, freckled arms open wide as she approaches us. “You made it! I was so worried I’d be alone in this place.”

Her chin lowers along with her voice as she completes our triangle. “You should see some of the people who are here. I swear I just saw Zeke Aiden pass by.”

I lift my brows in awe. I’m no stranger to binge-streaming on my laptop, and after a brief hiatus, Zeke Aiden’s resumed his character in my favorite show.

An engine revs obnoxiously behind us. We all turn, none of us surprised to see Tempest give us the barest of acknowledgements before attempting to swing into bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“Leave it to my brother to save the night,” Clover says as she loops her arms through ours and steers us to the entrance. “I wasn’t sure if he’d do it. He’s so disagreeable when it comes to offering assistance to other people.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I say.

“Tempest was the perfect gentleman,” Mila adds, talking over me. “Ardyn had to strip down to her granny panties in his car, and he didn’t even peek at the peep show.”

Clover wrinkles her nose. “Ew, Mila. Please don’t talk about my brother and my bestie’s boobs in the same sentence.”

My lips pull to the side in embarrassment. With all of us facing forward, Clover doesn’t see. Add he’s my best friend’s older brother to the list of not to be attracted to Tempest.

“It’s not like she has that much to show,” Mila jokes. “I bet Tempest is used to eating more than pancakes for breakfast.”

Before my mouth can fall open, Clover cuts in with, “Again, ew, Mila. I’d rather not know what he eats. Ever. Even after I’m dead.”

I talk past the swell of hurt in my throat. “Can we stop talking about me and move on to the amazing artifacts we’re about to witness?”

Mila rolls her eyes, saying, “I really wish you’d stop watching history shows,” but gamely speeds us up and through the doors, opened for us by two all-black staff members.

“Good evening, ladies.” They don’t ask for our invitations. We were probably assured entry solely through the use of Clover’s last name. When busting out of home supervision, it helps to be friends with Manhattan’s second most powerful family when you’re prevented from using your own.

Clover slows near the coat check, operated by a glamorous woman with a neck as long as a giraffe’s and a deep V-cut black dress.

“Do you want to check your coat?” Clover asks me.

I shake my head, pulling Mila’s jacket tighter around me despite my cheeks heating dangerously. The better to hide my still-hard nipples from pressing up against your brother.

“I can give her this, though.” I hold up my canvas tote, making Mila cringe.

“Whoa, what happened there?” Clover takes stock of the various dirt stains and the tail of my pajama shirt hanging out the top.

“I had a Mission Impossible moment.”

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