Page 74 of Tortured Tones

As we exited the limo, a flurry of camera flashes hit us. Sloane and Wyatt joined Kennedy and Beckett, flanking us as we headed down the red carpet. Sutton and Flint led the way, followed by Tia and Lewis, then Slip and Maddy. Cole and I lingered at the rear.

He reached for my hand, but I sidestepped out of reach. “What are you doing?”

“We’ve got to walk the carpet.”

“I’m not holding your hand.”

His shoulders slumped. “What will be acceptable and look the most friendly? I’m either going to hold your hand, hook my arm around your waist, or link our elbows. What’s it going to be?”

“None of those options appeal to me.”

“Quick.” He waved toward the guests coming in behind us. “We’re holding up the line.”

I glanced at his held out hand, his tall frame, then met his challenging eyes. The cheering crowd filled my ears. Shit! I could do this. “Fine. Take my hand.” At least I could keep some distance between his body and mine and break his fingers if he tried to get too close.

“Thank you.” He slid his hand around mine and entwined our fingers. Warmth and tingles meandered up my arm and shuddered through my chest. Stupid nerves. He squeezed my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I will be if you behave.”

“No guarantees.” He drew me in close, and we joined the others.

As Sutton and Tia caught up with their fellow castmates—Peyton and Mia—for photos, Maddy and I hung back with the guys. I didn’t know where to look. I was so used to being on duty at these events, continually scanning the crowd for suspicious behavior, shady characters, and potential threats. Being on the carpet as a guest again was surreal.

We shuffled past the line of reporters and photographers, posing for random photos. My heart hammered in my chest with each one. What had I gotten myself into? Why was I there? Oh! That was right. I needed to take my mind off missing my son. But I wasn’t sure spending more time with Cole was a sensible option.

Those eyes. That smile. His touch.

He was a total distraction. Good . . . but not good.

He trailed his fingertips across my bare lower back and rested his hand on my hip. “Ava, relax. You look incredible. Just smile. And have some fun.”

“I’m usually watching your asses, not having mine on show.”

“Your ass is hot. Show it off.” He brushed his palm over the sequins of my skirt and drew me against his side. He smiled then moved his lips against my ear. “I do like this dress.”

My heartbeat skipped too fast. I closed my eyes and swayed on my stilettos. Something in his tone chipped away at my sanity. Something in his calmness reassured me that everything would be okay. But no matter how much he affected me, I couldn’t fall for his smooth talk. “If you keep touching me like that, you’ll find yourself face down on this carpet. You know I’ll do that.”

Chuckling, he returned his hand to my waist. “We don’t want to steal the girls’ spotlight.”

“No, we don’t.” But I didn’t step out of his hold. I liked him touching me. Maybe too much. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I had to chill. Unwind. He’d been kind and thoughtful to invite me. I didn’t want to come across as rude or ungrateful. It had been so long since someone had done something nice for me, I’d forgotten what it was like.

I didn’t have to be tough on him all the time. Those defense mechanisms I had in place could slacken for one night. I wanted to enjoy the evening with everyone. He was tipsy; I could handle that. Maybe I could give him a taste of his own flirtatious medicine.

I half turned to him, leaned into his side, and injected a touch of sexiness into my voice. “But I’ll rough you up when we get inside if you want me to. I’d like to see you down on your knees at my mercy.”

“Yes.” Laughing, he hooked his arm around me. “Finally, some sass. That’s what I want to see. Let’s have some shots and a shit load of fun.”

I could only but try.

The second we entered the function room inside the hotel, I downed one champagne, followed by another.

As the night proceeded with speeches and laughter, more alcohol flowed. I didn’t flinch when Cole put his arm across the back of my chair, or told dirty jokes, or brushed his arm or leg against mine.

He was being nice, funny, charming. Shit.

By the time dinner had finished and morphed into the after-party, everyone was buzzed. But when Slip returned from the bar with a bottle of vodka, a bottle of bourbon, and a stack of shot glasses, my head swayed. Oh, boy...I had to be careful, or things would get messy. By things, I meant me.

Fuck it.

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