Page 29 of Wasted On You

“This is so good,” she said, looking up at Mike Paul. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I wanted to fit into this dress, so I didn’t eat at all today.”

“That’s just plain silly,” he replied, eyes back to scanning the room.

“It’s what we do. Us. Women.” She offered him a sandwich, but he declined.

“Let me find you a table.”

“I like it right here,” she said with a smile, then picked at a piece of cheese stuck between her front teeth. She was still trying to clear the offending slice of cheese when he caught sight of Ivy. She was across the room at the other bar, chatting with Ryland Bridgestone. She smiled at something the kid said, and his heart damn near fell out of his chest. She stole his breath without trying. It wasn’t fair. Feeling like this.

Her hair was loose and fell down her back in soft auburn waves, while her dress, a slinky midnight blue number which wasn’t exactly her style, showed a lot of skin he would kill to touch. With bare shoulders and most of her back on display, the dress was cut so damn low it barely covered her ass. Normally, he was fine with that—a woman should dress the way she pleased—but the looks from some of the men in the room had that he-man part of him boiling something fierce.

Hell, he wanted to throw a fist at Jefferson Smith because the guy couldn’t take his eyes off Ivy.

Mike Paul had to take a moment and get his shit together because the possibility of him turning into a Neanderthal was real, and Ivy didn’t deserve to see that side of him unless it was in the bedroom.

“Shit,” he muttered. Why in hell did he have to go and think about him and Ivy getting busy between the sheets?

Ryland tugged on his tie and took a step back—clearly, the young man was flirting—and Mike Paul watched the exchange, half hungry for Ivy, half annoyed at a kid for being in her orbit, taking the spot that belonged to him.

Mike Paul steered the still tipsy, still protesting Melinda over to a table and was able to sidestep her hand when she grabbed at him, trying to keep him there.

“Now, I don’t want you to move until your plate is clear, okay?” He gave her the smile that always got him what he wanted, and felt relieved when she nodded back and dug in. She had about ten sandwiches to get through.

Mike Paul grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it, then grabbed another before crossing the room. He ran into Benton on his way over, and the man looked about as miserable as Mike Paul felt. Normally, he’d have a drink with the guy and commiserate on their shared misery, but he had no time. Ivy was less than forty feet away. The clock was ticking.

“We have to head backstage,” Benton said glumly. “This has got to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in the name of charity.”

“Didn’t you wrestle a pig in the mud at the fair?”

“I was fifteen. Didn’t know better.”

Mike Paul cranked his head to the side.

“Who are you looking for?”

“What?” Mike Paul turned to Benton and frowned.

Benton placed an empty beer bottle on the bar and rubbed his chin. “She’s engaged.”

A flash of anger rifled through Mike Paul, but he kept his tone neutral. “Heard something about that.”

“This is a charity gala.”

“You don’t say.” That flash of anger sparked something fierce, the flame burning hot.

“There’s no room for the kind of crap you pulled last weekend at the Sundowner.”

“I promise not to throw a punch if you promise to stay out of my business.”

Benton’s face lit up with a slow grin. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Just…” Benton stepped away. “Don’t pull a dick move because she won’t like you for it. Besides, Mary Margaret just gave the bat signal. We need to head backstage.”

“I’ll be along in a minute.”

“I mean it,” Benton sighed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

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