Page 90 of Burn With Me

“I am,” he assures her before frowning. “How did you find out anyway?”

Aunt Carmen grins. “You think your mother is the only one with male connections?” she asks with a shake of her head. “I know the head coach at Eastpoint, honey. He told me all about his new player. What a shock for me that was.”

“Coach?” Marcus blinks at her. “You and Coach are—”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Marcus Summers,” she stops him. “I’m a grown woman and fully capable of having a little fun on my own.”

I snicker and turn my head as Marcus grimaces.

“Of course,” I hear him say as my eyes catch on a figure at the other side of the room.

The man’s head turns, and cool, blue eyes scan the room. He doesn’t see me. Not right away. My throat tightens, though, the closer and closer his eyes move as he searches the room. What is he searching for? I wonder. Is it me?

Isaac looks like a modern god with his blond curls brushed out and slicked back. He looks darker, older. His black-on-black suit makes his frame appear particularly intimidating in a room full of otherwise bright and lavishly dressed men and women. When his gaze finally touches mine, I’m relieved to see the quick response.

His lips tighten, his eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. It says something that I notice all of that from across such a large room, but maybe it’s because I know him so well now. Each breath. Each change. It’s like a neon sign glaring at me. The two men he’s standing with turn their heads slightly and I recognize them—Shep and Paris. His friends. Paris offers me a smile and a surprising little wave. I blink but nod his way. Thankfully, Shep doesn’t follow his friend and merely watches me with infinitely enigmatic eyes.

“Rori?” Aunt Carmen’s voice pulls me away and I turn to find her frowning behind me. I peek over my shoulder and feel my body go stone cold.

“I’m going to kill him.” Marcus’ words are low and full of wrath.

There’s no fucking way. No way in hell my mother would let him come to something like this. They haven’t spoken in years. Not since … but there he is. The man of my worst nightmares strides into the room with his head held high like he has every right to be here, a young woman on his arm that looks to be his daughter’s age. She’s reed thin and is dressed in a skin tight gown, the front cut so low that the swells of her small breasts peek out on either side of the fabric that clings to her form. Despite the gorgeous outfit, she appears bored—almost detached in her role of what’s about to be a shitshow. I feel nothing but pity for her.

“She can’t know,” Aunt Carmen says quietly. “She doesn’t know.” Oh, how I wish I could have the same confidence in my mother that she seems to.

“How the hell can she not?” Marcus snaps.

“Icari must have invited him,” she replies. “Emilia would never welcome him here. Not after…” Her words drift off, but I can feel the heated vibe of her stare on me. No one questions what she means.

My question, though, is … why? Why the fuck would Damien Icari invite my mother’s ex-husband to his wedding reception? Why would she let him? And why the fuck did Eric Wood show up?

41

ISAAC

Aurora is so close and yet so fucking far. It’s maddening to see her and know that I can’t touch her. Not here. She’s dressed to kill in a glittering gown with straps dangling over her shoulders that would be so easy to snap. I can picture it now. One quick tug and they’d rip clean free and I’d be able to pull that already dipping neckline down further to reveal her pretty breasts and the jewelry I put there.

Every step she takes into the room has her entire body shining as whatever fabric her dress is made of shimmers under the light of the chandeliers. I want her. I crave her. It’s a sickness in my gut that is slowly driving me to insanity. I’m so focused on her that when her demeanor changes, I know it. I watch the way her head turns, and the following tension as it fills her entire body.

“Something’s wrong.” Paris and Shep both glance at me as the words leave my lips. For once, Aurora is not focused on me, but on something—someone—else. I follow her gaze to find an older, middle-aged man with a young woman strapped to his side.

“Who is that?” I demand.

Paris answers immediately. “Eric Wood,” he says. “That’s Emilia Summers’ ex-husband.”

My eyes flash back to Aurora and her family. Marcus steps closer to her at the same time the woman with them does—as if they’re protecting her.From him?I wonder. It certainly appears that way.My gaze returns to the man in question and narrows. He doesn’t seem to realize the attention he’s drawn as several heads turn and watch him walk in.

A tinkling laugh draws my focus away from the newcomer as horns blare and Emilia Summers and my father appear at the top of the staircase that leads into the ballroom they’ve set up for their reception. Aurora’s mother is dressed in a floor length white gown—a modest wedding dress that’s less ostentatious, but no doubt just as expensive as everyone else’s attire.

My father—for his part—is dressed much like me. Black suit. Black button down beneath the jacket. Black tie. He keeps a pleasant and fake smile as he descends the staircase with Emilia in tow. The two of them enter the room and all heads turn to them. A champagne flute is shoved, unceremoniously, into my hand as the waiters around the room begin handing them out. They don’t even check IDs as several of the younger attendees are given the alcohol without care. It’s not their business to know who should be allowed to have what.

I turn back to Shep and Paris. “Why would Emilia’s ex-husband be here?” I ask.

Paris shakes his head, his lips turning down into a deep frown. “I don’t know,” he answers, lowering his voice as the rest of the noise in the room drops. He moves closer. “But from what I do know about the couple—her son assaulted him and she filed for divorce within days. There were rumors that he attempted something with…” Paris’ eyes scan away to something over my shoulder, but his meaning is clear.

Cold rage swallows me up. My eyes snap back to Aurora, but she’s sequestered behind her brother and the woman now. I can only catch glimpses of her pale face as she stands between them. Shep steps in front of me, a casual movement to the average onlooker, but to me, it’s calculated. It disrupts my line of sight.

“Don’t do anything here,” he warns me. “If you want to go after him, do it later. We have more important things to focus on tonight.”

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