Page 122 of Violet

I break the kiss because I know we need to straighten up and get out of here. I let her go, tuck my dick away, and do up my pants. Then pull up her panties and smooth down her dress.

“I just meant for you to open so I could come in your mouth.”

“I wanted to,” she says, a little laugh escaping. “I thought you were going to hit me with that ruler.”

“And maim that gorgeous ass?” I kiss her hard. “Never. We should get out of here.”

“How do I look?”

“Like you just got fucked by a movie star.”

“Your ego…”

I unlock the door, grab her hand, and pull her into the hall, bumping into someone. “Oops, that’s not the exit,” I say.

I don’t stick around long enough to see who it is. Instead, I make her run with me for the exit. Her head’s back, laughter rolling from her, her cheeks pink.

She’s a different woman when she’s like this.

No, not different.

She’s the woman she’s always been. The one she’s hidden away so long.

One I could fall in love with.

If I were a different man.

There’s a group of people waiting at the unlocked gate to our beach house.

I help Violet out of the car, sliding my phone away. I need to text Clea before she returns to Emporia in a few days. But first, I need to help the princess deal with her family’s visit.

When I spy Pen among them, I adjust that toourfamilies.

When we’re all inside, Rue takes a break from taking selfies in Asher St. James’s home to ask Violet, “Are you pregnant yet?”

The comment gets a side-eye from Pen to me, a growl from Heath who stomps off into the fenced-in yard to make a call, and a sigh from Violet’s mother.

“Rue, that’s not how it works,” Iris mutters.

Rue frowns. “I know.”

“I’m not sure she does,” Mari says then smiles at her mom.

“Do you have a piano?” Dahlia asks.

I shake my head, so she just goes into the sitting room to read the book she pulls from her bag.

Violet throws me a helpless look. I know she’s worriedshe looks like she just had sex, but she doesn’t now. “I’ll give you all a tour,” she offers.

“And I’ll help Stephan get refreshments,” Penrith says.

When they all leave, we go into the kitchen. As Pen fills a pitcher with juice and makes a pot of tea and coffee, she presses her lips together. She’s clearly got something on her mind, so I sit at the table and wait.

“Stephan, get the cups and saucers, and I’m sure you have cookies. I know I sent over a lot of supplies like that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I get some from the pantry, and almost jump when I turn and find her just standing there, blocking my path.

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