Page 34 of Too Good to be True

I don't panic or freak out. I hold onto him, trusting him to support my weight as I stare longingly into the softest, deepest brown eyes I've ever seen.

Tim uses his position to take what he wants from me, and I'm helpless to deny him anything. I'm just lucky at this moment that what he wants is a toe-curling kiss.

*

The party is windingdown. Sam and Francesca are leaving once the bouquet and garter are tossed.

“Why aren’t you out there trying to catch it?” Tim asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I answer, watching the bouquet fly straight into Kiara’s hands. “I don’t even want to fantasize about getting married.”

“Superstitious?”

“No. It just feels like too much pressure. But why aren’t you trying to catch the garter?” I ask, watching the guys push and shove each other in their effort to catch it.

“Because I’d much rather stand next to you and try to look down your dress,” he whispers in my ear. Or maybe . . .” I feel his hand move from my hip to my ass.

"What do you say?" Ian interrupts us, causing me to start. "Ready for that dance?"

Tim crooks his eyebrow up at me.

"Just one dance. I promised," I say.

"She promised," Ian says, with a shit-eating grin, his eyes challenging Tim.

Tim nods and sweeps his hand out, gesturing for us to pass, "Be my guest."

I know that Tim and Ian are acting in a civil and polite manner toward each other, but I can't help but feel there’s an animosity between them that I don’t understand.

"You look very beautiful," Ian whispers in my ear, the scent of alcohol weighing heavy on his breath.

"Thank you."

His eyes trail from my face to the bracelet on my wrist. His lips turn down into a frown. His body fills with tension.

"Wish I’d known we were in a bidding war. Then at least I would've had a shot with you." Ian reeks of alcohol. His hand drops to the top of my ass as his hold on me tightens.

Way to shoot holes in my parachute. "I don't know what you're talking about." I keep my voice steady.

"Don't play dumb. I deserve better than that."

He's making me uncomfortable. My skin tingles where Ian touches me, but not in the way that it does with Tim. I feel like I have dozens of tiny bugs crawling over my skin, and I want to swat them away.

"I should get back to Tim."

"Our dance isn't finished, and you promised. Are you going back on that, too?"

I hear an undercurrent of anger in his voice. I try to pull away, but he's holding me tighter, his fingers biting into my flesh. His other hand grips my wrist in a firm hold. I want to get away from him, but I don't want to panic and cause a scene. This is supposed to be a celebration, and I promised one dance. I'll give it to him, but that's all he's going to get.

I try to catch Tim's eye. I'm sure he'll be able to tell from just a look that something's wrong and break in. But he's not looking at me. He's on the phone, looking down at the ground. His eyes are narrowed, his brow furrowed. I see lines crease his forehead as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He looks pissed as he shakes his head. My heart sinks. Something is very wrong.

I watch helplessly as Tim storms out of the reception room.

"Looks like your boy is too busy for you, so why don't you tell me what the going rate is? Then we can have some fun."

I freeze.

"Come on, Bailey. I'm willing to pay, just tell me how much."

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