Page 40 of Miss Understood

“She’s lovely.” A slippery voice comes up beside me, and even without looking I immediately know the redheaded bombshell it belongs to.

“Lindsey.” I tip my chin but don’t peel my eyes away from Luce.

Her arm brushes against me, but my body no longer reacts. Lindsey and I used to date—although that’s probably using the term a little loosely. We used to fuck. Often. But that was at least five years ago, before she married the loaded corpse she calls a husband.

Not that it stopped her from trying to continue our arrangement. Lindsey likes to think of what they have as an open marriage, meaning she still fucks anyone who tickles her fancy while Rodger remains in the dark about it.

“And here I thought you weren’t the marrying kind.” There’s a hint of venom in her tone.

“Maybe I just hadn’t met the right person,” I say, mostly to piss Lindsey off, because I’m not an idiot, and I know she wanted more than I was willing to give her.

Across the room, Luce looks up with a giant laugh that shakes her whole chest, and there’s no denying the thunder that crashes through me.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Lindsey says, turning to face me. Her hand lands on my arm, but I pull it away. “These people might buy the show you two are putting on, but I know you.”

“Knewme, past tense,” I correct her. “If that’s what you call us fucking around for five seconds.”

“Ass,” she breathes out, but she doesn’t walk away.

I take a drink and shoot her a cold look. “What do you want?”

“Just catching up with an old friend.” But her maniacal grin says something different.

Rage pulses under my skin. I wonder if she’s the only person in this room who doubts my intentions. Their judgment would be rightfully placed after years of watching me with a revolving door of women.

There was a time when they took me seriously. When I was quietly climbing my way up, I was careful and discreet so I wouldn’t make waves. But once I hit a certain point, I stopped caring. Jumped in like a fucking cannonball and didn’t care who got swept under in the process.

“I didn’t know Troy would be here,” Lindsey says. “How is your old buddy?”

She knows he and I haven’t gotten along since he blew the Green case a year ago. And now the snake is sliding his way through the crowd with his eyes locked on Luce.

It makes me want to punch him in his face.

He slides up behind her and taps her elbow to get her attention. She gives him a genuine smile that makes me wonder if they’ve fucked, and when he pulls the back of her hand to his lips, they linger there a little too long.

Beside me, Lindsey is talking, but I don’t have a clue what she’s saying. My focus is on Luce. Whatever is bubbling up inside of me is something I don’t usually feel when it comes to women, because they tend to be in and out of my bed sooner rather than later. But this stings the back of my throat and I have to fight to swallow.

“Excuse me.” I cut Lindsey off and start across the room with a sledgehammer thumping between my temples.

Luce’s eyes catch mine from a distance, and the blush that crawls up her neck lights my insides on fire.

I know why I started in her direction. To cut in, to punch Troy—anything to get rid of the tension building in my spine. But the moment those hazel eyes connect with mine, everyone else in the room fades away, and there’s no one except her.

A breath escapes her parted lips as I move in front of her, and she has to tip her head back to look me in the face. But I don’t stop or explain or wait. I don’t pause to hear whatever she’s about to say. My body betrays every rule we’ve set, and my hand tangles through the hair at the base of her neck as I pull her into me.

I tell myself it’s for show.

It’s for the room of people watching us.

It’s to stop the doubt that swirls below the surface of every congratulations.

But it’s all lies. Because when my lips crash down on hers, it’s for no other reason than to drown in her. To feel her body melt as her lips part to let me in. To taste the pomegranate martini on her tongue. To pretend for one moment that I still have a chance of fighting whatever feeling swims in my chest.

Luce’s hands are planted on my arms, but instead of pushing me away, she reaches for my lapel and pulls me closer, letting out a moan that I swallow before it can fully escape. I want to take in every sound, every taste, every piece of her.

Every. Damn. Thing.

A throat clearing beside us pulls my feet back to the ground.

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