Page 86 of Don't Take the Girl
"Will you stop?" I hiss.
"Not a chance. Getting him riled up is my new favorite pastime." His grin is wolfish as he lets me pull him along. "Until you walked back into his life, nothing—and I mean nothing—got a rise out of him. The man was practically catatonic."
I drag him behind me as we weave between clusters of people who seem determined to block my path as I search for an empty table. I spot one tucked against the far corner of the garden andmake a beeline for it, practically collapsing into the nearest chair. The relief that floods through my feet is immediate. "My feet are absolutely killing me. Asha picked out this dress, but Sydney…"—I gesture helplessly at the torture devices strapped to my feet—"Sydney picked out these heels, and I am decidedly not a fan. And because I already know exactly what this conversation is going to be about, you better wave down that waiter with the tray full of drinks, or I'm out."
He smirks. "So demanding."
As he flags down the waiter, my eyes naturally drift in the direction where I left London. We were finally talking, which needed to happen, and, as per usual, we were interrupted. Trigg is the last person I want to small talk with this evening; however, once I get this conversation out of the way, there shouldn't be anyone else to distract me from the one man at the top of my list.
Looking across the garden, I don't see London standing where I left him, and my heart sinks. Damn it. I told him I'd be right back. Given my track record this past week, he probably believes I'm still trying to avoid him.
"Here you go," Trigg says, sliding a tall glass of ranch water in front of me. "Hope you like salt. Looks like they went heavy on the rims."
"I love salt," I say as I bring it to my mouth. I pucker my lips as soon as lime and tequila hit my taste buds. "Oof, and they're strong too, just the way I need it." I watch as he takes a slow drink of the one he grabbed for himself, his eyes casually scanning the partygoers as they wind in and out of tables. "So, was your goal to pry me away from your brother for show, or do you actually have something you want to talk about?"
He flashes that trademark gorgeous smile. I hate when good-looking men know they're good-looking. It's like they know they can sweet talk their way out of the shittiest remarks before they make them. "You know, if you had been mine first, I never would have let you go."
I roll my eyes, not because he's being insincere; in another life,I'd be attracted to Trigg. Hell, I was drawn to him since I first laid eyes on him, but the words now are moot. There will never be a me and him because I'll only ever belong to one man. I feel him before I see him. I don't even need to look to my right to know what caused the skin on my arms to pebble. It's him. It's always him. He may have moved from where I left him, but the man doesn't stray far from his territory.
"Sweet sentiment, but we both know that's bullshit. You're not interested in me. You're interested in winning."
"Ouch. Cold." He clutches his chest like I've wounded him. "All this time, I thought you did a number on my brother, but maybe it's the other way around. You're a fucking catch, Laney Hart, and if you don't know that, I need to drag my little brother behind the shed and teach him how to properly worship a goddess."
"You are laying it on thick tonight," I say with a smirk that naturally has me turning away so he doesn't see the way my cheeks flush from his flattery. The last thing I need is to hand him ammunition, but my eyes snag on London's intense glare from two tables over. He's pissed—that much is obvious—but there's something else simmering underneath. Jealousy? He knows damn well I'm not interested in his brother, but that's not what's twisting him up inside. No, what's eating him alive is that I'm choosing to give Trigg my attention instead of him. Any lingering doubts about their DNA connection just got torched. These two are definitely cut from the same possessive, alpha-hole cloth.
"Alright." I bite my lip, savoring the way I can still make London twitch from across the room, then pivot back to Trigg. "Since you're allergic to addressing the elephant tap-dancing in the room, I'll do it. I told Asha. Spilled everything."
"Why?" he asks evenly, which takes me by surprise. I fully expected fury or, at the very least, irritation, maybe a few threats.
"That's it? That's your whole reaction? 'Why?'" I draw out his word and I lean back, studying his face while trying to keep mine unaffected. I move to cross my legs, but before I can repositionmyself, a hand grips my ankle. "What the hell…" My words feather off with an awkward high pitch when lips kiss my inner knee. My eyes immediately dart to the table London was at seconds ago, where all that remains is his hat, and I know instantly who’s under the table. Shit.
Chapter 27
LONDON
This is not where I saw this night going when I accepted Madison's invitation to be her plus-one to the Fairfields' Belmont Stakes watch party. I accepted for one reason: to see Laney. I didn't know then that "yes" would turn into crawling on my hands and knees beneath a cloth-covered table, my pulse hammering against my throat as I search for any excuse to get her attention.
I saw her the instant I walked into the party. She captured my attention without trying. It took all of a second for honey brown eyes to connect with mine and make my heart pound. I felt the electric current thrumming through her gaze from across the gardens. I wanted to excuse myself and go to her right then, but someone else has had her ear all night—everyone except me—and I'm growing tired of it.
Her legs, from this view, are impossibly long. They have haunted my every thought since they were wrapped around me under the dock and again in the barn. I grind my teeth as I think of how she's ignored me for the past five days. I know exactly why she's been ignoring me. Her reason is the same reason I'm here: Madison. Laney is determined to believe that we are a couple andthat she isn't all I think about, even after I gave her those admissions.
I get it, though. I gave her words, and then she had to endure an afternoon on the back of a horse, watching me be friendly with a woman I've been intimate with. If the roles had been reversed, I would have lost my damn mind. I also know it's more than that. I'm not dense. I heard her words after we came down from one of the best orgasms I've ever had, only topped by the only other one I shared with her. I ran off. I ran to rescue the horse that had saved me, but it was the voice that called out for me that she saw me running toward, and the embrace I know she saw in the barn, that has her doubting what she feels in her bones: me. She sought comfort in Noah, and now I'm being punished for doing the same. It doesn't matter that Madison and I have shared a bed a few times over the years. I was always going to belong to Laney. I've always been all hers, all in.
This is insane. This is crossing every line we've both been carefully straddling, but I can't do it anymore. Every missed opportunity, every word that's gone unsaid…I'm done with all of them.
The moment she shifts to cross her legs, my hand finds her ankle like it belongs there. Laney goes rigid above me, whatever words were flowing from her lips cutting off in a breathless gasp that she tries to disguise as a cough. I freeze, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I wait for the inevitable—for someone to notice, for the tablecloth to be yanked away, for this moment to shatter.
But it doesn't come.
The conversation above continues, oblivious. She's covering for me, and the realization sends heat coursing through my veins. Laney asked me to stay put, and I didn't. I couldn't. I moved closer, drawn into her orbit like I always am, helpless against her pull. I saw the way she glanced over her shoulder earlier, the way goosebumps rose on her skin when she sensed I was still near. I'm certain she's spotted my hat sitting brazenly atop the table—my not-so-subtle calling card.
My thumb traces a slow circle against her ankle bone, and I feel the tremor that runs through her. Her breathing changes above me, becoming carefully controlled in that way that means she's fighting to stay composed. The knowledge that I'm affecting her, that she's as desperate for this connection as I am, makes me bolder.
I lean closer, my lips hovering just above her inner knee. My breath ghosts across her skin, and I watch, mesmerized, as goosebumps bloom in its wake. She shifts slightly, whether toward me or away, I can't tell, but it's enough permission for me to press the softest kiss there, right where her skin is warmest and most sensitive.
The kiss is barely there, a whisper of contact, but I feel her whole body respond. Her free hand drops to grip the edge of her chair, knuckles going white with the effort of staying still. Above me, her voice wavers slightly as she responds to whatever question was just asked, but she recovers quickly, too quickly for anyone else to notice.
"Are you sure you want to hear what I have to say?" my brother asks, and satisfaction curls in my chest. Here I am, literally on my hands and knees for this woman, and I get to eavesdrop on whatever was so important he had to pull her away from me.
