Page 43 of Deny Me
“I wouldn’t miss the chance to see my spitfire in a dress like this one.”
“Be careful or I’ll stab you.” Elliot slid a hand down her thigh, pulling the thin material of the dress tight against her skin, and Charlotte realized with a start that the ridge she was seeing was a strap, probably holding a knife to the shapely slope of muscle above Elliot’s knee.
“I think she means it,” she said.
“Oh, she does.” Deacon’s growl was one of the sexiest sounds Charlotte had ever heard. She could barely make out his wink in the growing gloom inside the limo.
Elliot’s laugh seemed huskier than usual. Charlotte couldn’t help laughing as well.
The Magnolia Ball was held every year at the Swan House in Buckhead, about an hour north of Charlotte’s parents’ house, on the opposite end of Atlanta. Now part of the Atlanta History Center, the 1930s mansion went through extensive renovations early in the twenty-first century, and Charlotte got a thrill every time she pulled up the drive and saw the glorious steps lining either side of a scalloped fountain cascading down the front hill. Two iconic blue doors were thrown wide this evening, inviting the cream of Atlanta’s society inside the antebellum mansion.
Saint stopped the car, then rounded to open the back door of the limo. King went first, giving Charlotte an excellent view of the man’s round, firm ass beneath the hem of his tux, before he turned to offer her a hand. Taking a deep breath, she accepted.
Elliot and Deacon followed them up the right-hand staircase to the open doors. There King offered the invitation that had been couriered to the house, including Ms. Alexander and three guests. The suited attendant didn’t blink as he nodded them inside.
The black-and-white marble tile in the foyer led the eye directly to a starkly beautiful curved staircase at the back. Wrought-iron spindles marched up each step, a mix of modern and vintage that caught at Charlotte’s imagination each time she saw it. But tonight her breath caught for a different reason—the couple standing near the staircase, their two handsome sons flanking them like blond, blue-eyed bookends. All four held glasses of champagne, and she quickly wished painkillers didn’t preclude a bit of liquid courage when the older son caught sight of them.
“Charlotte?”
Wes moved toward them, confusion plain on his face. Something in Charlotte’s stomach eased at that look. If Wes were behind this, he would’ve known she was coming, right? Instead a vee creased his brows as he surveyed their little group.
“I thought you’d decided against appearances for now,” he admonished as he joined them. Over his shoulder she saw his parents, Warren and Christy Moncrief, and Hugh, their youngest son, moving toward them. King’s grip on her hand tightened briefly as he caught sight of the couple as well, before returning to the polite, gentle hold she detested. Here, in this moment—or, let’s face it, from the moment he’d walked back into her chaotic life—polite was the last thing she wanted. His strength was a blessing she’d always drawn from. If she couldn’t have all of him, she could at least have that, right?
“Charlotte.” Warren, King’s uncle, directed his attention to her before glancing over his nephew. “Kingsley. This is quite the surprise. I had no idea you were still in Atlanta.”
A sarcastic twist to King’s mouth said he wasn’t surprised his extended family hadn’t kept track of him. “I am.”
“King works for JCL Security,” Wes offered.
“A prestigious firm,” Christy said, sounding impressed. She and her husband appreciated rank as much as wealth, though compared to King’s parents, they were merely snobs. King’s parents…well, they were unbearable. At least Christy and Warren had provided a loving home for their boys.
King ignored the comment—prestige had never done it for him, Charlotte knew—and turned to offer his hand to Wes’s brother. Hugh had been younger than the rest of them growing up, often tagging along when the teenagers were doing their best to wander off on their own. He’d grown up without a care in the world, and as far as Charlotte knew, he hadn’t taken on any since he reached adulthood. Wes was the hard worker in that family, putting every ounce of energy he had into building his law practice with little more than his genius and an inheritance from his grandmother on Christy’s side. Hugh had never held a job that Charlotte knew of, though he didn’t get into the kind of trouble too many rich, privileged kids so often did.
“Good to see you, King,” Hugh said, his white teeth shining in a flirty smile that he aimed at Charlotte, then Elliot. “Who’s your friend?”
Elliot opened her mouth, no doubt to eviscerate the man with her usual disregard for tact, only to have Deacon interrupt. “She’s taken.”
There was that growl again. Charlotte shivered, and at that moment it clicked—the gravelly rumble was eerily similar to the sound King made when he climaxed. A rough, throaty sound that had extended her own peak every time she heard it. How could she have forgotten?
“Charlotte?”
Shaking away the realization—and the heat it generated low in her belly—she focused back in on the conversation. “Yes?”
Wes’s fingers were on her elbow, tugging her away from the group. A glance at King gave her a small nod; he was watching. She relaxed and allowed Wes to pull her toward him.
“What’s going on?”
Her weariness came through in the sigh that escaped. “Creating Families is receiving a surprise donation tonight. I needed to be present.”
“Surely someone else…” Wes’s lips tightened, his hand coming up to smooth across her cheek. “You should be home taking care of yourself.”
She would give anything for that to be the case, but… “Duty calls,” she said, giving him a barely there smile.
Wes glanced back at their group. “You’re here with King.” He cleared his throat. “Is that… What…” His hand balled into a fist against her skin, but when he turned back to her, he relaxed. “Never mind. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing, really,” she said. “I hope to leave as soon as this donation thing is taken care of. My head’s getting better, but I would rather be anywhere than standing on four-inch heels right now.”
He pulled her close, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the firm body against hers was the body she dreamed of late at night when no one else knew. “Well, I’m here,” he said, then pulled back slightly. “I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”
