Page 64 of Tangled Ambition

“Yet paper beats rock.”

He shrugged, arms flopping at his sides like he had given up. Like he had nothing to lose. “I covered you, now I need you to hold me steady.”

Well, fuck.

Momentarily transported to that Friday night when he’d stayed by my side, comforted me, covered me, I found myself grinning like a lovestruck idiot.

And I had to lock that down. Immediately. I masked my face into something I hoped was indifference as I pointed a stern finger at him. “I do not ‘YMCA’ or ‘Cupid Shuffle’ or whatever other stupid song they always play at weddings.”

“Me either, but I doubt there will be any of that. Ethan has spent weeks putting the playlist together.”

“And don’t expect me to be in pictures.”

He cocked his head. “Do demons show up in photos?”

I bared my teeth. “We’ll see how much blood you have left at the end of the night.”

“You think that scares me?”

“It should.”

He took one step toward me, and I reflexively took one step back, even though we were separated by at least fifteen feet. “Nothing you could do or say would ever scare me away.”

Thatscared me. This thread that had formed between us over the last few weeks, the knowledge that he and I were more alike than either one of us had wanted to admit, the fire that was feeling more and more like lust had only brightened. It all scared me.

Yet, I nodded, agreeing to be Dean Hargrove’s wedding date.

Satan help me.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Dean

The morning of Laney and Ethan’s wedding was hectic to say the least. Gabe arrived back in town Thursday night, and I’d taken off work Friday to help with last-minute stuff my sister needed me to take care of before the rehearsal. Which mostly involved keeping my mother settled.

This wedding was huge, almost three hundred people, most of whom Laney and Ethan only knew tangentially, but when your father was a well-known orthodontist and your mother was basically the Don Corleone of a national human resources firm, it wasn’t just a wedding. It was an extravaganza.

Saturday, I was up early, or at least I thought I was until I was greeted with a text from Taylor at six in the morning.

Beelzebub

Don’t fuck up today. Everyone will be watching.

For the last two weeks, I’d played it cool with her. I had kept my hands and dirty thoughts about Taylor’s moans and lips and teeth to myself. I was basically an altar boy around her. Then I’d go home, recall whatever fucking bra she wore to the gym that day, and beat off in the shower.

I couldn’t fault her for pushing me away that night in the office when I’d basically begged her without words to kiss me again. She was right. It was too much to digest whatever we were: friends, enemies, or something in between that felt like wanting to peel off my skin every time I was around her.

I didn’t quite understand it myself—the urge to bend her over my desk and fuck her while she called me names and threatened to cut my balls off. All I knew was that it was aterribleidea. Yet it was all I wanted. All I could think about.

And I was going to bring her to my sister’s wedding and…not do anything.

It was going to be great.Great!

I texted her back.

I do my best work with people watching.

Beelzebub

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