Page 2 of Already His

How about if you were one of two guests, and the other one was the most terrifyingly handsome and intimidatingly rude man you’d ever met outside the covers of a regency romance novel?

Probably not a great move either.

I swayed in front of the mirror of the restroom. My face was flushed and my eyes looked three sizes too big for my face. I wasn’t a subtle drunk. I ran my hands under the cold tap, and put wet fingers around my neck, trying to sober up. As my inhibitions lowered, so did my tongue seem to loosen, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Elliot, stick-up-his ass Winter. He seemed like he’d enjoy it far too much.

I wiped my flaking eyeliner from under my eyes and accidentally poked it hard. Cursing, I blinked blearily into the mirror. Urgh, who was I kidding? I was drunk, and Elliot Winter would have to be blind not to see it.

In my defence, your best friend of all time gets married a month after meeting a verified billionaire, moves out of the crappy apartment we had shared, and plans to start law school and be super busy from now on…. You get drunk.

As her friend, I was happy for her.

As her loser friend, who spent her days measuring inseams on her knees, and running around New York to fit clothes on the wealthiest, and nastiest people in the city… I was a little, teeny tiny bit jealous.

I had to sober up. I was going to have to find my way home pretty soon, and falling face first out a cab into a gutter, wasn’t the safest move. In my neighbourhood, you put your head down, walked quickly and you never showed weakness.

I bet the other guest, Elliot Winter never had to worry about that. I dried my hands and made my way unsteadily toward the door. Not only did everything about him scream money, power and privilege, but he had the kind of build that ordinary thugs wouldn’t step up to. His scathing expression was already hard enough to endure. I sighed in resignation. At least Angel and West broke the ice around the table at dinner.

I returned to the dining room and approached the table. Elliot Winter’s eyes pinned me from across the room. He really was disturbingly hot. He watched me approach with an unreadable stare, that didn’t even budge when I tripped over someone’s bag and almost fell into a waiter carrying a heavy tray. Beyond embarrassment at this point in my drunkenness, I fell into the chair beside him with a relieved sigh.

“These heels should carry a hazard warning,” I said, taking my water and gulping it as inconspicuously as I could, “Where’s the newly-weds?”

“No doubt halfway up the stairs to their bedroom by now,” Elliot said, “They left when you were in the bathroom for half an hour.”

“And you stayed behind alone? Lucky me,” I murmured into my glass. Great, Angel and West had left me with the stuck up lawyer who seemed irritated by my very existence.

“Given the free show that they were providing the rest of the diners, I can say it was a relief,” Elliot said, bending a tanned wrist to look at a watch that was probably the same value as my apartment.

“They’re newlyweds, they shouldn’t be worrying about PDA,” I told him, annoyed by his self-righteous attitude.

“Maybe I’m old fashioned, but some things are best reserved for the bedroom,” Elliot said.

“Fine. You’re old-fashioned,” I told him sweetly. A muscle ticked in his granite jaw. The man was far too handsome to be so uptight. There was perverse satisfaction in riling his jaded bored façade. “I suppose it fits though, the control and everything,” I continued merrily.

Desert had been put on the table, a mouth-watering chocolate souffle with strawberries around the rim. There was no way I was leaving mine uneaten. I picked up one of the strawberries and bit into it. Sweet juice filled my mouth. I became aware of Elliot’s eyes on me. They were like a touch.

“Elaborate,” he said flatly.

“A high society, rich, privileged man whose parents were the same. You probably hold a pretty sexless, polite ideal of marriage… Angel and West aren’t going to be that couple. They can’t keep their hands off each other, and I think it’s romantic,” I told him, licking my tiny dessert spoon for every drop of chocolate before digging back in. “If you need to go, don’t let me stop you,” I said graciously. I’d rather scarf down the chocolate heaven alone anyway, without the disturbing inspection of Mr Ice-cold.

“I can wait,” he said shortly. Even his voice was delicious. That cultured moneyed accent hinted at a childhood spent overseas. I shrugged, as I dug my spoon into the chocolate souffle, discovering a whole underlayer of thick, oozing ganache. I brought it to my lips with a hum of anticipation.

“You really don’t have to stay,” I said around my mouthful, changing the tension laden direction of our interaction. Elliot had shifted, leaning his elbows on the table.

“I insist,” he said quietly. I glanced at him and realised his dark stare was locked at some point on my chest. Heat and indignation rose in me. Ok, so the bride’s choice of bridesmaid’s dress was pretty revealing, with a very low cut bodice, but I hardly had much to hide, if I’m honest with myself, so it didn’t look too scandalous. I didn’t have the type of chest that drew men’s eyes or legs for that matter. But there was no doubt that Elliot Winter’s eyes were firmly lodged directly at the plunging area of my pale pink chiffon halter neck gown. My nipples hardened involuntarily. My sexuality raising its sleepy head to remind me that I really should pay attention to it now and again.

“You are not really staring at my tits, are you?” I blurted out. I could feel my face reddening, but the alcohol-fuelled my courage.

“Excuse me?” Elliot said, his dark, intense eyes jumping back to mine. He looked vaguely offended by my accusation. I signed and set down the spoon I had been licking.

“Look, I get it. We went to a wedding, you’re the best man, I’m the maid of honour. It’s only fitting that we bang, right? Isn’t that how guys think?” I said, confident in my sage wisdom after almost an entire bottle of champagne to myself.

“I don’t know. Is it?” Elliot asked, settling back with an arrogance I found as irritating as it was hot. I took a calming breath through my nose.

“Look, I spend enough time on my knees, with rich jerks staring down my top on a daily basis, to have a low tolerance for the move,” I told him. He raised a dark, insolent eyebrow at me.

“What, pray tell, do you do for a living?” he wondered. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I’m a clothes designer,” I told him tartly, “And jokes on them, as there isn’t much to see anyway,” I said triumphantly, polishing off the last of my champagne.

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