Huh.
I wouldn’t have pegged Kyle for a philanthropist, but then again, I obviously didn’t know him. On New Year’s Eve, he’d be the guest of honor at some fundraising party at the Opulent Hotel. Black tie, five hundred dollars a plate.
God, he’d look great in a tux.
Wait. No.
In fact, hell-to-the-fucking nope. Fuck him in his tuxedo-wearing ass. I hoped he’d choke on a gourmet hors d’oeuvre. That was the last I was going to think about Kyle McCreary. I paid for my macarons, snatched up the bag, and flung the door open, scurrying out into the cold.
Chapter
FIVE
KYLE
I spent Christmas Eve at Payton and Dominic’s place, sitting off to the side while the rest of her coupled friends celebrated together. Noemi, Joseph’s fiancé, was considerably younger than everyone else. Even if she’d wanted to distance herself from the group, Joseph wouldn’t allow it. His arm was always around her shoulders, or a hand rested on her hip, holding her against him.
Holding her close.
Not that the girl wanted to be anywhere else. She seemed to hang on Payton’s every word, like my sister could do no wrong. Did she know what Payton used to do for a living? She had to. Her future husband created the club. He’d run it for years before selling it to Julius.
The glass of spiced eggnog in my hand was getting warm, and I ignored it. I stared out the enormous floor-to-ceiling window of my sister and her husband’s apartment which usually had a magnificent view of North Beach, only it was snowing and over
cast tonight. The only thing I could see in the window was the reflection of twinkling white lights from the Christmas tree.
Sitting in a chair across from me was a large guy, who appeared more out of place than I was, except he was attached to the redheaded FBI agent. I wasn’t sure which name to use. She’d been Special Agent Andrea Adams during the deposition, but everyone here called her Regan, her enormous boyfriend included. So I’d stick with that.
The cuffs of his sweater were pushed back, revealing a sleeve of ink on one arm. I wasn’t a tattoo person myself, but the pattern was interesting.
“Is the design yours?” I asked him, trying to make conversation. Payton had said the guy was an artist.
His voice was deep, matching his large form. “Yeah.”
Before I could compliment it, Joseph’s head turned toward us. “That reminds me, Silas. If I wanted to add to my tattoo, would you have time?”
Noemi’s face skewed with alarm. “What are you doing to your tattoo?”
“Relax,” he said, hushed. “I’m not going to change the overall design. I just want to revise the wording.” Joseph’s dark eyes lit with amusement. “I wouldn’t dream of jeopardizing your favorite part of me.”
She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing a serious expression. “It is the only reason I’m with you.”
“Oh, is it, now?” Joseph’s voice was playful, but contained an edge beneath. His hand slipped from the small of her back, coursing down until it rested on her ass, and then he squeezed so hard, she bit her bottom lip. As if silencing a yelp of surprise. “Because I can think of some other parts of me you like. Should I keep those to myself?”
She leaned in close, whispering. I couldn’t hear it, but her lips moved to form what appeared to be, “No, sir.”
Victory ran through his expression.
Watching the exchange made ugly jealousy churn deep inside me. Their partnership filled me with envy. I was aggravated I was having difficulty finding a woman I wanted to spend time with both inside and outside of the bedroom. Would I ever find one who was interested in the same things I was?
You’ve already met a woman like that.
The annoying thought slid into my brain like a seemingly innocuous line of text buried in a contract. Only those little words had major ramifications.
Yeah, I had met a woman like that, but Ruby hated my fucking guts. And I was just as angry and caught off guard as she seemed to be.
The petty streak in me was pissed she looked even better than when we’d been together at Randhurst. She’d have been easier to ignore if my cock hadn’t leaped to attention at the sight of her. It’d been ten days since the Crawfords’ meeting, but I remembered every detail of the event with painful clarity.
A strange prickle worked its way along my spine as I’d glanced at the brunette alongside the male attorney representing Mr. Crawford. My gaze started at her nude heels and moved swiftly upward as she shed her tan coat and unwrapped the plaid scarf from her neck. Beneath, she wore a navy fitted suitdress which clung perfectly to her, flaunting her hourglass figure.