“You really think I’m different, Jules? You know, maybe that’s because of my special relationship with my Oster!”
He laughed and wondered when the hell he would hear the last of that. Never, he thought, then growled in frustration and clenched her shoulders. “You don’t need to change one whit about you to catch a man. If you need to change your identity to make him see something great about you, then Garrett doesn’t deserve you. None of those bastards do.”
Something he said struck a chord. Molly stopped fiddling with the bag and clutched it firmly to her abdomen. She surveyed him in curious speculation and tilted her head a notch, those sky-blue eyes wide with innocent expectation.
“So basically,” she said, her lips lifting at the corners, those same lips he wanted to kiss more than anything until they were red and swollen and only his. “So what you’re saying is—I do look good?”
Julian stood ramrod stiff as he struggled to reply, not wanting her to be seen like this by anyone. Anyone. But he owed her the truth and he had to
shove his jealousy aside if it killed him.
And it was. Killing him.
Looking at her like this. Killing him.
Wanting her and having to wait. Killing him.
He twirled his finger in the air and thickly commanded, “Give a little spin for me.”
She spun, slowly. Yep, killing him. Her butt was so perky and round he could already feel it in his hands. Needing to do something—touch her, anywhere—he reached out to tuck a loose tendril of red hair behind her ear, then his lips curled ever so slightly on one side as he inclined his head just a fraction, and said in a gruff voice, “Yeah, baby. You look good.” And he gave that rump a little playful pat because he’d been aching to. “Too damned good.”
Five
“So do you think Garrett will like my dress, too?”
Molly’s question irritated Julian like a painful snakebite as they drove to Landon and Beth’s gated home. He hesitated before at last answering her with a tender squeeze of her hands, which she’d been nervously wringing on her lap. “No doubt about it, Mopey. Just relax, you look stunning.”
But now it was he, Julian John Gage, who needed to relax.
He felt like drinking hard, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get drunk like the night of the masquerade party, when he’d lost control and acted like some sixteen-year-old dweeb with his first girlfriend.
Oh, no. Tonight he needed all five senses and then some.
Tonight Molly needed him to put on a show and damned if he wasn’t aching to give it to her.
To all of his family.
But he felt like he had a bomb strapped to his rib cage and he wondered if he’d be able to keep his usual cool. His success might depend on it. Keeping cool, biding his time, being patient. Logically, that was what he must do. But Molly was in love with his brother, dammit, and both his head and his cool had left him a week ago when he’d learned of it.
Things he had planned to do his whole life were happening, and precipitously. Regrettably, not in the manner he had intended them to.
Never had he imagined he would experience this much jealousy over the girl he’d always planned to have for himself falling in love with his brother.
God, he still couldn’t believe this was true.
Still, he was trying very hard to screw his head back on and focus on enjoying the parts of the evening he knew would bring him pleasure.
Like showing off his new “girlfriend” to his family. “Mother, have you met Molly?” he could ask while the unspoken words that floated between them would be, The woman you warned me never to touch? I’m tumbling her all night now, and she loves it. We both do. Hey, will you excuse us for a moment? We’re going to go ahead and have sex out by the bushes….
But sadly, not even that thought brought him comfort as he handed his keys over to the valet and strode over to help Molly out of the car.
Her scent dizzied him as she stood up from the low seat.
Creamy legs…silken red hair…the sexy-as-hell curve of her neck just begging to be bitten…
He wasn’t going to think about that now. In silence, he focused on how warm and calm the night breeze was as he led her up the staircase, her hand unsteady in his.
“Molls?”