I stare it down. Wish it away. Focus on all the details like a detective might. Faces directed towards the camera. The position of their hands clasped together. The shape of their smiles. Wanting to see a message, a clue, that even then, on that wonderful day, they were only friends. I don’t see it.
I see love.
I find myself glaring at it.
“I had no idea it was an arranged marriage,” Cassidy says, stopping beside me, also looking at the picture, and I try for a smile, but I’ve never been particularly good at feigning them. “So, you can imagine I was shocked, well, by you. But Clay is like a robot. He’s hard to read, and he has this trained charm that he turns on for everyone around him. He is always… I dunno,performing, ya know? Shoshanna says he’s been like that for as long as she has known him.”
I scoff with derision.
She touches my shoulder with hers, a little bump of sorts. “And she told me of a time when she was in high school. Clay picked her up from her house. On the drive, he told her that he would not marry for love. That his love story with Aurora was not real. But he wanted love for his brothers, and he would protect them… He’s not in love with her, Fawn. And he never was, but he knew what it looked like. He saw it in Shoshanna and Bronson when they were just children. He knew it was worth having. Worth protecting. He just sacrificed his own chance at it for them. Until you.”
I sulk. “He looks in love.”
“Little deer.” His voice nearly throws me over with the deep power in the commanding tone.
I twist to see Clay stepping through Max and Cassidy’s front door. His body a formidable machine now sauntering towards me in an expertly tailored navy suit.
My pulse begins to race, just like it always does. My belly swarms with butterflies, vibrating and reminding me he’s still the master of my nerves. How is it that I am not used to this man yet?
He stops close, his essence radiating warmth towards me, and I peer up at him through my blonde lashes. Yep. Out of all the atoms in the world, in the universe, the ones that make up Clay Butcher are far more superior than any others.
“I’m staring at the camera, sweet girl,” he says pointedly. His finger touches my chin, lifting it. “Since the moment I laid my eyes on you, they have not wanted to be anywhere else.Remember?”
“Naww.” Cassidy swoons, gazing puppy-eyed at us, and Clay doesn’t even flinch, no visual disdain with her cooing over his statement. He is above it. Above embarrassment. “I’ll go,” she adds quietly. “See you two outside. Everyone is out there.”
She wanders away, and I melt into his attention. “I’m glad you’re here, Sir. But now you can go make up with your brother.”
He steps backward to rake his heated stare over my appearance, his eyes travelling over my flowy shirt and high-waisted jeans. There is a slither of skin between the denim and the shirt, and his eyes stop on it. “You look adorable.Young.You make me feel like a dirty old man, sweet girl.”
I smile, liking the way his eyes drag along my skin.
He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together, pressing his palm to mine so every part of his touches every part of mine. “Follow me, then I may take you outside.”
May take me? God, he’s bossy.
The heat between our bodies rises as we walk in the opposite direction to where Cassidy disappeared. My conditioned response to his intent stirs inside me, a ball of hot need swelling in my core, inducing wetness, igniting an animal instinct. Overly aroused, I try to ignore the pictures of sweet Cassidy dancing in her studio, ballet accolades, and a few of Max boxing that follow me down the corridor.
I am panting by the time we stop outside a closed door, my pulse having picked up pace, now a little trot in my throat. “Here? I’m not exactly quiet—"
“You nearly fainted, little deer.”
Unreadable, he reaches for the door and opens it, ushering me inside a—I bump into the ceramic bowl—a toilet?
He shuts the door, pressing his back to it. I turn to look up at his serious expression as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small plastic wrapped straw-shaped package. “I need you to remove the cap, urinate on the end of this—"
“Oh. My. God!” I exclaim, before spitting out, “That’s why you’re here! Dobber. Rat. Pain in my arse. I thought he worked for me now. I’m firing him.” I call out to the closed door, knowing HJ probably isn’t even inside the house, “Hear that? You’re fired, Henchman Jeeves—”
Clay takes a firm hold of my jaw, my voice muffled and then silenced completely. “Quiet, sweet girl. Your bratty side will get you fucked.” The intensity in his fingers as they dip into my skin snatches my breath; he’s deadly serious right now. His eyes change—large ominous pupils expand like black dye until the clear-blue within is merely a thin ring. “I won’t wait a moment on this.” His voice deepens. “I need to know why you nearly fainted. Now. Sit. Do as I say.”
He lowers his mouth to my ear, blanketing me in hot breath, danger, possessiveness, a warning in his radiating heat. “Then I’ll tend to that weeping little pussy with my fingers before we go outside.”
Releasing his hold on my jaw, his fingertips tend to the divots they left, massaging my cheeks a few times before falling away.
He straightens and nods to the bowl. “I won’t leave you needy, sweet girl. Don’t leave me concerned.”
My pulse upgrades from a trot to a full-blown gallop in my throat as I take the small plastic package from him. I know what this is. I’ve done this once before.
And it was positive.