“Did he ask to see you again?”
She hesitates, and I know I’m not going to like her answer before she even opens her mouth. “He said he’s on the island indefinitely for a special project and doesn’t know a soul, so he hoped we could meet again.”
So that’s a yes.
Now I’m even more suspicious. Sure, it’s possible he heard Corinne planned to marry someone else and realized, if he still wanted her it was now or never. But that scenario feels awfully convenient.
Ever think that’s your jealousy talking?
My inner monologue needs to shut the fuck up.
“How did you answer?”
“I said I’d have to think about it. Seeing him was…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to process it.”
I’d really fucking like to know. Did she miss him? Is she still drawn to him? Does she fucking love him?
My agitation isn’t helping. I need to calm down. Corinne isn’t a player, and I can’t let my cynicism run away with my mouth.
“I’m sure it was a lot.”
She nods, still seeming slightly off-balance. “I don’t know that we could ever be friends.”
Because he burned her? Or because she wants more from him?
I quash my urge to ask what fucking hotel he’s staying at so I can pay the asshole a visit. That would make me look weak—both on social media and to Corinne. I can’t appear threatened.
But something is coming. I feel it.
“Why?” I insist. “Tell me why you can’t be friends.”
Before she can answer, Lisa’s ringtone peals between us. She wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency.
Cursing, I yank the device from my pocket. “What?”
“You need to do damage control now. Parker Emerson is all over social media, claiming that your engagement is off and that his sister will be marrying Riley Stephens.”
By ten that night, I’m speeding down the highway in my sleek two-seater Audi, gripping the wheel like it’s Riley Stephens’s throat. The son of a bitch should have stayed in her past.
Beside me, Corinne is quiet, staring pensively through the windshield. She’s hotter than I’ve ever seen her look. Hell, hotter than I’ve ever seen any woman look.
“We’re almost there.”
She bites her lip. “Is all this really necessary?”
You’re fucking right it is.
Gripping the wheel even tighter, I mentally grope for a more measured response. “It’s wise to control the narrative. Or your brother will.”
“It just feels like we’re looking for a fight.”
That’s not Corinne’s nature. I appreciate that about her, and if I could fight this battle alone, I’d be happy to. But tonight is one instance where we can’t let bygones be bygones. If we’re going to control the story about who Corinne is marrying, we have to do it together.
Parker is spreading lies, and the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he’s behind Riley’s sudden reappearance. What I don’t know is if Corinne’s ex is a co-conspirator or an unwitting accomplice. Whatever. Fuck them both. Parker is hoping to break us up.
I’m going to do everything in my power to shut him down.
No one is taking Corinne from me. This has nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with holding on to my woman.
There, I admitted it. Corinne Emerson belongs to me.
Now I have to convince her that what I feel is real and that there’s something potentially lasting between us.
“All we need to do tonight is drink, dance, and have a good time. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to confront anyone.” If any of that needs doing, I’ll handle it.
“And I appreciate that, but all this effort just to go out… And the reporters?”
After Lisa laid the bad news on me, I called Maxon and Griff to discuss strategy. I knew my oldest brothers were underhanded, but damn… Their impressively ruthless sides came out and they weren’t playing. I’m fully on board.
Then Harlow saw Parker’s “announcement” online and started fuming. She and Britta, both impeccable dressers, frequent the same upscale clothing store. My sister called the owner, Jennifer, who appeared at eight sharp with a collection of dresses, shoes, and undergarments, perfect for a killer night out.
Corinne tried on everything. For this occasion, I selected the outfit that instantly made my eyes pop and my cock hard. Jennifer called it an asymmetrical mini-cami dress. It’s metallic, in a shade so dark it’s almost black…but not quite. The gentle gathers in the fabric pull toward the middle and show off her small waist and womanly hips. Her cleavage bursts from the V-neck that’s anything but subtle, accentuated by a sleek silver chain that knots in the hollow of her throat, then dangles a shimmering length right between her lush tits. The slit above her thigh is cut nearly to her hip. The hem extends a scant couple of inches past her ass. On her dainty feet are a pair of strappy silver heels that wrap around her ankles and scream fuck me now.