“What do you mean, no?” I bark back.
“It’s not just us now. It’s everyone in our lives. It’s all my baggage. It’s notjustus.”
I ignore her protest. If I’m going to lay this out, then I want her to hear all of it.
“The only thing I can think about since we’ve been back is you. I want you so fucking badly; I’m minutes away from kissing you in front of the whole room so they know you’re mine, and then telling them all to get the fuck out so I can devour the rest of you.” I rub my hand in between her legs, making her gasp.
I feel unhinged. I should have done all those things already, never mind just saying it out loud. She’s searching my face, unsure of what to say, but her body’s already answered me. The moment I said she was all that I could think about, she leaned in closer, her fingers gripped my shoulders tighter, and I watched her close her eyes with a hum. I nip at her neck and kiss behind her ear again.
She whispers, “Dammit,” and then seconds later, she pushes me away. Shaking her head, she says, “We agreed. You agreed.” She moves back toward the bar, and I can see the deep breath she takes, trying to steady herself.
“I take it back,” I say as she keeps walking.
Her eyes water and the shakiness of her voice gives away exactly how much she doesn’t mean the next few words out of her mouth. “It’s done, Henry. That’s over now. Just leave it.”
None of this is simple with her. We can’t just leave it. “You’re not fucking anyone else,” I yell after her. She stops mid-step and turns back around at that.
“Oh, is that so?”
“That’s fucking so, Pixie. That mouth of yours.” I nod down. “And that pussy. They’re mine.”
She starts laughing. Like I’m not serious. Like if I saw her with another man, I wouldn’t end up with bloody knuckles and in the back of Callen’s police cruiser again.
Without another word, she heads back to the party. There’s a small smile on her lips, which she hides quickly, but I saw it. I’ve just thrown down some kind of fucked up gauntlet.
When I make my way back, I find a poker table with a few guys, Michael and Law included. Michael’s taking them for all their worth. I look over at the tattoo set-up, watching Sean rest his hand on G’s leg under the table as she draws along his skin. I shake my head. My pulse rate kicks up, and I’m beyond pissed.
Because she’s right; it’s over unless I can figure out a way to make it work. I know the hurdles. My business shines too much attention on me. She’s already taking unnecessary risks by being tied to my family in the first place. The only way I can avoid watching her with other men for the rest of my life is to find a way out of that spotlight.
43
Giselle
It’s been twenty minutes.Twenty minutes of obsessing about what the fuck they’re talking about. About what’s so funny. He’s notthatfunny. I’ve watched his head kick back in laughter more than five times. She touched his arm at least three. And now, she’s perched on the table in front of him in a proximity that is far too close. He’s been flirting with a burlesque dancer for more than twenty goddamn minutes now, and I want to tattoo her face with permanent uneven eyebrows. She touches his chest, right where I know his tattoo lives. It takes every ounce of willpower not to yell at her and tell her to keep her hands off.That’s mine!
I know it’s not her fault, but I’m not thinking logically—or chicks before dicks right now. That’smyflyboy. And it’s not like I don’t get it. I do, heisdelicious. Anyone who would look around this room and not pick Henry first would have to be blind. Even with it being chock full of thirst traps and pro athletes. My bestie’s hubs is hot as hell, too, but he puts off yellow caution tape energy that screams, “I’m taken.” Hell, even Michael and Law are attractive as all get out, but Henry Riggs.Sigh. Henry Montana Riggs is something entirely different. When those mismatched eyes are focused on you, it’s a whole new level of nervous energy mixed with wet panties and a twinge of aggression. It’s like the greatest, full body cocktail that’s been shaken and stirred to drive women insane. He’s a sexual mixologist. I’m drunk on him, and that woman better step the fuck off.
I’m not even going to dive into the way he holds me when I sleep or how he knows exactly how much cheese is too much cheese in my grilled cheese sandwiches.
“What do you think?”
A hand squeezes my thigh, knocking me out of my internal rage campaign against that burlesque girl. I look down at the bear paw around my leg, and then back at its owner.
“Hands off, Sean baby. You had your turn, remember?”
I slap the last bit of wrap over his tattoo, and he sits up. “I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to, sweets.”
I smile. Sean King is a giant ass, but he’s a sweetheart at the core of it. We had a bit of fun a few years ago, but I like leaving the past where it belongs. No repeats.
As I think it, I look back to Henry. Except with him. I only want repeats with him.
* * *
It’s taken me exactly ninety-two minutes of talking to myself, four blocks of walking, three pieces of American cheese, two outfit changes to feel like I’ve combined the right amount of “fuck me right now” and “I’m going to tease you until you explode” vibes. And a gondola ride to get my ass to his front door.
I knock quickly before I lose my nerve. I hear the faint sound of music playing from inside, which I’m surprised, because it’s well after midnight now.
Maybe I should have sexted ahead?