He cut her off with his hand over her mouth again. “Do not think of saying sorry. And do not lick my hand. Not unless you want something to occupy your tongue.”
Was he talking about his dick?
She hoped he was.
“No more, understand? I probably wouldn’t want to tell people if Chandler was my stepfather, either.”
Relief filled her at his understanding. He removed his hand.
“You’re a good man, Butch Malone. The best man.”
“I know,” he said with a wicked grin. “Just make sure you say that around my brothers, okay? Their egos are out of control, and they really need to know who the best brother is. Me.”
“I’ll do that,” she said with a grin.
He held out his elbow, and she slipped her hand into it, letting him escort her out. They had to move at a slow pace because she could only shuffle.
“Is there a reason why your dress is, um, so much different from all the other bridesmaids’ dresses?” he asked as he opened the door for her.
“No reason. Other than my sister being mean and vindictive.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “I knew she was a piece of work, but this is just next level.”
“I know. And you should have seen what the makeup artist put on my face. She’d obviously told her to make me look as terrible as possible. I was all orange. I washed it off as well as I could. Better to be washed out and pale than look like a giant peach.” She grinned up at him, then nearly tripped over her own feet.
“This thing is a fucking trip hazard. Come on, we’re going to do something about it before you break your ankle.” He led her back into the kitchen and asked one of the wait staff for something quietly.
They returned with a pair of scissors. He wasn’t . . . would he?
Butch took the scissors. “Thank you.”
She liked that he thanked the other man. Chandler liked to ignore the people he employed. She’d always hated that.
He crouched down, then looked up at her as she made a strangled noise. “Objections?”
“No. I just . . . my sister will be so mad.”
“So?”
Exactly. So? What could she do? And it really was a hazard. Her poor elbow was still burning.
“Do it,” she said firmly.
“That’s my girl.” He cut along the side of the dress until just above her knees. She felt this instant relief that her lower legs were free. Then he went around to her other side and did the same.
“Now, we can actually dance without you falling over.” He stood and held out his elbow. “Shall we, princess?”
She grinned at him and took his arm once more. “We shall, prince charming.”
16
As they stepped out of the storeroom, a man strode up to them.
“Lara!”
She groaned. Butch slid his arm around her, pulling her close. The other guy didn’t look at him, but he saw his jaw tighten at the move.
Didn’t like that, huh?
Tough luck, buddy. The girl is mine.
Butch studied the smaller guy. He had his chest puffed out and his thinning hair slicked back. A light sheen of sweat covered his face. He seemed nervous but determined.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile.
“Why?” she asked.
His smile drooped. “What?”
“Why would you be looking for me? You don’t know me.”
“But we met last night. We have a connection.”
“This is Marcus?” Butch guessed.
“Uh-huh. Listen, Marcus. I don’t know you. We don’t have a connection. And you’re being rude right now since I’m standing here with my date.”
Finally, the guy turned his gaze to Butch. He swallowed heavily. Then his gaze went back to Lara. Determined, wasn’t he?
“Lara, we both know that he isn’t what you need. Who even is he? Your father assured me—”
“Chandler is not my father. And I don’t know what he assured you of, but whatever it was, he lied. I’m not interested in you. I’m here with Butch and he is exactly what I need. If you get my drift.”
The guy frowned. “Your family will never accept someone like him.”
“Someone like me? You mean someone who will do whatever is necessary to protect Lara?” Butch stepped forward and slid her slightly behind him. “Like get rid of annoying little gnats who keep pestering her? Someone like that?”
“Are you threatening me?” Marcus asked in a high-pitched voice.
“Just telling you the truth. I don’t know what Chandler has told you, and it would probably anger me more if you told me. But what I do know is that Lara doesn’t want you. And Lara makes the decisions about her life, not Chandler. Now, you’re going to leave and not look or talk to Lara again. Got me? Or you and I . . . we’re gonna have issues. And you don’t want to fuck with a Malone. It’s kind of our family motto.”