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GRACE
“You know, it’s not nice to be prettier than the bride.”
I spin around and yelp, as my Christian Louboutin slips in the icy snow beneath my feet.
Oh, come on . . .
That’s not my only thought as the ice-cold, snow-covered ground comes flying up toward my face—just my first—before two giant arms catch me, stopping my fall. “I’ve got you, tiny dancer.”
That voice . . .
“What the heck, Ares?” My fingers dig into my newly minted brother-in-law’s brother’s bigass biceps as I cling to him for support while I get my bearings. “You scared the shit out of me. Give a girl a warning next time.”
I take a step back, slightly more careful this time, and a shiver skirts down my spine.
Not sure if this one is from the cold or the man.
“Damn, good twin. What crawled up your tutu?” Ares shrugs out of his dark tux jacket and drapes it over my bare shoulders, even though I just cursed him out, solidifying that, in fact, it was the man who caused the shiver.
Damn man.
“Nothing,” I lie and slide my arms into the jacket, enjoying the cool, crisp cedar and sandalwood scent that envelops me. Good lord, this man always smells good. “I’m fine. We should go back inside.” Leave it to my twin sister to get married during the biggest snowstorm Kroydon Hills has seen in over twenty years. The wedding was already supposed to be small, but the storm cut the original guest list in half, leaving only our closest friends and any family who already live within the city limits. And apparently, each of them is nosier than the last.
“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to stand out in a snowstorm inthatdress, not that I’m complaining.” He crosses the lapels of his jacket across my chest and runs his hands up and down my arms. “You might have everyone in there fooled, but I’m not as blind as the rest of them. Your smile’s been sad today.”
“You’ve known me for like two months, god of war... you don’t know my smile.” There goes that damn chill again. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But when I raise my eyes to meet his stormy blue ones, my carefully constructed wall weakens, and that first crack stings like a bitch.
Ares sees it too. His ever-present cocky grin kicks up just a little higher on the right side than the left. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a man who smiles as much as he does.
“You’re infuriating, you know that? You get off acting like an ass, but there’s secretly a decent guy under that swagger, isn’t there?”
“I’ve been called worse.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and guides me to the glass doors leading back into the dimly lit hotel ballroom. “Come on. Let’s get you inside and get a drink in you to warm you up. Then you can spill all your dirty little secrets.”
“Who says I have dirty secrets?” I counter, knowing full well he’d run fast and far if he only knew. They all would.
The French doors click shut behind us as the strains of a Lumineers song plays through the sound system. “We all have dirty secrets, Grace. Some are just more fun to figure out than others.”
Ares. The god of war. Tall, broad, insanely muscular, and devastatingly dark and handsome. All too perfect for this Greek god.
A moment later, he turns that smile on me and hands me a fancy glass full of Everly and Cross’s signature wedding cocktail. I look at it skeptically while Ares taps a bottle of beer against the glass. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I take a sip, leaving my eyes on his, then choke back a cough and hiss as the liquor burns my throat. “Oh my God. This is awful.”
“Yeah. Pretty sure the bartender is the owner’s kid or something. I heard a rumor the actual bartender couldn’t make it in because of the snow.” He grins and lifts his bottle. “That’s why I’m sticking to beer.”
I take another sip, then set the glass down on the bar and internally debate whether I want to be able to remember tonight when I wake up tomorrow.
If I finish that glass, I may not have the option.
I opt for plan B and snatch Ares’s beer from his hand, run my finger over the lip, and take a sip.
“I got offered a job this morning,” I answer quietly, unable to believe I said the words out loud.
Completely unfazed, he picks up my glass and throws back half of it in one gulp. “Yeah. That’s fucking awful.” Then he swallows the rest. “But congrats on the job. Isn’t that good news?” Then, as if he’s working through what he just said, his eyes scrunch up at the corners. “Wait... I thought you already had a job.”
“I was offered a better one today.” I turn and find us an unoccupied table—easy to do in a room that’s supposed to seat two hundred and fifty but has less than fifty people in it. I can feel him behind me before I sit down. Something about this man is magnetic, not that I’ll ever admit that to him.
