“Yeah,” I say quickly, squeezing Josie’s hand.
Jack’s eyes narrow.
Zane whistles. “He let akidin the house? Damn, thisisserious.”
“It’s not serious,” Jack growls.
“Sure it’s not,” Ridge mutters.
Jack stiffens, then glances at Josie—who’s watching the group with wide, cautious eyes. Jack doesn’t say a word, but I notice the way his hand clenches on the bottle.
The protectiveness isn’t lost on me.
And I’m not sure what to do with the lump in my throat.
“So, Jack,” Zane drawls from the end. “You tapping that, or what?”
The table goes dead silent. Even Josie stops sipping.
My cheeks flame.
Jack’s gaze whips to me—dark, lethal, unapologetic.
“Watch it,” he spits at Zane, voice low and sharp.
Zane raises his hands, grinning. “Just asking. You know how tight-ass you get about your ‘space.’ Figured if she’s living in it, you’re?—”
Jack slams his beer down hard enough to rattle the glasses.
“She’s off-limits.”
A pause. Then Zane whistles again. “Damn.That’s the closest thing to a love confession I’ve ever heard from Jack.”
My throat’s dry. My whole body’s hot.
Because he didn’t deny it.
He just claimed me.
Chapter Six
Jack
I’m not a suit guy.
Give me a flannel, jeans, and a quiet day in the shop, and I’m good. Weddings? Not so much.
But tonight, I’m wearing a goddamn tie—and Holly Dawson is to blame.
She walks into the lodge ballroom like she owns the mountain. Hair twisted up, dress clinging to every curve, mouth glossed and smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
And maybe she does.
Because my palms itch. My jaw’s tight. And every single person at this wedding is suddenly an obstacle between me and the woman currently pretending to be my date.
Fake. This whole thing is fake.
Right.
