Page 127 of Claimed By The Other Brother

I trail my mouth down her jaw to her neck, biting gently before licking the spot. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"We're at an event," she whispers, but she doesn't push me away.

"I know." I kiss her neck again, my hands roaming her body.

"I've been watching you all night."

"I know. I could feel it."

We're pressed against the wall, hidden around the corner from the main space. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see us. I don't care.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register a flash. A camera? A reflection from the main room? But Scarlett's mouth is on mine again, and I forget about it. We kiss for another minute, desperate and hungry, before she pulls back, breathing hard.

"We have to get back," she says.

"I know." I rest my forehead against hers.

"But I'm having you tonight. All night. I'm going to wear you out."

She laughs softly. "Promises, promises."

"Not a promise. A guarantee."

She straightens her dress, checking her reflection in a window.

"You go first. I'll follow in a minute."

I steal one more kiss, then head back to the event. The energy in the room hasn't changed. People are still mingling, drinking, bidding on auction items. No one seems to have noticed our absence.

I grab a fresh drink and rejoin a conversation about media ethics, but my mind is already elsewhere. A few minutes later, she reappears, seamlessly blending back into the crowd. She catches my eye once, smiles, then turns her attention to the woman she was talking to earlier.

We stay for another hour, playing our roles. Professional. Cordial. Separate. But when the event winds down and we leave in separate cars, I know exactly where she's going.

To my place.

Where I'll keep my promise.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Scarlett

My phone buzzes on my desk. I glance at the screen:Miles.

I silence it without reading the message. This has been happening more frequently over the past week. What used to be a call every couple of days and a text message once a day has escalated. Now he's calling multiple times a day, leaving voicemails I don't listen to, sending texts I don't read.

I stopped answering over a month ago. Right after Dax told me about Miles running to his ex-girlfriend while I was in Chicago trying to recover from the humiliation of being abandoned at my own wedding.

The guilt I used to feel—the nagging sense that I was betraying Miles by being with Dax—vanished the moment I learned the truth. Miles made his choice—multiple choices, actually. And none of them were me. So I don't feel guilty anymore. I feel free.

My phone buzzes again—another call. I decline it and get back to work.

Later that afternoon, I'm walking past the conference rooms when I see Dax coming out of a meeting. He catches my eye and slows his pace.

"Scarlett." His voice is professional, but his eyes aren't.

"Mr. Blackwell."

We're alone in the corridor. He steps closer, his voice dropping.