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“You think this is fun, just wait till you see what I’ve got in store for you next.” Deliberately I let my hand slip.
“Miles, stop!” She clutches me even more tightly. “Let me up. Please.”
As soon as she says the magic word, I straighten, pulling her with me. “See? Told you you’d ask me nicely.”
Her full, pink-slicked lips thin dangerously—a surefire sign that she’s about to let me have it. As is the gleam in her chocolate-brown eyes and the fists she has clenched at her sides. I’ve been on the receiving end of Tori’s anger enough this past year that I can recognize the signs.
I deserve it—God knows I’ve been taunting her since I pulled her onto the dance floor. But just because I deserve it doesn’t mean I’m going to stick around to watch the fireworks. A smart man always knows the value of a strategic exit.
So that’s what I do. I shoot her a cocky wink and an even cockier grin, and then I walk away, leaving her staring after me with an open mouth and wide, sober eyes. Furious eyes, yes, but sober ones, her anger at me burning off the last of her champagne buzz.
All in all, not bad for a five-minute dance. The dance instructor my mother hired when I was still in high school would be so proud…
Chapter 3
Tori
Miles Girard is an asshole. A total and complete asshole.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to chase after him and tell him exactly that and a lot more. Only the knowledge that that’s exactly what he’s waiting for—and that he’d probably find a way to spin that, too, and make it sound like I’m chasing him because I’m nurturing some secret obsession with him—keeps me from doing just that.
As if. I know what he’s capable of—I’ve been best friends with Chloe long enough to know just how much she’s suffered. It takes a real asshat to sell his sister out for the start-up capital for his business. Especially when selling her out meant letting her rapist buy his way out of trouble—and prison.
Her parents might have been the masterminds of the situation, but he went along. He can claim he didn’t know what they were doing at the time, but the guy’s got an even higher IQ than Ethan does and I’m not buying it. If the last year has taught me anything about him, it’s that Miles Girard knows how to get his way. With his sister, with his inventions, with his women. No way am I going to fall into that trap, even if it means I have to bite my tongue clear off.
Which—I’m not going to lie—I might have to do. Discretion isn’t exactly my strong suit. Still, I stay where I am, staring after him and grinding my teeth in an effort to keep from letting him see just how badly he’s gotten to me. Then again, I’m pretty sure he already knows. Men like Miles always know when they’re pushing a woman’s buttons—and they do it on purpose, just because they can.
I should know. After all, I do exactly the same thing with men, but for very different reasons.
I track him until he reaches the bar—all without so much as a backward glance at me—then I shake my head. Turn away. No way in hell am I going to give him any more of my time tonight. He doesn’t deserve it.
But as I snag one final glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter—after the encounter I just had, I figure I deserve it—I can’t stop myself from thinking about him. About how strong his hands felt when he spun me out on the dance floor and about how warm his body was when he pulled me back in. If he’d been anyone else I might have been tempted to climb him like a cat with a tree. But he isn’t someone else. He’s Miles Girard, Chloe’s bastard of an older brother.
Not for the first time I wonder how the two of them can possibly be siblings.
They have nothing in common. Well, nothing except their super-sharp brains and stunning good looks. Both are long and lean, with cheekbones you can hang the moon on and faces that demand a second—and third—look. Only their eyes are different.
While Chloe’s are a deep green, warm with compassion and kindness, Miles’s glitter blue with ice-cold calculation. The man is always thinking, always scheming, always dreaming up new inventions and devising new strategies. About everything. He spends so much time in his own head it’s a miracle he can even function in the real world.
Not that it matters to me if he can function or not. He’s Chloe’s douchebag older brother—nothing more and nothing less. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even know he existed.
With that joyous thought in my head, I lift my glass of champagne to my lips and down it in one long swallow. I may be stuck at this party for the foreseeable future—no way am I letting him think he chased me away—but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a good time while I’m here. I grab one more glass of champagne and down that one, too, then weave my way through the crowd, determined to find a hot guy to flirt with for a little while. One who doesn’t have Miles’s shaggy dark hair or vile personality.
I only have to take a dozen steps or so before I’m face-to-face with Alexander Parsons. One of the hot pack of British actors to gain popularity in the States during the last few years, he’s gorgeous, cunning, and a complete and total fuckhead. I should know—we were hot and heavy a couple of years ago, right up until I found him fucking a pair of twins in my bed.
I didn’t handle it well. Not because I was in love with him or anything, but because I don’t tolerate cheating. Be with me, don’t be with me, I don’t care. But if you are with me, even if it’s just for a fling, then you’re with me. Not with me and also with two Brazilian models, no matter how beautiful—or flexible—they are.
Still, as he smiles at me, all charm and self-deprecation, I can’t help smiling back. I’ll never go out with the guy again, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hang with him for a little while. Let Alexander know that I’m totally over what happened between us, all the while making Miles realize just how absurd it was for him to even suggest that I was following him.
“Tori Reed,” Alexander says as he pulls me into a hug that’s just a little too close. “I thought that was you burning up the dance floor.”
“It’s me,” I agree, tilting my head back so I can look up at him. He’s not as tall as Miles, but he is nearly six feet, while I top out at five foot six, even in my Loubis. “How are you?”
“I’m doing great. I’m up in LA these days, filming on the new Chris Nolan project. I couldn’t be that close and not make it down for Jim’s engagement party.” He grabs a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and holds one out to me. I think about refusing it for a few seconds, but then I make the mistake of scanning the crowd. It only takes a couple of seconds for me to lock eyes with Miles, to see the small, nearly imperceptible shake of his head as he looks between Alexander and me.
That’s all it takes to have me reaching for the glass with the tinkling laugh I reserve for men whose egos are bigger than their brains. “Ooh, that sounds so exciting! Chris Nolan is such a great director. What’s the new project?”
Alexander launches into an answer so long and drawn out, I’m convinced I’ll regret asking the question before much longer. But I still link my free arm through his as I very deliberately turn my back on Miles. If Chloe’s brother actually thinks he can tell me what to do, he’s in for a huge disappointment.
