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Prologue
“Son of a bitch!” I curse under my breath and close my reading app. “A damn cliffhanger.”
I hate cliffhangers. Especially if the next book isn’t out yet. I know for a fact there wasn't a disclaimer or a warning. Hell, she didn’t even add “book one” to the title. I guess it's for the best. I am at my sister's wedding after all. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I scan the crowd looking for my family. After the third pass, I conclude that I’m the last LeClaire in the building. I did it again. I’m prone to zoning out and being caught in my own world, but I thought they’d at least say goodbye. It’s not like Karessa is running off to a honeymoon.
Do people in arranged marriages want honeymoons?
At the end of the day, marriage is a contract, people just need to make sure they have the correct terms. I’d participate in an arranged marriage with the right guy and the right terms. Lord knows I haven’t had luck with natural selection anyway. Besides, since they seem to be a trend right now, I can’t help but look at the specs. Jagger Hanlon: over six feet tall, lean and muscular, brown hair, rich brown eyes, and a wicked smile. Oran Hale: also over six feet tall, thick and muscular - he looked damn good in his navy suit, black hair, gray eyes, and a sexy scowl. Both could get it under different circumstances. Yes. I’d arrange the hell out of a marriage for stability and a sexy man.
The DJ is giving the dancefloor good traffic as she plays all the dance hits despite the guests of honor disappearing. I don’t have to look for Esme to know she’s run off on her next adventure. Sometimes I wish I could be free like that, flirting and running off with a guy who catches my fancy.
I need a drink.
Bypassing wedding guests as they laugh, talk, and dance - which is easy since the last LeClaire sister isn’t as known as the other two - I make my way to the open bar. Virgil, Karessa’s go-to bartender for such events, gives me his full attention and smiles at me.
“Hey Baby LeClaire,” he still greets me like I’m not twenty-six. “You’re looking very pretty tonight. I’m surprised they got you out of the house,” he jokes.
His brown skin crinkles at the corners as he teases me.
“First of all, it’s Imala. Second, I may be a homebody - which is completely fine - but I do leave the house.”
“To sit in the corner and read?” he volleys.
“Are you watching me, old man?” I tease him back. At forty-five, he’s not old but he’s still nineteen years my senior.
“Nope. Just observing as bartenders do. What can I get for you?”
“Four,” I answer.
“Four what?” he questions, leaning forward on the bar doing his best to give me a reprimanding scowl. It doesn’t work.
“Four shots of brown liquor.”
“Having a bad day?” he pries, instead of pouring me my drinks.
“No more than usual. I’ve decided to join the party. Give me my drinks.”
I pat the bar condescendingly with a smirk.
“Don’t sass me woman. Two double shots of whiskey coming up.”
“Ohhh, and a margarita!”
“Don’t push it,” he gripes as he points a finger at me. “No need to get drunk.”
“Uh huh,” I agree, although I’m not listening. I’ve never gotten drunk and it’s the easiest thing to check off my list.
“Hi. Can I get an Old Fashioned, please,” a deep voice requests to the right of me.
My entire body shudders. Careful not to bring attention to myself, I turn my head enough to survey Caerwyn Hale without the risk of getting caught. There’s no doubt he's Oran’s cousin. His hair is a rich chocolate brown unlike Oran’s almost black hair and his eyes are more blue-green than gray, but the tall body, solid frame, and mysteriousness is spot on. He digs in his pocket causing his shirt to stretch and highlight the hard body underneath. Immediately, I begin to imagine what he looks like without clothes. My face heats at the realization. Jagger and Oran are gorgeous, but there’s something about Caerwyn that makes me giddy.
“Baby girl!” Virgil's yell causes Caerwyn’s blue-green eyes to snap in my direction.
Damn he’s fine.
Caerwyn has me trapped with a look. My eyes cannot stray from his to appreciate the full view of him in his classic black suit that looks made just for him.
“Esme?” he asks, aptly killing my vibe.
Us LeClaire sisters are apparently known for inheriting our beauty from our mother, but we are not carbon copies of her or each other. The similarities are not so strong we should be confused for the other.
I grab my drinks, willing to ignore him the rest of the night. It’s just as well, Esme would be considered the next in line and she and Karessa are much more outgoing than I am.
Caerwyn stops me from turning, the simple touch of his hand on my bicep makes me tingle in ways I didn’t know existed outside of books, since I don’t have any personal experience to compare.
“I’m sorry, Imala.” My name sounds dead sexy off his lips. “I’m bad with names and faces from long ago. I’d left here when I was sixteen and have only been back a few months. I know there are three LeClaire sisters.” He points at me. “Imala, Esme, and Karessa. Since Karessa just married my cousin, I had a fifty-fifty chance to guess which one you were. My apologies, if I’ve offended you.”
Relaxing, I give him a small smile. “It’s fine. Thank you for the explanation. Enjoy the wedding.”
I leave before he can stop me again. He’s so unnerving, I take my first shot the moment I return to my table. It burns, but I take it like a champ then move to another one. The dance floor beckons me after the fourth shot. My margarita and I are thoroughly encouraged by Pitbull’s I Know You Want Me to have our own
dance party just the two of us. I feel watched but alcohol has removed my ability to give a shit. If someone’s watching, let them. I’m having fun.
I’ve had enough after an hour and am walking to my car with my heels in my hand while singing the last song I heard when I feel the familiar tingle as I near my car.
“It’s illegal to drink and drive, Caterpillar.”
I swing around to face the big, sexy man. “What did you call me?”
“Caterpillar,” he repeats like it’s normal to give me names.
“That’s not even a cute nickname; have you seen a caterpillar before?”
“I have,” he confirms. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I feel he’s closer to me. When I find myself leaning on the side of my SUV with him hovering over me, caging me in with his hand splayed on my car, I know it wasn’t a drunken illusion. “I also know what they become. Right now, you’re hiding and not sharing yourself with the world.”
His observation makes me feel some type of way. “How in the hell do you know? You think you can show up out of the blue, be sexy, and sprout bullshit and I’m supposed to be all ‘well Caerwyn said…’”
