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“Pick up the pace,” he advised her, steering them toward the Rocks.
And he could see she understood where they were going the minute they turned into the laneways. She laughed. And she was still laughing when he took her in through that same red door. And when he nodded and murmured something to the man at the desk.
But Dylan couldn’t wait to find an open room. He needed a taste to tide him over while he dealt with such practicalities.
He swept her into the first alcove they passed, hoping that the early hour meant that no onereallysaw the way he was kissing her. And maybe also not caring too much if they did.
He pressed her back against the wall, and she wound herself around him instantly. His hand moved of its own accord to get a good grip on the plump curve of her ass, and he loved the greedy little noise she made in return. Lust and encouragement. Need.
It was never enough.
It was never, ever enough, no matter how he kissed her, no matter how tightly she pressed herself against him.
And she was still laughing whenever he pulled away to catch his breath, but he wasn’t laughing at all. Dylan had forgotten entirely that he was meant to be her friend first, because she tasted like fire and rain at once. Because she inflamed him and she soothed him, all at the same time, and it only made him want her more. And he had loved her so long now that each new layer was less a revelation and more a confirmation.
She was the love of his life. She always had been.
She always will be,something in him said, like a dark prophecy.
And at some point he realized that someone was standing there, much too close to their not-so-private alcove. He assumed it was a staff member, come to gently suggest they find a private room, so he pulled away from Jenny. Little as he wanted to stop kissing her.
He automatically twisted to block her, because the staff here might have been paid handsomely to maintain their discretion, but he didn’t particularly like anyone looking at his woman.
His friend,he corrected himself acidly.
But when he looked at the man standing there, it was instantly clear that he was no staff member.
He stood tall and faintly disapproving, and he reeked of power and consequence. Though what he wore was not in and of itself particularly telling, it was the way he wore it. Dark trousers. A dark shirt. And the coldest gray eyes Dylan had ever seen.
Something clicked in him. This man was familiar.
Next to him, half behind him, Dylan heard Jenny pull in a sharp breath.
In distress.
And he knew. If he thought about it, he could even see the family resemblance to Erika.
He fuckingknew.
And in that rush of recognition, he had to face the unpalatable fact that it was a lot easier to think about what a great friend he was in the abstract. Because it felt a whole lot more like dying now that it was happening. Now that he had the opportunity to prove it.
The man before him kept his gaze trained on Dylan for a long, frigid moment. Then he shifted it over Dylan’s shoulder, and Dylan could feel Jenny’s whole body jolt.
And he wanted to come out swinging. He wanted to teach the rich fuck standing before him exactly why he shouldn’t tangle with a man who’d been an Irish brawler before he’d ponced off to Oxford with the rest of them.
But that was the sort of thing a man who was in love with Jenny would do.
Dylan’s job was to be Jenny’s friend. Her best friend. That was the promise he’d made.
When that glacial gray gaze tracked back to him, Dylan didn’t react the way he wanted to. He made himself stand still.
He forced himself to do nothing at all.
“You must be the famous Dylan Kilburn,” the other man said, his voice precise. And frigid. “I believe you were at Oxford with my sister.”
“Guilty as charged, mate,” Dylan managed to say. And while he didn’t strike the easy, friendly note he was going for, he also didn’t soundentirelylike he was chewing on broken glass, so he chalked it up as a win.
“I’m Conrad Vanderburg,” the other man said, as if Dylan might not have figured that out already. “And it appears you’ve already met my fiancée.”
