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"Eh? No. Of course, not. I don’t intend to be romantically involved with anyone anytime soon."
"Famous last words." She pats my hand. "I’ll remind you of it when you’re standing in my position."
I laugh. "I don’t think my tastes tend toward white gowns."
Her grin widens. "You know what I mean."
"I’m not getting married. Not for a long, long time. Speaking of—"I turn toward the doorway leading to the lawns. "You don’t want to be late for your wedding."
18
Abby
He’s late. The asshole is late.
I waited until Hunter and Zara exchanged vows and Isla’s Great Dane, Tiny, provided a diversion by leaping onto the drinks table and downing an entire bottle of champagne in one go. Nope, not making it up. Tiny does have a taste for bubbles. It was enough to send everyone into peals of laughter, and it took Liam’s brute strength to finally bring Tiny under control.
During the melee, I happened to glance at Cade, who jerked his chin in the direction of the house. I lifted up my chin, but his glare intensified. He arched an eyebrow in my direction, and I shivered. Fire zinged under my skin, and my pussy clenched. All of the nerves in my body seemed to tighten with anticipation, and I turned and slunk off in the direction of Hunter’s townhouse. Thankfully, everyone was outside, so there was no one to watch my walk-toward-shame as I crept up the silent corridor, up the stairs, and toward the door that I assumed opened into the bathroom.
I pushed the door open, then walked toward the window on the far side. I peeked down to find I could see the wedding guests gathered below. Hunter and Zara were laughing and talking with Liam and Isla. The rest of the guests—I recognized Michael and Karma Sovrano, as well as Sinclair and Summer Sterling, and JJ Kane and his girlfriend Lena among them—gathered around talking to each other. And among them was Cade, the doucheworm. He asked me to leave, yet he made no move to follow me.
Now, I stare at him, take in the broad sweep of his shoulders, the way the jacket stretches across his back and pulls across that tight arse of his, and how the sleeves tighten about his biceps and show off his incredible physique. Zara says something to him, and he throws his head back and laughs. Seeing the column of his magnificent throat lengthen sends a pulse of heat shooting down my spine.
He must sense my perusal, for he glances up and meets my gaze. The hair on the nape of my neck rises, and my thighs quiver. It’s as if he’s reached across the distance and touched my core. He lowers his chin, and a smile twists his lips—that mean smile of his which has my nerve-endings stretching in anticipation.Shit, shit, shit.Did he catch me ogling him? Did he sense me taking in every dip and angle of his body, every flex of his muscle, every hard, gradient of his sexy-as-hell torso, every stretch of those powerful thighs of his, the incline of his profile, the dip of his chin, the—
He breaks away from the crowd and begins to walk toward the townhouse. I yelp, then scamper across the bathroom and latch the door. I didn’t mean to, but the thought of standing here like some kind of virgin waiting for the high priest to come and take my chastity, is more than I can bear. I’ll have to give in to him eventually; doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy.
Footsteps approach the door, and I slide back.Jeez, that was quick.He must have run up the stairs to make it here so quickly. The handle of the door jiggles, then he says, "You in there, Sparrow?" His voice reaches me through the door. The wood does nothing to temper that growly edge to his tone which sends heat shooting through my veins.Oh, my god. Surely, just his voice can’t arouse me further, can it?
“Open the door, Abby.” He twists the handle again.
I take another step back.
“The more you delay the inevitable, the more it’s going to hurt.”
What the—?A squeak escapes me, then I slap my palm over my mouth. Liquid warmth pools in my center, and I squeeze my things together.Oh, my god, oh, my god. How dare he threaten me with that promise? How dare I want him to follow through with it. Am I a masochist? Is that why the thought of him hurting me seems to turn me on even more?
"Open. The door. Now." He lowers his voice to a hush. I shiver. I see my arm reaching forward and realize I’ve already walked toward the door.Oh, god. I can’t disobey him. I can’t. As much as I want to stand up to him, if he asks me to do something in that tone of voice, I can’t possibly say no.The latch clicks off, and the door swings open. His big shoulders fill the doorway. I gulp.
"Hello Sparrow." He takes a step forward. I sidle back.
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The click of the lock falling into place spins a jolt of apprehension down my spine.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Without taking his gaze off of my face, he shrugs off his jacket, then folds it and places it on a chair that’s pushed up against the wall. He removes one cufflink, then the other. Then proceeds to fold up his sleeves. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, a preciseness that hints at the intensity of his motives.
I gulp.
His smile widens. The cruelty in his gaze seems to deepen until those mismatched irises glow with an inner light that hinges on maniacal. He prowls forward, and I skitter back until my back touches the wall. I gulp, turn around and reach for the handle of the windowpane.
"I wouldn’t," he says in a soft voice.
I shiver, grip the handle tighter for a second, then another, then slowly lower my hand to my side.
"Good girl." A moan bleeds from my lips.Oh, my god. Why does his praise mean so much to me?
"Turn around," he orders.
