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“It’s from Hunter.” She runs her hands down the silky fabric of her maxi skirt, blushing. “They seem to have hit it off.”
We look at the laughing men, and something catches my attention. I follow Gio’s gaze—not on his phone—across the room and land on Mila. She stands by the silent auction table, oblivious to his covert attention. Interesting.
I’m about to walk over and tease him, but my steps falter as I spot a man standing at the bar behind my brothers.
Not standing, owning the bar.
Owning the room.
My lungs suffer a sudden loss of oxygen, because it’s all sucked out by the ego of Dominic Cressard. Why else would I be breathless?
His hair is styled carelessly and he’s shaved. Without the ridiculous lumberjack mask, the sharp edges of his jaw protrude, begging to be touched. It’s unfair how, in a room full of tuxedos, it’s his sexy confidence that snags my attention. Fucking James Bond.
I walk over, the tiny hairs on my neck prickling with a mixture of emotions, mostly negative ones.
“What are you doing here?” I say through my teeth, while smiling. There are too many people around to cause a scene. A scene? I’m not a scene-causing person. Usually.
He frowns and cocks his head, assessing me, perhaps waiting for a punchline. I’m not telling a joke here, mister.
“What do you mean?Youinvited me.” He rolls his lips.
If he only didn’t ooze pure masculinity, my heartbeat would go back to healthy levels. Or not. Because as good as he looks, irritation bubbles through every fiber of my being every time he is around.
“Wow, so now I have memory loss in your presence. I never invited you. Are you here to claim a better spot in purgatory?” How have I not seen his name on the guest list? He must have bought his ticket last minute.
“Oh, but then I’d find myself right beside you, which is already where I live.” His tone is mocking, but his voice washes over me with an unexpected thrill.
“Don’t tell me you actually know anything about this cause.” My glare is at odds with the rest of my body that is drawn to this man.
I’m attracted to him. I can’t change that, but that doesn’t mean I’ll melt into a puddle around him. I don’t like the man, despite my body’s vehement disagreement.
He takes a sip of his clear drink, probably vodka or gin. I’d have pegged him as a whiskey drinker.
“Of course I don’t, but I hear fancy fundraisers are the place to pick up classy ladies. Apparently I was misinformed.” He scans me up and down with a cocky, languid gaze.
I want to wipe that look off his face. And wrap my legs around his waist and ride him to oblivion.
“You came.” Paris joins us before I get a chance to insult him back. But I don’t need to because the shock on his face gives me immense satisfaction.
“I see you’ve met my sister, Paris.” I bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
People have mistaken me for my twin sister countless times, and the ensuing surprise has grown less entertaining over the years. Seeing Dominic Cressard off-balance, even for a brief moment, gives me an unreasonable jolt of triumph.
Recognition seems to sink in slowly for him. “Now that explains the hot and cold treatment. I see I live next to the evil sister.”
Asshole.
Paris chuckles. “Behave,” she scolds him. She turns to me. “He growled at me in your hallway—”
“Shocked you’re being nice to me afteryou—” his gaze pierces through me, “yelled at me for my boxes a few times.”
“And then we took the elevator together when I came by last week,” Paris chirps.
The smirk returns to his confident face. “That’s when she told me about this event. I’m glad I could contribute. So, twins...” He shakes his head, clearly entertained, but then his face falls serious as he notices someone behind us. “Forgive me, ladies, I need to take care of something.”
He pushes between us before I can say anything. Rude. Despite myself, my gaze follows him. The way he owns the room with that assured saunter is very appealing. I wish he wasn’t my neighbor. I wish he didn’t annoy me so much. I wish…
Jesus, London, snap out of it.
