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Brody huffs a deep laugh. “I’ve been shaking hands with men used to gripping bull rope since I was a boy.”
“You don’t say?” Maddox retorts.
Braxton lays a hand on her husband’s back and coos, “Poor baby. Will you be okay?”
“Don’t mention this to anyone, and I’ll take it easier on you than I usually do Anna’s boyfriends,” he tells Brody.
My man just nods and slides his hand from my shoulder to the back of my neck, palming it. “Works for me.”
“Where are you sitting for dinner?” Braxton asks.
Good question, sis.
“I have a spot at one of the tables around here, I think,” he answers.
I worry my lip, selfishly wanting to keep him close. I’ve never felt so possessive of a guy before, but I can’t help but want to keep him glued to my side all night. Having him sitting somewhere else tonight while he’s not onstage singing singes my insides.
“We can pull you up a chair at our table,” I suggest, feigning innocence, as if I’m not itching to drag his ass down onmychair and plop myself on his lap. “You know, so you don’t have to go wandering around this busy ballroom and risk missing dinner.”
A deliciously smug grin spreads his lips, one brow arched. “I don’t think it would take me that long to find my spot.”
“Dinner isn’t for half an hour anyway, Anna,” Maddox adds, goading me.
My glare is vicious as I pin him beneath it. The douchebag howls a laugh in response. Even Braxton—my own sister—lifts a hand to hide her mouth and avoids my eyes.
Brody tightens his grip on my nape. The sensation of hot breath in my hair, against my ear, makes me shiver.
“It would be my honour to sit with you tonight, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask,” he purrs, his country drawl thicker than I’ve ever heard it. As if he called upon it just to drive me out of my mind.
Fuck, it works. Suddenly, I ache to rub my thighs together, the throb between them alarming so soon after what happened in the bathroom. I’m used to it taking me a good few hours after an orgasm to be even remotely interested in having another, but apparently, that’s not the case anymore. At least not right now.
Planting my palm against his solid stomach, I twist and lean up enough that only he can hear as I whisper, “Find a chair, Brody. Before I use your face as mine.”
His following cough has me patting his middle and taking my seat beside Braxton, a wicked gleam in my eyes. The red flush on his cheeks as he rushes to find a chair is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
30
BRODY
My stomach musclesburn from laughter as I lean back in my chair with Anna tucked into my side. Empty plates lie scattered around the large round table, wineglasses and beer bottles beside them. The cooler in Anna’s hand has to be warm by now, but she still doesn’t set it down. She continues to sip on the fruity drink and tap the tin in time with the low music, anything to keep from moving from my arms. Her chair is as close to mine as it can be, but I’d prefer her to abandon it in exchange for my lap.
Luckily, the other group of people at the table couldn’t have cared less about us, so we haven’t had to worry about getting interrupted thus far. Even though this wasn’t my original table, I’m considering giving Walker a giant thank you for the guest placement.
I bury my face in Anna’s hair and sweep my thumb over the ridge of her belly button through the silk dress. She leans further into me and rubs her cheek against my forehead, letting me soak her up for as long as I want to.
Fuckin’ hell, I could stay here forever.
“So, how do you know Walker, Brody?” Maddox asks, setting down his dewy long neck beside his wife’s glass of water.
“Grew up together in Cherry Peak and played for a shit triples team in Calgary. He was always a better player than me, clearly, so I quit while he kept on climbing. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years now.”
“You played hockey?” Anna asks me.
“Mmhmm. I never took it seriously, but it kept me busy. Gave me an excuse to fight off a lot of my teenage angst.”
“Not a damn part of me believes that Walker Morales is from a blink-and-you-miss-it hick town,” he muses before grunting in pain when Anna shifts her lower body and then smirks across the table. “No offense, man.”
“Saying no offense after saying something rude doesn’t mean there’s actually no offense, Maddox,” my woman lectures.
