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Which is absurd, considering no one knows the truth of what happened between us.
Esme turns from Jameson, strides slow as she glides toward me, the picture of poise and grace. I try not to gawk at the bikini visible through her sheer coverup. Try not to remember tasting her flawless skin. Try not to focus on her long, tanned legs, how amazing they felt wrapped around me.
But damn. It’s impossible.
“Creed,” Esme greets with her head held high, not looking directly at me.
“Esme,” I respond somewhat stiffly.
Thankfully, I haven’t been around most of these people enough for them to pick up on the awkwardness stifling the air. Still, Harriet and Marius stare at us with scrutiny, their eyes ping-ponging between us.
When I feel like I’m on the brink of suffocating, Esme clears her throat, forcing a smile as she nods at the man by her side.
“You remember Jameson Gates, don’t you?”
I’d spent the entire drive here preparing myself to see her again. Convinced myself it wouldn’t be that bad, not when Anderson invited plenty of other people to distract me from the fact that Esme’s here with the man who, for all intents and purposes, she’s supposed to be madly in love with.
But no amount of distraction can subdue the jealousy bubbling inside me when Jameson pulls her close and kisses her temple. It’s not the fact that he touches her that eats away at me. It’s that he gets to touch her without a single care for who’s watching. Something I’ll never be able to do.
Jameson extends his free hand toward me, his other one remaining firmly planted on Esme’s hip.
As if he’s staking his claim.
It makes me want to break every bone in his manicured hand.
“Creed, not Adam, right?” He beams, displaying a mouth of perfect teeth.
Of course he’d have perfect teeth. Everything else about him is bloody perfect.
“Yes,” I respond, not cracking so much as a hint of a friendly smile. “Creed. Not Adam.” I place my hand in his, shaking it.
And much like the day at the stables, I don’t let him off easily, maintaining a harsh grip as I stare him down.
I shouldn’t act like this. Openly displaying my animosity will only draw attention our way. I can’t help it. Need to get out my frustration somehow.
“That’s some handshake you’ve got there,” Jameson jokes, his laughter giving away his nerves. “I think you could use a drink.”
Esme steps between us, forcing me to drop my hold on Jameson. Then she levels a glare at me. “I definitely think drinks are in order. We’ve been here for hours already. Time to play catch up, Lawson.”
She lifts her empty champagne flute, the blush on her cheeks making me think that’s not her first glass, either.
This is just what I need. To watch Esme put her hands all over Jameson because her inhibitions are lowered.
Or worse, to watch Esme allow Jameson to put his hands all over her because her inhibitions are lowered.
Maybe Adam was right.
Maybe this is a horrible idea.
Maybe I should have stayed home.
Maybe the sooner I distance myself from Anderson’s world, the easier it will be once I’m sworn into the guard.
“What can I get you to drink?” Jameson pats my back and steers me toward the wet bar, as if we’re old friends. That act may work on everyone else here, but it won’t work on me.
“Actually, I’m not all that thirsty.” I push out of his hold.
“We’re here to have fun, Creed,” Anderson reminds me, popping the top off a fresh bottle of beer and guzzling it. “Away from prying eyes who will report everything we do and say to the bloody establishment. Even made sure my protection team sticks to the perimeter only.”
