Not My Match

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Don’t fall for Mama’s traps. I can barely make eggs.”

  “Honestly, this party and her schemes are the most fun I’ve had since I came back. Most of the time I’m trying to figure out who spray-painted graffiti in the boys’ bathroom or where Caroline left her stuffed unicorn.” His dimple flashes.

  “I feel sorry for the women of Daisy. They’re all going to be crawling in your window.”

  “Nah, I’m on the first floor now.” His face grows serious as he stares down at me. “Devon’s crazy if he lets you slip away, Giselle.” He tugs more hair down, and it falls around my temple.

  “You’re messing up my style,” I accuse with a grin.

  Mike glances over my shoulder. “Update: he’s pacing like a jungle cat.”

  “That’s what I say!”

  “Panther.”

  “Yes!”

  He grins and does a dip with me in his arms, making me cling to him. “He doesn’t like it when I touch your hair, and I bet I’ve only got a few minutes left.” Glee colors his voice. “Just don’t let him hit me. I’m an upstanding pillar of the community now and have a reputation to uphold, but I’m about to get all the tongues wagging. Me and Devon Walsh and you will be all the talk when school starts. I can’t wait to call my buddies in Louisiana and tell them how I messed with him . . .” He trails off. “The song is almost over. I mean this sincerely: if you decide he isn’t the one, call me. I’m not interested in picket fences, but I’d love to see you at my door.”

  A week ago, I would have been interested.

  “I need a friend,” I tell him frankly. His hand skates to my lower spine and presses me against him.

  “I’m a good friend. Remember that.” His other hand slides inside my hair.

  “I . . . what are you doing?”

  Mike lowers his head, his lips inches from mine. “Trust me. Close your eyes and think of England—or Devon.”

  Realization hits, and my startled gaze finds his. “No, Mike, no—”

  “The lady said no,” comes a deep voice behind Mike as a hand clamps on his shoulder. Devon wrenches him away from me and scowls, biting out his words. “Little handsy there, man. Not cool. Just walk away. While you can.”

  Caveman. Can’t say I’m mad about it.

  My throat dries as Devon puts me behind him and never takes his attention off Mike, who’s currently digging around in his pocket and murmuring something about the chance of a lifetime.

  Mike’s brown eyes twinkle as he sweeps them over Devon. “She used to write my name in her diary with little hearts.” He gives me an apologetic look. “Cynthia told me.”

  “Not shocked,” I say.

  “We’re just friends,” Mike says in a sly tone. “Like you and her. Only I’ve known her longer.”

  “Touch her again, and I’ll punch you,” Devon growls.

  “You have no idea how exciting that drama sounds, but unfortunately I’m a teacher. Now, before I go”—Mike holds up his phone, and in a movement that reminds me of his athletic grace playing baseball, he takes a step toward us, putting his face next to Devon’s—“I just need some proof.” He tells me to smile, and I grimace as he takes a selfie of the three of us, then flips around and moves back, pocketing his phone. “A Maserati,” he says while grinning, then waltzes off, making a beeline straight to Cami.

  Devon turns back to me, eyes ablaze, all hard muscle and barely leashed temper. “Did you let him touch Red?”

  It’s too much—the champagne, Cami’s sly barbs, Mike’s antics, Devon’s obvious jealousy—and I giggle. “He was messing with you.”

  “Did you want him all over you?”

  I lift my chin, my gaze defiant. “I believe it’s apparent who I want.”

  The moments tick by, the air thickening. “I need to go say hello to everyone,” I say and turn, but he grasps my hand, pulling me back to him, pinning me with a mesmerizing look.

  His lips part. “Giselle—” He pulls me into an embrace, his arms around my waist as he leans his head down to my ear. “There are things to say, that I need to tell you, but I can’t say them here, not with everyone, your mama, watching.” He runs his nose up my neck, his fingers brushing against the back of my dress, sliding under the lace as my stomach flutters. His hands drift and dig into my hips, his obvious arousal against me as he presses a deep kiss to my neck. Need flashes over me, curling inside as I melt into him. His scruff edges down my throat, and I gasp.

  He groans. “Dammit, who cares where we are. I want you, Giselle. In my arms. In my bed. And I . . . I won’t walk away.”

  My heart swells. “Oh.”

  He searches my face. “I’m close to dragging you out of here right now. Tell me not to.”

  “To fuck?” Heat flashes over me.

  His lips twitch as he tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Bet on it, baby. Do what you have to do with your guests, but later . . .”

  I straighten my hair and dress, and my wobbly legs find the strength to turn and leave, past a gaping Mama and Aunt Clara and Elena. I catch Jack’s eyes, and in spite of his obvious glower, I send him a smirk and keep going.

  I bump into Mr. Pig—er, Lance—and smile brightly as I shake his hand and thank him for coming. “Mama adores you,” I tell him. “You should call her. She can be a bit domineering, but some men like that.”

  His eyes light up, and he glances over at Mama and heads that way.

  “One score settled,” I say under my breath and wave as I see Myrtle and John arriving.

  Chapter 20

  DEVON

  “You should have called me,” Jack says as we sit at a table under the tents.

  “Didn’t want to bother you on your honeymoon,” I reply, my eyes on Giselle as she flits around the room, greeting people and chatting. At some point she went inside and put her hair back up, and she appears cool, as usual, but I know what’s underneath: a hot-blooded female with a luscious mouth and long legs—

  “Are you even listening to me?” Jack asks in a dry tone, pulling me back to the current conversation. “What’s the plan for your dad?”

  “Lawrence is checking with local bookies to see who he owes,” I tell him.

  Lawrence and I had a quick meeting before coming to the party—but part of me was still thinking about Giselle. I can’t stop this, us, any longer. I’ve been pushing her away for days, turning off that internal voice in my head, the one that wants her. She’s going to be mine. Having her with me at my dad’s was a turning point—her acceptance, her kindness, her words that made my heart seize.

  You are the best person in all my universes.

  How often does a man find a woman like that?

  My eyes find her near the food, chatting with Myrtle. She’s a delectable vision in her sexy black dress, her pearls resting in the hollow of her throat, those “Fuck me” heels on her feet. I picture her in nothing but creamy skin, splayed out—

  Jack makes a tsk noise, and I look back at him.

  His eyes are hard. “Look, let’s get this out of the way. I don’t approve of you letting Giselle stay with you. You need to get her out of the penthouse.”

  She’s not leaving.

  “I don’t have to say it, do I?” he adds.

  “Say what?” I snap as Giselle sets down a piece of birthday cake and makes her way toward the house. Most of the crowd has left, and my leg bounces under the table. How much longer until we can leave . . .

  “Dev. You and Giselle. You can’t go there.”

  I swing my gaze to him. “I get why Giselle was angry when she found out what you told me. It’s not cool when your friends try to manage your life.” A grunt comes from me. “In a way, this is all your fault. After you told me, she was pretty much all I could think about.”

  “What did Jack tell you?” Aiden asks from across the table, a shrimp in his mouth.

  “Nothing,” Jack and I mutter at the same time.

  “I just want to take care of my family. They mean everything to me, even t
he crazy mama.” Jack looks over at Elena, his face softening—which changes when he focuses on me. “You and I both know you don’t do permanent relationships. What was the name of that last girl you dated?”

  Annoyed, I frown. “Mariah.”

  He nods and takes a bite of cake. “Right. How long did that last?”

  I scratch my jaw. “A month. She went her way, and I went mine. She’s dating Michael now. He’s crazy about her.”

  “Only Devon Walsh can date jersey chasers, send them off happy, then set them up with another player,” Aiden muses, admiration in his tone.

  “Who was the girl before Mariah?” Jack asks as he sets his fork down, a hard glint in his eyes.

  I take a sip of water, eyeing him. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t remember her name,” Jack replies. “My point is, Giselle isn’t going to be the next one. She’s not that kind of girl. She’s the one you get serious with.”

  “Her name was Kandi. The one before that was Lori. They walked away with smiles.” I’m not an asshole. I remember names, just not warm, fuzzy feelings of the time we spent.

  He waves me off. “But they disappear from your life and move on. Giselle isn’t going anywhere. She’s part of my life, a sister I never had, and you’ll have to see her.”

  “You need to stay out of it,” I reply as I stand. He isn’t telling me anything that hasn’t been running around in my head for the past few days, but something has irrevocably shifted, and I refuse to tame it any longer. My crossroads? I’m going right, straight to her.

  Jack sits back and watches me, an enigmatic smile on his face. “She’s driving your goddamn prized possession. You shoved Aiden around. You’re ready to kick my ass. I’m the one who throws you the damn ball.”

  Aiden interjects, “I’m the one who’ll throw you the ball next year, Dev.”

  “Dream on, rookie,” Jack snaps at Aiden. “I’m the person you call brother,” he continues, looking at me. “I don’t know what is wrong with you.”

  “Check yourself,” I growl. “You did your own playing around before Elena, so don’t talk to me about my past love life.” My hand taps my leg, my head scrambled, and I can’t pinpoint what part of what he’s saying is pissing me off more—the fact that I’m messing with the dynamics of our team or the fact that I go through women and he’s lumping her in that category. Giselle is different.

  “Settle down, you old farts,” Aiden mutters. “This is a party.”

  Jack leans back and crosses a leg, watching me, a gleam in his eyes. “Giselle is getting over her ex. She is vulnerable. Remember those days after Hannah? How fucked up you were?”

  A sharp inhale comes from me.

  He nods. “So you do remember. You were lost. You didn’t know what was left or right. You were devastated. Don’t devastate her.”

  Never going to happen.

  Something he sees on my face makes him drop his casual sitting position, and he stands and gets in my face. He’s taller, but I’m leaner and meaner. We used to tussle in college—over girls, over games—and we laughed over those times minutes later, two alphas working out frustrations. It’s been a while, but I know his weak points.

  And it’s been a hell of a week.

  He gives me a quizzical look. “Dude. You won’t hit me—”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I say, hands tightening.

  “Better tread light, Jack,” Aiden chirps. “He moves fast.”

  Jack huffs. “Fine, there’s no talking to you today. Let me say one thing. If you touch her, you better fucking mean it. And if you break her heart, I’ll take you apart piece by piece.”

  Little did he know she’d be the one breaking my heart.

  Chapter 21

  GISELLE

  It’s six by the time everyone is gone, and I leave with Devon. My body tingles as he walks next to me, his hand in mine. I feel Mama’s eyes on us as he opens the passenger door of the Maserati and helps me in, then goes around to get in and crank Red. She caught me earlier in the bathroom and asked me to swear I wouldn’t have sex with him. I patted her on the shoulder and walked away.

  Topher and Quinn offered to drive the Hummer back for us, and I can’t wait to be alone with him.

  We’ve barely spoken since the episode with Mike. Every time I turned around, he was watching me, eyes smoldering, a promise in those green depths. The emotion that rolled off him was palpable, cloaking me in anticipation.

  I take the pins out of my hair and shake the strands out as his eyes linger on me.

  “Eyes on the road,” I say as I lean the seat back all the way and prop my feet up outside the passenger-side window, shaking my heels in the wind. “Black Velvet” by Alannah Myles plays from my phone.

  His hands grip the steering wheel as he takes a turn on a familiar gravel road. I hear pings from the rocks hitting the car, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “The barn?” I ask. “Do you have any golf clubs in here?”

  “I’ve got something else in mind.” His voice rumbles, dark and thick, laced with heat, and shivers dance down my spine.

  My heart flutters, and I swallow.

  He handles the car with precise movements, shifting gears, his feet moving the transmission with athletic ease, and I close my eyes and sing loudly as Buddy Guy’s “What Kind of Woman Is This?” comes on.

  “Go faster,” I murmur. My eyes drift over his shoulders, the peek of a butterfly on his wrist.

  His hand shifts as he speeds up, and I squeal and let the ride and bluesy song sink in.

  “I have to touch you,” he says and slides a hand up my leg, a groan coming from him when I hitch my dress to my waist and flash my black lace underwear.

  “Are you over Preston?” His hand tightens around my thigh.

  “Yes,” I rasp. “He wasn’t even worthy of revenge.”

  “And Mike?”

  “Hopefully banging Cami right now.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Not even a little,” I sing.

  A purr of satisfaction comes from him. “You’re with me, Giselle.”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  We hit a straight stretch, with no cars anywhere, the lush trees on either side of the road thick and dense. Downshifting to a slower speed, he reaches over, cups my nape, and fuses his lips with mine, angling his head to go deep, his taste rich and heady, his scent teasing my senses as he takes and takes, marking me as his. Every stroke of his tongue sends bolts of pleasure to my body. “How much farther?”

  “Five miles,” I murmur as his teeth tug on my bottom lip. The car swerves to the right. He’s using his knee to help him drive.

  He straightens the wheel. “Scared?”

  “No.” I kiss his jaw, nibbling at the rough shadow. “But at twenty miles an hour, it’s going to take us fifteen minutes, and I don’t know if I can wait that long . . .”

  “Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.”

  “You’re quoting Einstein. Miniorgasm happening.” I kiss him, twining our tongues as my hands dig into his scalp.

  “Just trying to keep up with you. Lie across me in my lap, and maybe I can watch the road.”

  After maneuvering under his arms, I position my back on his door, parting my legs to give him room to shift. It’s a tight fit and not easy—heck, the car itself can barely hold his powerful frame. His chest presses into my right side, and I start undoing his buttons, easing my hand inside to touch his hot skin. Looking down at me, he bites his lip, his free hand tracing my neck, the wing of my clavicle, down to my legs, where he toys with the waistband of my panties, teasing.

  “How much traffic is on this road?”

  “Barn,” I mumble as I tug his shirt out of the front of his pants. “Speed up.”

  “Kiss me,” he demands.

  I take his jaw and mesh my mouth with his, liquid fire searing me as we get lost in each other. He’s possessive and hard, then
soft and slow and languid, licking at every secret place in my mouth, tasting the roof of my mouth, the bottom, his teeth nipping.

  “Beautiful girl.”

  My insides quake, my legs scissoring as he lets me go to make the turn onto the road to the barn. He speeds to the side of the building, and I ease back to my seat. He parks, and before I can blink, the ignition is off, and he’s out of the car and at my door. He sweeps me up in his arms, eyes burning with lust, and heads to the barn.

  “On top of the car.” I glance back at Red.

  In two seconds he’s set me down in front of the vehicle and is tearing off his jacket and spreading it out on the hood. Moving fast, he sets me on the car as he stands between my legs, takes my face, and kisses me, rough and hard and deep. Deft fingers find the hem of my dress, and it disappears somewhere behind me. His eyes burn as he takes me in, growly sounds coming from his throat. “Giselle, you are . . .” His fingers caress from my cheek down to the center of my black bra to my waist. “Perfect.”

  He removes my bra and throws it over his head, his mouth tugging at my nipple. He cups the weight and suckles one, then the other. My hands slide into his hair, running the mink strands through my fingers, arching my chest into his. I yank on his shirt, and he unbuttons it and shakes it off viciously, his lips attached to mine. His thumbs graze over my sensitized breasts, plucking the erect nipples. I gasp, need ratcheting over my body.

  His mouth works down, brushing over my throat, his scruff mingling with the pleasure. His carnal, demanding lips cling to mine as he works my panties down with one hand. I don’t know where they go. I don’t know where anything is, just his lips and hands and tongue.

  He bends to his haunches, eases me down, parts my thighs, and kisses me there, and my breath escapes in a whimper, spirals of lust curling.

  “Devon . . .”

  He consumes me like I’m a rich, dark chocolate and he’s a connoisseur, his tongue skating over my clit.

  “Everything about you, all your secrets . . . right here . . . on the tip of my tongue,” he says gruffly, meeting my eyes, the effect of the intensity in his gaze enough to cause a quake inside me, a true miniorgasm rolling over me. But it’s not enough, and I chase it, my heels digging into the bumper. His gaze goes molten as he slides a finger inside me, lazy and slow. “Has anyone ever gone down on you?”