by Angel Payne
“Three…two…one!”
At that, Fletcher tossed the garter over his shoulder, his aim deadly accurate for my outstretched hand. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the guys from the huddle barely gave their efforts a try. Victory was mine. Was it cheating? Maybe. Probably. But I cheated death nearly every damn day, making this kids’ play—though I wasn’t playing around at all while parting the suckers on the dance floor like Moses through the Red Sea, headed right toward the spot where little Miss Taylor Mathews still stood, jolting every nerve ending in my body all over again with her big blue gaze and her tiny trembling body.
You. Are. Mine.
The mandate was thunder in my senses, strengthened by the feel of the frilly thing in my clutch.
The words repeated as I crooked my finger. Just once. Beckoning her, as I’d been longing to do all damn day.
In return, she had a gesture involving a finger too.
“Doooohhh!” The derisive moan went up from every guy still milling behind me. As a few of them even applauded my spitfire’s spirit, one side of my mouth kicked up again—in time to the twitch in my trousers and the rush in my attention.
Well…hell.
And…what the hell?
No woman was worth this much effort, was she? But when was the last time I’d bothered to find out? When a female had forced me to?
Could it be that this girl was just what I was needing? Someone to challenge the bastard in me—fuck, the bastard who was me—to stand up for themselves without it being part of a coy game or seduction.
A woman who jabbed her finger at me and meant every second of it.
A girl who gave me a reason to stay interested.
Really interested.
There’s a novel idea.
A lot of the women in the crowd continued giggling at her impertinence. I turned their mirth to gasps as soon as I flared my nostrils, widened my stance, and stretched the garter in front of me, between both thumbs. The sole aspect I didn’t change was my gaze upon Taylor. With a slight clench of my jaw, I focused it tighter. With intense concentration, I watched the muscles in her slim throat work down a hard gulp.
Come here, sassy girl.
Her body began moving forward. I wondered if she was even conscious of it. At the moment, I wasn’t sure I cared. I was consumed by the sight of her. By the power she wielded over me with those unthinking little steps…
Behaving just as I’d thought.
Just as I’d hoped.
Just as I now knew.
Her body craved something very different from what her strong-willed mind told her it did. A something I longed to show her—and dear fuck, would have so much fun showing her—but not tonight. A tangled ball of yarn like her would take months to unravel, maybe longer—but I was in for the commitment. I was ready to sign aboard the USS Taylor for the cruise of a lifetime.
But first, I had to see if she was ready for a new commanding officer.
Drake came onto the dance floor with a folding chair, setting it down with a loud thud beside me. Everyone knew what this silly tradition entailed, and at that moment, the entire crowd shrank down to one knock-out blonde trembling about two feet away from me.
“Miss Mathews.”
Her lips pursed. “Dr. Stone.”
I twisted my own mouth, letting the sneer linger in my gaze. “Lovely to see you again.”
“I wish I could say the same, clown.”
“Dr. Clown, remember?” My reference to the first insult she’d ever flung my way had clearly lost its sparkle for her over the last six months, but I ignored her rebellious huff in favor of quirking a commanding eyebrow. “Please. Have a seat. Looks like I have something for you.” I switched the garter to one index finger and then used the digit to twirl it around.
Deep inhalation. Nervous stammer. “L-Look. We really don’t have to do all this. No one needs to see this, okay?”
“Oh, I think you’re wrong.” With smug confidence, I spun in a circle, addressing the crowd. “Who wants to see this thing through besides me? Quick show of hands. Raise ’em high.” I did the same with my free hand.
Hands popped up across the room—with the last three ladies on the survey being the bride, Claire Stone, and a third woman, a blonde like Taylor, only carved from a much fiercer mold. Her name was Mary, or Margaret, or some shit like that. Wasn’t important. Names rarely were to me—though their voting hands, raised one by one, definitely were.
Behind me, Taylor inhaled sharply as her besties sold her up the river. I pivoted back in time to watch visual darts fly from her eyes, sharp and blazing and so blue, only to be blasted back by a bark of laughter from Mary. No. Marjorie? Shit. Marisol?
Claire threw back her head, fighting and failing to hold back a snicker. “Margaux! Stop.”
Margaux. Yeah, that was it. The queen bee troublemaker even now, her face lighting up as she jabbed a teasing finger Taylor’s way. “You are so screwed, sister.”
“We are not sisters after this.” Taylor’s voice rose to such an adorable octave, I couldn’t control my smile. I think she even stamped a cute little high heel before redirecting her ire toward me. “This isn’t funny!”
“You’re right. It’s not.” I bowed low at the waist, sweeping my arm out before me. “Your throne, my queen.”
Her glower darkened. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I tilted my head. “You tell me. Am I kidding?”
“You tell me,” she volleyed. “Is a clown ever serious?”
I took a mental step back and clasped my hands behind me, assessing whether I was going to cut the little vixen some slack or just turn her over my knee here and now. First choice seemed most prudent, especially because my cock still rooted for the less stressful way to conclude tonight by being naked and horizontal with her.
On that note, I gently leaned over…filling her personal space as completely as she’d let me. All right, maybe a few inches more. Close enough to murmur for her ears alone, “Just play along, girl. You love your friends, despite that beautiful pout on your lips. Don’t spoil the wedding fun for them.”
Still, probably just to spite me, she pouted for another ten seconds. Finally, after a heavy huff, she plopped unceremoniously onto the chair.
“Not so hard, was it?”
“Just shut it and get on with it, clown.”
The DJ started prattling again as I dropped to one knee before her. His banter provided the perfect camouflage for my comeback comment, again meant for her alone. “You’ll apologize for that…eventually.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” But her fast, breathless stutter betrayed the true effect of my words on her. I liked hearing it. A lot.
“We’ll see.” I smiled while wrapping my fingers around her ankle. “We’ll see.”
I lifted her leg from perpendicular to parallel to the ground and rested her shapely calf on my knee as if preparing to fit her with the most precious shoe. Since the DJ was still narrating every inch of my movements, I could turn the moment into something more intimate for us just by keeping my voice low. And reverent. And aroused. Fuck, yeah. That too.
“You are stunning, Taylor Mathews. Christ…your skin.” I couldn’t lift my eyes from the contrast of my large, long fingers on her mesmerizing, opaque skin. “Is every inch of you so pale and fragile…and breathtaking?”
Her leg trembled. She tried to wrench away. I held her ankle in a vise grip.
“Stop. Seriously, Stone, before I remove your stones in front of this entire crowd.”
I didn’t relent an inch. Her words were harsh, but her voice was whispered and husky. A rose-colored flush moved across her cheeks.
I dug my fingers deeper into her ankle. Tugged without mercy, forcing her light frame to the edge of the chair. I caught her off-guard, forcing her to grip the sides of the seat to stop from sliding off completely.
“Damn it, Mac. I’m not joking. Just put the thing on and let me go.”
I raised my head. “I’m not joki
ng either, Miss Mathews. You are perfection.” I didn’t care who heard me in the crowd but continued, keeping my voice low so she alone could hear me—and know what she did to me. How the simple act of touching her ankle made the veins in my cock pop and the restraint in my system balance on razor wire. Jesus God, I wanted her.
With one study of her trembling face, I knew she wanted me too.
We both swallowed. The air thickened and crackled around us, sizzling with our mounting sexual attraction.
“Okay, you two. Ready? Remember, tradition says the new family will have one year of good luck for every inch you move that garter above her knee. Don’t let your friends down, Mac Stone!”
Technically, Fletcher and Drake weren’t my friends. And that ham of a DJ was really starting to grate on my nerves. But despite it all, he was giving me the excuse to touch this woman far more intimately than I might get away with at this point in our relationship.
And yeah, I’d just called it a relationship. And yeah, I believed it, despite every flame of every bonfire burning in both her incredible eyes.
I slipped the elastic band over her sexy silver T-strap shoe, moving my grip around her heel to keep my prize in place. I used my other hand to slide the garter up her calf, running my fingers against her skin every fucking chance I could.
Up, up, up, over her knee now. I had to fight a hundred impulses to lean forward and lightly brush my lips to that ever-so-sensitive crease. Her thighs were slim, with just a slight variance from her lower leg. As I pushed my fingers at her hem, my imagination took over in terrifying force. What would it be like to feel those thighs on either side of my face? To shove them apart as I licked my way up to the pink prize at their center? To feel them tremble for me as I stabbed my tongue into her heat over and over and over again?
I shifted my position. My dick was swollen against my fly now, making me wonder how I’d get up without the whole crowd knowing my train of thought. The second I gazed back up at Taylor, even that didn’t matter. Her eyes were heavy, her breathing more of a rhythmic pant. She was as stirred by my touch as I was by her existence.
I needed this woman.
To have her. Conquer her. Revel in her beneath me, giving me more of those sweet fast breaths as her pussy clamped around me. Then to blaze into triumph as she surrendered an orgasm to me. Then another. And another…
I gulped hard, sliding the garter higher. Higher. I was beneath her hem now, stroking her skin lightly as her thighs tensed and fought me. Was it because her pussy was already wet for me?
“That’s one year. Maybe two. Come on now. You can do better than that!”
I’m going to cut that DJ with a very blunt scalpel.
Thankfully, the woman before me dissolved all thought of any stabbing instrument but the one between my thighs. I recommitted to the task of seduction by garter, pushing the lace up a little farther.
“You heard the man, Miss Mathews.” I scraped my thumbnail up the inside of her calf. “How far are you willing to go?”
“With you, clown?” She snorted. “That’s the end of the line, dude.”
With another huff, she tried to yank her leg back, but that was contingent on me relenting my grip. No damn way. “Really? You’re going to let your friends down that way? I didn’t figure you for the type to chicken out on anything.” I maintained the light tone—along with the merciless grip. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed.”
Her face twisted, which should have daggered me with guilt but didn’t. This was dirty pool, questioning her loyalty to her friends—but was it? I had no bosom-buddy reference of my own upon which to base the supposition, but could see, along with everyone else, that these women loved one another deeply, simply from their sisterly ribbing.
Besides, the effort earned me a pretty adorable glare down a sexy-as-fuck elfin nose—right before a line spat in a Southern accent so sassy it was an instant aphrodisiac.
“Do you really think I just fell off the turnip truck, mister?”
I felt my grin spreading again. I’d smiled more in the last five minutes than in the last five years. This creature was getting to me on every level. The realization should’ve been terrifying, but I was having too much fun. “Not at all, spitfire. Did you know research shows it takes great intelligence to have sharp wit?”
“Do you know flattery usually gets a guy nowhere?”
“Do you always have a habit of changing the subject when someone makes you uncomfortable?”
“You don’t make me uncomfortable.”
“Then have dinner with me.”
“No.”
“Then come back to my hotel with me.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I wasn’t sorry. Probably the polar opposite. Come home with me, Taylor Mathews. Please. Let me peel that sexy dress off you, then get tangled in all my sheets with you, and then bury myself inside you…
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
Her accusation was so unexpected, I was caught completely off-guard. My grip slackened, giving her the freedom to yank her ankle back, lurch to her feet, and then stomp off the dance floor without a backward glance at the clown on his knees.
Yeah, she stomped. Literally.
And it was exciting as hell.
I let my head fall forward, chuckling to myself.
Yeah, chuckling. Literally.
The whole situation was so absurd. So unexpected. Just like her. She was a revelation every time my orbit collided with hers, a delicate package concealing such a fierce temperament. She was adorable and unexplainable, gorgeous and ferocious, a rocket engine powering a cute convertible chassis…
And she wielded a complete, constricting grip over my entire thrumming body.
What the living hell was I going to do about her?
The demand seized my breath as she disappeared into the crowd, her three girlfriends following her beeline for what I presumed to be the ladies’ room. But just when I assumed that’d be all I saw of them for a while, Margaux notched a glance back over her shoulder—and signaled a determined thumbs-up.
So maybe I liked Margaux.
The laughter around me died as people returned to their cake and conversation.
With a determined push, I straightened to my full six feet, grabbed the folding chair, and carried it off the dance floor. Drake Newland was waiting to take the chair and stow it against the wall. I grunted a fast thanks and was ready to leave our exchange at that, but he pulled me back over by giving me a hearty pat on the back. “Worthy effort, Doc.”
I just grunted again. This wasn’t going to become Kumbaya hour.
“Hey…the ones you have to work hardest for are the ones worth it by far.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Thank God someone materialized to say it besides me. That person was Fletcher Ford, looking infinitely better than the car accident victim on my surgical table a few months ago, especially when it came to his sarcastic grin. “You sound like a cross between Yoda and Dr. Phil,” he razzed Drake.
The big guy just shrugged. “Guess that’s what love does to a guy.”
“Truth, my brother.”
“Speaking of love…”
“Was just thinking the same thing.”
“Let’s go find her.”
“Later, Doc.”
“Later.” I muttered it to my feet, kicking them at the manicured lawn in the growing twilight, debating whether to set up base camp outside the ladies’ room or save the shreds of my dignity and get the fuck out of here. Plan B was getting a damn good lead, and I was on the brink of decisive follow-through when my tall, dark, enigma-of-enigmas cousin approached.
Joy of fucking joys.
“Mac.”
“Killian.”
“Good to see you.” The man’s words were appropriate, but his tone had no life or sincerity, betraying how he really felt.
How we both did.
“Wish I could say the same.” Asshole. I refrained from my usual sequitur out of respect
for the occasion, not him. Sugar coating anything in life, especially sentiments for my cousin, was highly overrated.
“So. You know any good surgeons?”
I side-eyed him. “Where you going with this?” Asshole.
“Well, one day you’ll have to have that chip on your shoulder surgically removed. It’s been there a long time, so you’ll need professional help.”
“Fuck off.”
“Suit yourself. But you’ll need to look into that if you want to get anywhere with Taylor.”
“What does our history have to do with Miss Mathews?” I volleyed back, annoyed.
“Ouch. ‘Miss Mathews’? She’s iced you out worse than I thought.” His onyx eyes glinted, sharpening the blade of the tease.
“Now you can really fuck off. It’s called respect, not that you’d know anything about that.”
Killian sipped his Scotch and roamed a long look around the patio. But beneath the lazing panther façade, he was pure, piercing vigilance. “What I do know is that Taylor is one of my wife’s dearest friends.” He motioned toward the door the women had disappeared behind. “Those four have been through a lot of hell together. She’s like family to us, Mac. I won’t stand by and watch you hurt her.”
I growled, a second away from tossing that expensive alcohol into his smug face. “What the hell are you going on about? You think you know everything about everyone? I’ve met her once, maybe twice before—so back the fuck off, Papa Bear.”
A laugh chuffed off his lips. A goddamned laugh. “Ohhhh, shit.”
“What?” If words had blades, I would have guillotined him.
“Dude. Really?”
“What?”
“None of us is blind or dead, so rest assured, everyone here knows exactly what went down between you two. Further, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the fucking city felt your chemistry, so you need to just cut the shit, okay?” He sliced a hand through the air when my mouth opened, not that I had any words ready to go. “I’m just giving you fair warning. There are a lot of people here tonight who would be more than miffed if she were hurt or let down.”
“Fine, fine. Consider me warned. Dude.”
My growl made him step back, both hands up, though the Scotch was still upright. Only Kil could pull off the move so smoothly, notching my irritation higher as he kept going, his condescending grin in complete opposition to his surrendering move. I was glad when he turned his back so I could finally flip him off.
