“You don’t need it.”
“Of course I do. What if I need to refresh my lipstick?”
“A waste of time,” I grumbled. “I’m going to kiss it off.”
“Good point. Buttell me. Now!”
I’d created an effing monster. It was my turn to sigh. I set her down, opened her car door, but kept a hand on her arm, refusing to let her get in yet. “No matter what you wear, Ballerina Girl, I’m in danger. Some clothes are worse than others.” I flicked a hand. “That bathing suit, for instance. Tonight I can’t keep my eyes off of you. There’s nothing showing. It’s you.”
She commanded every room she ever floated into. The woman didn’t walk. She drifted. I had watched her walk into a room full of her peers in a suit that was fitted around the top but loose around the legs—you couldn’t even tell she had feet. She moved like a cloud.
Her eyes went soft. Her hands came to each side of my neck. “You always make me feel so good,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss me. Then she wiped the lipstick from my lips with her thumb. She smiled. “You’re right too. Sometimes. My lipstick is almost gone, and we haven’t even left the cottage yet.”
“Get in the car, Ballerina Girl.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get your purse.”
She laughed as she buckled up.
The pub overflowed, people spilling out of it like beer down a drunk’s shirt.
“Ah, look, the wee dancer has come back!” This bold statement was met with cheers from the crowd inside of the pub.
My wife’s cheeks flamed red.
“Ah, the wee dancer has come home toherpub, is that the way of it, love?” I said to her, doing my best Irish accent.
She blinked up at me. Her cheeks were still hot embers. “That sounds so unnatural coming from your mouth,” she muttered.
I laughed as I ushered her further in, dodging and sidestepping crammed bodies.
“Look!” She pointed between heads. “Romeo is dressed just like you!”
He stood near the stage with Gabriel, Layla, and Michael. Scarlett was right. Our shirts were almost identical, except mine was black and his was white. Our jeans were the same. So were our leather boots.
I muttered fucking rude remarks until we made it to the table Gabriel had reserved. This was something not done unless it was for him.
“This place is filled with Legion men,” Scarlett said, taking a seat next to Chiara and Violet, who scooted down to give her some space.
“Yeah,” I said, looking around at all of their faces and wondering if the man who had stood between my wife and the monsters were among them. “Tell me if Aeden is here.”
She lifted forward, her head moving from left to right, eyes scanning the crowd. After a few minutes, she shrugged. “If he is, I don’t see him.”
The band started up and most of the crowd moved toward the stage, a wave rushing to taste the shore, and the bar area seemed less crowded.
“I’m going to get us a drink.” Leaning over, I ran a hand under her hair, along her neck, forcing her head to tilt up. I put my lips to hers, watched as her eyes closed and felt as her body softened at my touch. “Stay put.”
“All right,” she whispered against my lips.
Nodding at Thomas, Donato, and a few of the other men who hovered, keeping an eye out, I made it to the bar. Since the band had started, it was like cutting butter with a hot knife to squeeze my way in. I ordered two pints of Guinness.
“And a bottle of Jameson,” I said, glancing back at Scarlett.
She and the girls were touching shoulders, swaying back and forth to the music, coming together to sing when the lyric hit a nerve. Scarlett held her arm out and Violet pulled the sleeve of the jacket off. Scarlett slipped the other out and then laced the leather through the straps of her purse.
Hell, she was already taking off her jacket.
