“Don’t tell me I didn’t see it with my own two eyes.”
“We were dancing. That’s all. He’s not in trouble, is he?”
Jesus, does she think I’m going to clip my own cousin at my brother’s wedding because he copped a feel? I stare down at her and realize that, yes, that’s exactly what she’s worrying about.
“The only trouble he’s in is the kind he’ll make for himself if he doesn’t listen to me,” I tell her, which is a hell of a lot more than I have to tell her.
Then I walk away again.
She follows me.
Of course she does.
“What does that mean?” she asks, struggling to keep up with my long strides in her silk dress and strappy sandals.
“It means what you think it does.”
“So now I’m not allowed to dance with fellow guests at the reception?”
We reach the table I left, my Macallan still waiting for me. We’re far enough from the music that I can hear her without her having to yell. But the music is still loud, and we’re off to theside, in the shadows not illuminated by the multicolored dance floor lights.
“You’re not allowed to grind on my little cousin while he grabs your ass, no,” I snap. “Is that all? I’ve got some scotch to drink.”
She crosses her arms over her chest again, which is a shame because it blocks my view of her hard nipples. “I wasn’t grinding on him. For one thing, he’s too young for me. I don’t date college kids—my ex did enough of that for both of us. For another, he was just being friendly.”
“Any friendlier, and he would have had you up against the wall.” I lift my drink to her in mock salute and then down a mouthful, relishing the smooth burn.
“At least Fabiano didn’t follow me into a bathroom.”
“If he even thinks about it, I’ll tie an anchor to him and throw him into the fucking ocean.”
Her lips part, but nothing emerges. I kind of like that I’ve managed to render her speechless. For the second time.
“Cat got your tongue, Jane?” I lean closer, inhaling orange and pineapple and everything I want so badly but absolutely cannot fucking have. “Better be careful. Leave your pretty mouth hanging open like that for too long, and I’ll be tempted to stick my dick back in it.”
“You’re a real prick, you know that?”
I drain some more of my Macallan. “I do my job. That’s all.”
“So it’s your job to police the wedding guests, insult the maid of honor, and threaten to kill one of the groom’s cousins?” She sounds horrified.
“I never said I’d kill Fabiano.” I shrug a shoulder. “I just said I’d throw him into the ocean with an anchor attached to him. You inferred the rest.”
“You’re a psycho, you know that?”
My lip curls. “I think you better watch what you say to me. That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, Jane.”
“Stop calling me Jane. You know what my name is.”
“Yeah, but pissing you off is my new favorite sport.”
“Find a different one.”
I give her a feral grin. “Nah. Don’t think I will.”
We trade glares. I’m impassive, a fucking rock. Nothing she can do or say will get to me. This is a battle Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Writing Professor is never going to win.
Fabiano shows up then, a hesitant air about him, holding two cups of coffee on saucers.
