There she is—cool, unflappable Millie—in a dress that isn’treallya dress by any appropriate standard. Perfect make-up. Not a hair out of place. Nothing to indicate that the two of us were at each other’s throats only a few minutes ago, or that she slapped the absolute shit out of me when I took it too far.
I can see your nipples through the fabric of your dress, Mills... they went stiff the second you realized who you were sitting next to.
She doesn’t look at me. Just slides into her seat between hermother and the man she’s going to marry with her own murmuredsorry.
“You’re late,” Allister whispers plaintively while the table does its best to ignore the fact that the bride-to-be showed up half-naked and a little tipsy. “Where have you been?”
“Traffic,” she says, giving him a one word lie while placing her own napkin in her lap, still not looking at me.
Now Allister frowns at her. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had a glass of champagne at my fitting.” She lies again before giving him a little shoulder shrug. “Maybe two.”
The move draws his attention to her bare arm. “What happened?” he asks, his brow knitting together with concern while he studies the red handprint, wrapped around her bicep.
Myred handprint.
Finished with her napkin, Millie reaches for her water. “My heel got stuck in a crack in the sidewalk on my way in. Some nice man grabbed me before I fell.”
She’s good.
Scary good.
But I already knew that.
Still not satisfied, Allister throws a look around the table like he’s hoping someone else is as bothered by his fiancée’s sudden rash of odd behavior as he is. When no one else seems to care or find it at all odd that not only is Princess Millie half-naked and more than a little tipsy, she’s showing signs of being manhandled, he leans in and hisses in her ear. “And what the hell are you wearing? This is Davino’s, Millie—not a nightclub.”
A goddamn pocket square with straps.
“I’m wearing a dress, Allister,” she says, giving him the same cool, collected answer she gave me when I asked her the same thing. “I found it in our closet—I thought you might’ve left it for me as a gift to wear tonight.”
For some reason that shuts him up.
Leaning into him without warning, she presses her lips against his cheek. “Let’s not fight, darling,” she says quietly while lifting a hand to wipe away the lipstick on his cheek, the enormous diamond on her ring finger flashing in my face. “I’m here now, so let’s just enjoy the evening, okay?” Turning away from him, she aims her attention at a hovering waiter who all but trips over himself in his hurry to get to her. “I’d like a glass of the most expensive white you have,” she tells him in that regal tone of hers before flicking a cool, measured glance in my direction. “And make sure it’s chilled—I’mverypicky.”
“Of course, madam,” the waiter says, giving her a slight bow before he scurries off to do her bidding.
Giving me another look, Millie arches a slim, perfectly shaped brow in my direction before dismissing me completely.
Without warning, I feel Paige’s hand on my knee. Slowly sliding it up my thigh, she pushes her fingers under the napkin covering my lap to wrap them around the stiff, swollen length of my cock. Tilting her head, shoulder brushing against mine, she whispers in my ear.
“You’re staring, Mercer.”
Paige and I aren’t together and if I can manage to keep my head on straight and rememberwhy, Paige and I are never going to be together again.
It’s time to move on.
Time to let it go.
Lethergo.
Saying yes to being her dinner date for Millie’s rehearsal dinner was closure.
Full circle moment and all that shit.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
Fighting the urge to push her hand away, I drop my gaze. Reaching for my own water glass, I take a healthy swallow inhopes of easing the dry, tight ache in my throat. Setting it down, I lower one of my hands into my lap, pretending to adjust my napkin in hopes of knocking her hand loose. Instead of letting go, Paige gives me a slow stroke, squeezing the head of my cock through my pants while she practically purrs in my ear.
