But she put me in the role of bodyguard, and I’m not backing down from this act. Not until the night is over.
And nothing is gonna change the truth: I want her. I want her all to myself, and I don’t share.
I’d carry her back to her apartment, and—
The fantasy appears before I can stop myself.
She’s lying there in bed beneath me, wearing just those little pajamas while I straddle her. There’s so little fabric, tied on only by string.
String that would come undone so easily in my hands.
These pajamas—
Wait. There’s the word:Bikini.
They were never pajamas. It’s a swimsuit.
Of course it is.
Which makes a lot more sense, considering that the hallway opens up to a set of double-doors leading to a rooftop pool. And, you know—since this is a pool party and all.
But it’s hard to think about anything except:
One, the way that tiny scrap of metallic cloth hugs her curves as she walks in front of me, hips swinging.
And two, how Blondie keeps inching closer to her side, like he’s planning to put his arm around her. But he must sense me glaring him down again, because he glances back at me and puts his hands in his pockets, all innocent-like. Not that it stops me from glaring.
If he makes a move, he’ll regret it.
He holds the doors open for her as if he’s some sort of gentleman, but I know better. I can see every bit of bad intention dripping from under that cocky smile as he leads her out onto the pool deck.
And suddenly it hits me that nobody here is wearing much at all.
Not even the guys.
They’ve all got their shirts off, strewn across the backs of slatted pool furniture, an array of towels lying spread and rumpled here and there as their owners laze about, umbrella’d drinks in hand, or lean against the side of the pool where they stand in the water, chatting one-another up beneath the steady beat of low background music.
And at least half the women are dressed exactly like my human.
Yeah.
Mine.
As long as we’re linked, that’s exactly what she is.
That’s why I’m so damn protective of her. It’s not that I care about her. It’s her stupid magic, binding me to her.
And she’s hot.
But that’s got nothing to do with feelings.
If she doesn’t want me to get up in her business, she should just let me go. Figure out how to set me free and be done with it.
But instead I’m here, watching Blondie show us where to find towels. He offers her some sort of mixed drink, which she takes with a smile.
I frown.
Is he trying to get her drunk?
