We continue to pace down the hall in our frenzy of arguing. “Excuse me for staying up to date on world events, and darling, boring is the one thing I am not. Besides, even if I was, it’s the boring ones who normally harbor a wild side in other areas.”
Her hands form fists by her sides. “Can you not just let me have one enjoyable night where I don’t need to think about the way you probably chain someone to your bed?”
“No! You’re my mistress.” My voice rises an octave while I rile her.
She glimpses sidelong at me as we continue to walk. “Only in a fictional world, because in reality, I would have to be insane.”
“I’m so relieved you’re sitting on the other side of the table, because I swear you don’t want me with a fork near you right now.”
“Uh, actually, the seating arrangements changed,” Hailey interjects awkwardly.
Apparently, in our fury, we didn’t realize we made it back to the dining room, making a scene.
“No. Nope. Not a good idea,” Esme reiterates my own thoughts.
Hailey gives us a pointed look and tilts her head in her brother’s direction. Shit. The proposal. That’s why musical chairs happened.
I’m going to have to suck this up.
“I knew it was you.What better way to ask you to be my wife than with candles all around and your favorite theme.” Liam and Ava are at the head of the table. She’s already crying, and Liam could use improvement on his proposal. The ring box appears and opens, and the woman is in shock, except I know she’s been calculating this for months, but I’ll give her points for her acting skills. “Will you be my Mrs. Feathers?”
The immediate titter causes my head to turn to Esme sitting to my right. She’s desperately trying to keep her chortle in with her hand over her mouth. Rightfully so, because what in the world is my man Liam doing with this cheesy proposal?
“Yes, I’ll be your Mrs. Feathers. You’re my favorite man with mafia ties,” Ava responds spiritedly.
Esme sputters again, and her face flushes; she is about to burst.
Feral instinct kicks in. I scoop my hand under the table and find her naked thigh between the straps of her stockings, then I claw into her flesh in an attempt to settle her down. Leaning in close to her ear, my nose scraping the edge of herface with silky skin, I open my mouth. “Get. It. Together,” I grit out in a low voice.
She instantly stalls, and her breath hitches. My guess is it’s due to the fact that I press harder into her skin, not so accidentally sliding up half a finger in length. It’s either the alcohol or the heat from the thousands of candles, but this woman is warm and soft between her legs. I’m nowhere near her core, but I sense I’ve done something to her. My sixth sense.
Fingers on her thigh seems to do the trick because her hysterics disperse into oblivion, or maybe she just has a nocturnal enjoyment to respond to my touch. She gulps a breath and attempts to smile like the rest of the room at the newly engaged couple.
Why the hell isn’t she reaching under the table to push my hand away?
We don’t look at one another, not even when my hand abandons her leg when we all begin to clap. In fact, I casually pick up my wine glass for a sip, as though I didn’t just touch her in a way that can still her into quiet.
She smiles tightly as everyone has elation written on their faces, and in the process of celebration, she accidentally knocks her fork to the ground. Her shoulder bumps against mine as she leans down to pick it up. Just as I’m enjoying the view of her long back, a sharp sting hits near my ankle and slowly slides up.
The little vixen is using the fork on me, causing me to clear my throat and my body to tense and equally enjoy her little game.
Esme continues to look forward, not giving me a single glance as the fork rakes up my leg with just enough pressure to be gentle yet firm. “Oh, phonus balonus, I’m such a klutz, dropping things, but I think… I found the fork.”
No. This is bad.
That fork can absolutely not go any higher.
…and it does.
She stops mid-thigh, my blood burning through my entire body.
“Must be all dirty now. I better stick to sipping champagne and sucking olives.” My eyes pop out when she glances over her shoulder with a sly smile.
The guy across from us looks at us strangely but then turns to the guest at his side.
“Well, don’t forget to swallow,” I mutter out.
Her eyes gawk at my boldness. I get the upper hand when I discreetly rip her hand away from my leg, dropping her wrist to the side as she claws the utensil.
