“If we were tight, do you think I’d do this?” He steps into my space.
I step back, wobbling on my feet. The earthy scent of him sending me delirious.
He catches me with a gentle hand on my back, steadying me on my feet.
My head inches backward to look up into his eyes as he leans closer. “What are you doing?” I croak out, almostdoing the limbo in his arms to keep a suitable distance between our lips.
He dips his head, his five-o’clock shadow scratching my cheek as he whispers in his hypnotising British accent, “What does it look like I’m doing, turtle girl?”
I gulp, willing my lips not to fall for his tricks. My pulse pounds in my neck. “Whatever it is, you can forget it.” The words come out with each panting breath.
His lips brush against the pulse in my neck, and somehow I feel the sensation between my thighs. “Your body’s telling me different.” His fingers graze my cheek. “I can feel your heart beating against my chest. Is the pulse between your thighs beating to the same rhythm?”
My cheeks grow hotter than the sun. With my jaw clenched, I suck in the air through my nostrils, ready to breathe out fire. Friends with the town’s rich pricks or not, he’s an arrogant ass.
“You want me. You couldn’t take your eyes off my chest when we were on the beach.”
“Only because I couldn’t make out your stupid tattoos.”
He’s so close. And he smells so good. Why must he smell so intoxicating? If he kisses me, I’m not sure I could say no. It’s a battle between my mind and my body right now and I’m ready to wage war on the latter.
He lets out a small laugh. “Perhaps you should consider taking a closer look.”
My eyes flick to his lips, then back to his crystal blue eyes as he holds me captive.
“We can have some fun tonight. I can tend to your wet, aching pussy.”
I scrunch my nose and cringe. “Who says that?”
He had me hypnotised, but that was before he made assumptions about my anatomy.
“How about a birthday kiss?” He inches closer, but waits for me to meet him halfway.
I turn my face to the side. The heat in my veins turns to anger, causing me to boil over like a lobster in a pan and I’m probably just as red. “I wouldn’t kiss you if you paid me.” Is he insane? And they call me mental Myrtle. With my newfound strength and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I push against his chest.
His eyes widen in surprise as he backs into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne. Time slows down as the flutes topple, bubbles spilling over the silver tray. The fizzy liquid runs down his tux and white dinner shirt.
I inhale a deep breath, composing myself after the invasion into my personal space, one that my body clearly enjoyed, judging by the heat between my thighs, but there’s no way I’m going to admit that to him.
My lips lift in the corner as black ink shows through his now transparent shirt, and my resolve weakens when the fabric sticks to his washboard abs, reminding me of the ridges on the shells of my spirit animals.
The guys are in a fit of laughter like a bunch of hyenas and I almost feel bad for this guy, especially as it’s his birthday, but I can’t stop the smile widening on my face.
The waiter did well to catch the falling glasses, and luckily, none smashed on the floor. “Forgive me, sir,” he says, trying to mop up the spill with a bunch of napkins. A few more waiters and waitresses come to the rescue while Finn clenches his jaw and takes off his jacket.
Suspenders look good snapped against his skin. I move my head side to side, trying to shake the image from memory, knowing my subconscious filed it away for another time. “Looks like you’re the one who’s wet now, Richie Rich.”
“It’s Finnegan Alexander Charles Jones Fitzpatrick to you.”
“Of course it is.” I take another glass of champagne and walk away with a smug smile, searching for Ava.
Turtle girl, one. Birthday boy, zero.
Chapter Four
FINN
The alarm assaults my ears. I roll over and swipe up on my phone. My head pounds. I should be used to drinking myself into a stupor after the many nights out at Oxford, but last night was brutal after she turned me down.
