“True. But given the move involves dancing and I was the first to ask her, it follows I was the first one to make a move. Asking her does constitute a move, does it not?”
Not as much of a move as kissing her.
Just tell them. It’ll be awful, but at least it’ll get you out of having to do this event.
Inwardly Clarke groaned. If he told them, he’d have to provide details. And that meant a mad lot of details where Aramis was concerned. He would insist on knowing exactly where each body part was at each moment, including the tongue.
And Athos might view it as a kind of betrayal. Kiss Ceci Rivers? The woman responsible for that crash at Silverstone?
Would none of his brothers come to his rescue? He only needed one.
“Come on, guys. Aramis? Porthos? Can’t one of you do the auction?”
Porthos shook his head. “Fair is fair. You lost.”
“Besides,” Aramis said, taking the envelope from Athos and slapping it into Clarke’s hand, “we don’t have the kind of pulling power an F1 driver has.”
The three of them stood, arms folded across their chests. They weren’t going to budge.
“It’s for a good cause,” said Athos.
Clarke sighed, shoving the envelope in his pocket. He picked up the rifle and marched out of the room. He’d just opened the front door when Athos came up behind him.
“You know what Porthos said, about you being different … before …”
Clarke felt his breath catch in his throat. It felt like it’d gotten stuck on something he couldn’t swallow.
Athos didn’t complete that thought. Maybe because he didn’t need to.
Instead he turned to something that no doubt he thought might make Clarke feel better.
“I hear he’s doing well.”
Clarke nodded.
“And she is too.”
Clarke couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “I guess.”
Athos sighed. “He doesn’t blame you, and she doesn’t either.”
“I know,” he muttered.
“Do you? Or maybe that doesn’t matter because you still blame yourself. And that’s part of the reason you haven’t won that trophy the past few years.”
Clarke’s eyes flew open. “No,” he snapped. “Ceci Rivers and Ian Anker is the reason I haven’t.”
“Fair enough. But I don’t think they’d snatch those wins if you didn’t help them out. If you want to get past Ceci Rivers and Ian Anker to hoist that trophy, you’re going to have to get past—”
Clarke didn’t let him finish. He waved his hand. Athos had told him all this before, he didn’t need to hear it again. “Yeah. Okay. I have to go.”
Once he stepped outside and shut the door behind him, he sighed, watching his breath form a cloud of steam, which was quickly shattered by the cold air.
Everything about her that night didn’t seem right. Her eyes, that birthmark and tattoo.
That kiss.
She didn’t kiss the way I thought she would. It felt like she yielded to me. But I can’t imagine Ceci Rivers yielding to any man. And certainly not to me.
