Damned female is snarky.
Lila, being the incorrigible baggage she is, laughs at my chagrin and shrugs a shoulder, hooking her arm in mine to tow me along behind her.
“Leave her alone. It’s about damn time someone noticed her. Maybe she can lose the V-card sometime this freaking century.”
“Uh, wha—”
“Hurry it up, It’s baking hot out here, and Mama will skin me alive if I just leave you out here!” she yells from the doorway, her cheeks red enough that I suspect she heard Lila’s rather indelicate outing of her status as probably one of a handful of twenty-two-year-old virgins still inhabiting the planet.
It’s a shock, a bleeding heart-stopper, a flipping jolt to the senses and other things besides, to know that the sexy little package I’ve purposely avoided for four years is still pure.
I’m honest enough to admit that does things to me, primal things that I have no business thinking about.
We follow her into the house, my eyes squarely trained on her twitching bum, a bum so nicely curved it would likely cradle my monster very nicely as I take her from behind.
“Stop staring. You’re gonna make her uncomfortable, and you know she already has trouble forming whole words around you, asshole,” Lila mutters, pinching my arm. “No. Oh, no way. No freaking way, Dev. Leave her alone. She’s been through a hard time at work lately, and she almost shat a brick when I called her to pick you up. Just leave her alone.”
“What? Why is she having a hard time?” I ask, rubbing at my arm distractedly as that luscious arse twitches out of view and into the kitchen.
God, the things a man can do with that kind of arse.
“There’s a douchebag at work, can’t remember his name, but he’s been harassing her and now her boss is on her ass about it too.”
“Does Grey know?”
“You kidding me? If any one of these Slade boys knew their little princess was being pawed they’d snap the man’s dick off. She asked me not to tell any of them, and I promised I wouldn’t. Just…don’t make things harder for her than they already are. Her confidence is real low right now.”
“Fine. But—”
“No buts. Have an early dinner with us, and keep things light. Becks isn’t one of those airheads you pop and drop, Dev. She’s got deep feelings, and if you hurt her I’ll rip your nads off.”
I nod once, not meeting her eyes, and follow her to the kitchen, where Mill and Brand Slade are greeting imp with hugs and effusive kisses before pulling me into the fold.
We eat an early dinner, conversation flowing freely around the table as the five of us get caught up and listen to the hundred things that still need doing before the wedding next Saturday.
“You sitting for the bar soon?”
I see imp flinch before turning to Brand and shrugging, a sure sign that she’s uncomfortable with the line of conversation.
“Not yet. I’ve been busy working for the Dark Lord. She’s keeping me on my toes and enjoying every drop of blood she can get.”
The answer does little to satisfy her father, and I see him take a deep breath, his lungs no doubt ready to blast her to kingdom come for the non-answer.
“Mum asked me to get you to ring her some time during the week. She loved those jerseys you sent her last autumn and wanted to talk to you about the stitch or pattern or something,” I interject, looking as serious as I can without laughing at Brand’s frown.
I adore the man as much as my own father but he’s too much sometimes, something Grey and I both agree on, and way too hard on imp. If she goes left he shoves her right and vice versa.
According to Brand Slade, anything that imp gets into her head is the exact opposite of what’s safe or right for her.
“Oh! Uh,yeah, sure. She called me two months ago and we spoke about those quilts she was making, but I—”
She’s saved from the outright lie on her lips when a commotion in the hall heralds the arrival of the prodigal son, and everyone but she and me leaves the table.
“Phew! That was close one. Thanks.”
It’s stuttered and barely audible, but I hear what she’s saying and smile, dipping my head in acknowledgement.
“That’s all right, imp, no harm. The old man still riding your arse about being the next best thing in law?”
“Eternally.”
“And that’s not what you want from life.”
It’s no question but a statement of fact. Imp is not cut out to be a lawyer. While she’s insanely intelligent and focused, the woman enjoys crocheting doilies, bleeding hell.
I can picture her in a courtroom about as well as I see myself wearing pink fishnets beneath a dress. Not at all. Ever.