Sleeping With Her Enemy(74)

So now it was his job to clear the way for her. Get all the shit out of her path. Yesterday, that had meant disassembling her furniture and moving her stuff to his storage locker. Today, that apparently meant being the rear guard—or the front guard or whatever guard was required—at this ridiculous society party.

They just had to get through this weekend. Because once her head was clear, they were going to have so much goddamned fun, they were going to blow the roof off his house. Or her rental. Or wherever. They were going to blow all the roofs off. He grinned just thinking about it.

“Where’s Amy?” Jack appeared at his elbow, Cassie on his arm, both of them holding drinks that appeared to have little pine trees or some shit sticking out of them. “I’ve seen her brother, but not her.”

“There she is!” Cassie started to wave but then dropped her hand. “Oh.”

He followed her gaze to the staircase. There, indeed, was Amy. His breath caught for a moment. Wearing a calf-length, sleeveless ivory dress, she looked more like a bride than she had on her wedding day. She scanned the room as she slowly descended the stairs, her face closed down, unreadable.

Then she saw him. And as at the karaoke bar, her face lit up. He smiled back and winked, hoping that this time, it would stay lit up.

It didn’t.

She pulled her arm away from the person who’d been escorting her down the stairs.

And that person was Mason.

He tried to tell himself that her proximity to Mason didn’t mean anything. Their families were no doubt close. And there was such a thing as a civilized breakup. Just because he wanted to grab one of the ceramic serving trays being used to circulate appetizers and smash it over the prick’s head didn’t mean Amy had to want to.

But if she thought he was going to be nice to the guy, she was mistaken.

“You guys all look great,” she said, flashing a not-genuine smile at Jack and Cassie. It disappeared entirely when her eyes swept over him, stopping at his shirt.

“Yeah, I bought these pants, and I was going to put on a white shirt I already have, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it.” He hadn’t been able to resist the sartorial fuck-off to Amy’s parents.

“So you went with bright orange.” She fingered the cuff of his shirt, and he wanted to grab her hand and press it against his bare skin.

Something was off. “Are you okay?” he said, searching her face.

She pulled away from him like he’d burned her. “I’m fine.”

You’re mine, is what you are.

He had to shove that caveman thought aside for later, though. Mason was closing in. They had met at the odd office function over the years. Mason always called him Dan and wanted to talk about video games. Dax had been trying to be mature. To keep his tray-smashing fantasies securely lodged in the land of make-believe. But suddenly, the thought of this entitled man-child with his hands all over Amy… Thinking he was worthy of her. And then having the gall to cast her off?

Change of plan.

He grabbed Amy’s hand. “I need to talk to you.” She opened her mouth in surprise. “Now,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers, doing a 180, and pulling her in the opposite direction from Mason. She emitted a little squeak of surprise but followed him through the crowd, murmuring “excuse us” and “so sorry,” as he roughly parted the sea of white-garbed assholes in their way. The right thing to do was to wait for this stupid party to be over, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“Amy?” came a voice. An older, feminine voice he assumed belonged to her mother, given that he followed the sound of it to a chic fiftyish woman with a severe blond bob and the same lanky build as Amy.

“Amy’s busy right now,” he barked, enjoying the woman’s shocked response. Hell, she was lucky he didn’t stop in his tracks and proposition her daughter in front of the whole goddamned party.

Heading the opposite way from the main stairwell took them into the kitchen, which was populated with a small army of people preparing food and stacking used dishes. He kept going, ignoring their stares, until he found a door. He yanked it open. A pantry. Fine.

He pulled her in behind him, slammed the door shut, and kissed her.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she murmured. But she kissed him back, twining her arms around his neck.

“Yes, we can,” he growled. “We’re both adults. We’re both in the same headspace right now. So why the fuck can’t we?” He wanted to say more, to say that he had made a mistake by calling off their last trip to the “movies.” But to do that, he had to stop kissing her, and she was moaning now, soft and low, just for him.