“Yes, sir,” she confirms.
“Great, thank you.” I hang up, fuming and in disbelief that my supposed best friend wouldn’t invite me to his own fucking engagement party. The cocksucker.
Next I call the North Oaks Country Club and find out the event begins at seven tonight. I grab the dry cleaning bag that contains my one and only suit, and toss it on the bed. Glancing at my watch, I see I’ll have just enough time to shower and pick up a suitable engagement gift, before fighting the Chicago traffic to make it there on time.
When I arrive, I’m pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a smiling Brielle.
“You made it.” She hugs me. “Hale said he didn’t know if you’d be here.”
I nod and return her smile. The asshole didn’t even bother tell her that he snubbed me. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Hale stalks up, confusion etched across his face when he spots me. “Reece. You’re here.”
“You sound surprised, brother.” Now I’m just toying with him. The fuckwad.
“I didn’t know if you’d be able to tear yourself away from your activities at the club,” he returns, scowling.
We’re skirting around the elephant in the room. We both know we’re talking about Macey, yet we’re not.
“Of course I could. This is for you both.” I hand him an envelope containing a check for a thousand dollars. There’s nothing better to make him feel like shit for excluding me than cold, hard cash. “Congratulations.”
He peeks inside the envelope and his eyes widen. “Can I have a word?” Tipping his head at the bar, he and I start toward it, leaving Brielle to wonder what’s going on.
“What the fuck is this? You’re trying to buy me off because you know I’m pissed about you and Macey?” he asks, shoving the envelope in my face.
“That’s a gift. Keep it. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone worthy of your affections this time. It has nothing to do with my involvement with Macey.” That’s the absolute truth.
The bartender heads over and we each order a drink, trying to figure out this new wedge between us. I thought things would blow over, but it’s growing worse.
Hale picks up his drink and the glass of champagne he ordered for his bride-to-be. “You know where I stand. Don’t fuck this up.” He heads back toward Brielle, leaving me to wonder what I’m really doing here.
I sip my Scotch slowly, surveying the room. Christ, everyone’s here. Oliver and Chrissy, and even a few members from the club are standing near the piano, chatting amiably. Everyone but me was included in the celebration, it seems.
When I spot Macey, it’s like all the air has been sucked from the room. My breathing hitches, and my hands ache to touch her. She’s stunning, entirely fuckable. She’s heading toward the bar, but she hasn’t seen me yet. Her gaze is on the floor, the long stem of an empty champagne glass between her fingers. She walks slowly, taking her time, and her eyes remain downcast as if she’s deep in thought.
I hate that some of the lively spark she’s known for seems to have slipped away. The urge to kiss her mouth, her neck, her chest flares inside me, and I have to tamp it down. Her hair is twisted into a fashionable knot at the nape of her neck, her dress is a deep plum color and strapless, drifting all the way to the floor. Her nails are still painted black.
She looks incredible. I haven’t seen her since I left her after our scene, and it strikes me again just how gorgeous she really is with that understated beauty. But leaving the way I did was the only option. Still, it torments me that I couldn’t provide her with aftercare, that I couldn’t be the one to draw her a warm bath and shampoo her hair. Nothing good would come of such intimacy, though, which was why I forced myself to leave.
“Hello,” I say when she’s closer, and her head snaps up.
“Oh. Reece.” She stops where she’s standing, as if she’s afraid to come any closer to the dangerous and unpredictable animal.
“Hi.” So much for a tempting pickup line. This woman turns me into a caveman capable only of uttering only single-syllable words. I’ve been trying to clear my head of the images of her hands bound with my ropes, the luscious spill of cleavage over her lacy bra, the expression on her face as I pushed her to her limits as she tried to hold back her orgasm. She did beautifully, and damn, she felt even better than perfection. But now, standing close enough that I can smell her sweet scent, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.
She lets out a deep exhale. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
Her brows squeeze together. “Seriously?”
“I’m always serious.” I take another sip of my Scotch.
“So, I’m not the only one mad at you then,” she says confidently, her stance straightening.
“You’re mad?” This is news to me.
“You’re a selfish asshole and an idiot. Chrissy told me about your kink. I feel like a fool. I thought our history meant . . . You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to start a fight at my brother’s party.”
“My kink?” Now I’m really fucking confused.
She lowers her voice. “You only fuck in the mouth or the ass.” Her tone is biting.
She’s looking at me as if this information is disgusting, or like she feels sorry for me. But what am I supposed to say?
“It’s been that way for a long time, yes.” It’s just one of the tactics I employ to ensure I don’t fall for a woman. No sharing a bed, no intimacy, no sex. At least, not in the traditional sense. I hate the way her worried gaze latches onto mine, as if she’s trying to solve a riddle. “You thought I was going to make love to you? Sorry, sweetheart, I’m not that guy anymore. This is me. Take it or leave it.”