by Zoe Dawson
“It’s for a ball.”
He laughed, and the sound of it took me by surprise. It was deep and rich. I wanted to make him laugh again. “A ball,” he said, his voice full of amusement, and even more seductive than his brooding. “Like Cinderella? You got glass slippers to go with it?”
I smiled because he was so sarcastic and I loved it. “Yes, they’re in there…right next to my ruby ones.”
He laughed again, straightening when I approached him, but didn’t move. Unabashedly, I dropped the towel and slid my body against his, but he suddenly bracketed me in with his arms.
He cut his eyes over to the taffeta bomb. “Doesn’t seem like you. The style is wrong.”
“My momma picked it out.”
“You hate it.”
“Yes, I hate it. Trying to figure out a way to tell her.”
“Just tell her.”
“It’s not so simple. You have no idea how formidable my momma can be.”
“What would you wear?”
I dug into his waist, and when he moved his arms, I sidestepped away.
“Ooh, the boy is ticklish.”
His eyes promised retribution. Walking over to my nightstand and opening the drawer, I pulled out a fashion magazine and paged through it until I came to the most perfect dress. I walked back to him and handed him the magazine.
“Wow,” he said. “Now that’s you.”
“It suits me.”
“It would look great on you, but I’m not the best judge, because I prefer what you’re wearing now.”
“Stop distracting me. I’ve got to get dressed.” He tossed the magazine onto my chair and put his hands up in surrender while I sidled past him to get into my closet. Reaching for my underwear drawer, I pulled out a pair of midnight blue panties and stepped into them, shimmying the lace up my legs and rolling my hips. He watched every move, his eyes glittering. I grabbed the matching bra and walked over to him, slipping it on. “Do me…up?”
I heard him exhale, felt the heat of his breath across the back of my neck, then his hands on the middle of my back as he hooked the closures. “Prick tease,” he murmured against my nape as he kissed me there. He curled his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. He took my hand and pressed it over the fly of his jeans. “Feel this? This is what you do to me. I’m going to have a hard-on for the rest of the day, thanks to your teasing.”
I looked at him over my shoulder. “Always leave them wanting more.”
I slipped out of his hold, and I knew it was only because he let me. I reached for his belt “Let me take care of you before you go.”
“No,” he said too quickly, and then he shook his head. “You’d better get dressed.”
Snagging a pair of cropped jeans, I pulled them on and zipped them up, wondering why he wouldn’t let me go down on him. It was the third time I’d tried to blow him. Maybe he felt weird because he was in my house and all. I didn’t have time to figure it out right now, so I let it go again. I grabbed a floral top, white with pink flowers, corset-style, with a square neckline, and shrugged into it.
I pulled all my hair to the side and quickly plaited it.
He tilted his head. “Pretty,” he murmured. “What ball?”
“We’re back to that hideous gown?” He waited, and I sighed. “It’s my coming-out party,” I mumbled.
He tilted slightly forward, with an irresistible grin on his face, his hand to his ear. “Pardon me. What did you say?”
“Oh, for the love of God, it’s my coming-out party,” I huffed louder.
His brows rose and there was the Outlaw grin again. “Well, it’s too late. I have dibs on this deb. The only coming you’re going to be doing is with me.”
I practically leapt at him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I dragged his head down to my laughing mouth. “You are a bad, bad boy.”
He kissed me, his mouth so sweet. Then whispered against my lips. “You have no idea.” He raised his head and his face went serious. “You got a date for this thing?”
Not only was there jealousy in his voice, but something…ominous. My stomach knotted up, imagining how he would be treated if by some miracle he wanted to attend. “No. I’m going alone, that’s the whole point, Brax.”
He wasn’t convinced. “But there’s going to be plenty of guys at this thing, right?”
“There will be. Believe me. It will be completely boring,” I said dismissively, and jumped when someone pounded on my door.
“C’mon, River. Let’s go.” Jake shouted.
“I’ll be right there,” I shouted back and walked out of the closet. He followed me. Grabbing his shirt off the bed, he shrugged into it and then sprawled across the cushions of my chair, the velvet glimpse of his skin a tantalizing tease.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Your phone,” he said, raising his hand palm up making a gimme gesture with his fingers.
I walked to the nightstand and snatched it up, walked over and handed it to him.
He manipulated it and then handed it back to me. “Text me when you’re done with the family bonding.”
I looked down. It was his phone number. He’d given me his phone number. Feeling as if I’d hit the lottery jackpot, I looked back at him.
“I’ll take you up into my attic and we can sort through the shit up there for your freaking speech.”
I nodded.
“River,” he said as I turned away.
“What did you think of me? Back then?”
“Smoking hot heartbreaker,” I said. I wasn’t ready to tell him what I really thought, and was surprised to realize I was actually scared.
“You still think so?”
“I do.”
“Good. This is just about...having you until you leave. So there won’t be any need for broken hearts.”
It was a warning. I’d be smart to heed it.
Chapter Ten
Braxton
I was out of my ever-loving, completely jaded, totally fucked, hopelessly stupid mind. But I watched her until she slipped out the door, pausing to blow me a kiss with an affectionate, teasing smile on her face.
This wasn’t exactly my modus operandi. No, my MO was fuck and leave. It was all about my pleasure and getting what I needed. The relief and the contact with a woman’s hot, wet core as a cradle for my hot, hard dick. It wasn’t about staying and getting lost in silken skin, killer curves or sweet blown kisses.
And I was so full of shit. This wasn’t what I’d done with other women. All the nonsense about relief and contact were only more lies I liked to tell myself. This time was about slaking my desire for River Pearl.
She had blown my mind, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue.
I glanced over at the ugly poof of a dress. I tried not to let her refusal of my offer of escort hurt. But seriously, how could I expect she would want me anywhere near her glittering world? She knew I wouldn’t fit in there, which, contrary sumbitch that I am¸ only made me want to crash her ball all the more. She had been trying to let me down easy.
I worked hard to convey the appearance of being cool with it. Acted like I didn’t want to be invited to one of her fancy-schmancey parties anyway. Wouldn’t be caught dead wearing some stupid monkey suit. I fucking didn’t have time for that shit. Yadda yadda.
But I was lying to myself. Again. Had been lying to myself for years.
I heard the house settle and the doors close. I buttoned my shirt, tucking it absently in my jeans while I stared at her big, comfortable bed, remembering how helpless I’d been. How I had pumped my full, aching dick into her like only she could save me. Geezus, I was still hard. Pulling my bike keys from my jeans pocket, I walked over to her bed. Bracing my hands on the mattress, I pushed my feet into my boots.
Big, bad Braxton Outlaw. Yeah, right. I was a freaking pussy around her.
The texture of something other than sheets scored my hand. I looked down and sighed. I picked up her nightie and held it to my nose, reveling in the sce
nt trapped in the fabric, eyes closing to shut out distractions. Heat as pure and simple as breathing washed through me. I groaned with the pleasure of it. I broke out in a sweat.
And knew it didn’t matter if I had taken her and should be satisfied, or if I was plumb crazy. I wanted her, and deep, deep down, in a dark place where I’d locked, bolted and chained the door and thrown away the key, I’d never stopped wanting her.
It was only a month, I reminded myself. Thirty days of getting what I needed, and it would have to be enough. The locked-up place, the unrelenting, inflexible vow I had made, were as resolute as stone. There was no future for us. She knew it. I knew it.
I dropped the scrap of nothing and wandered over to the chair, picked up and thumbed through the magazine until I came to the amazing dress. I ripped the page out and headed for the door, folding the page and tucking it into my back pocket. I turned the handle and peeked out. I could have gone back out the window, but some contrary part of my nature refused to slink out of her house.
I stepped into the hall and walked over to the stairs. Geezus. This place was huge, palatial. A Princess’s castle.
No question she was so far out of my league, my social class, she could have been the freaking moon.
I went down the stairs and through to the back of the house. There were fresh blueberry muffins on the kitchen counter. An open dishwasher with breakfast dishes stacked inside, evidence someone was clearing the table. Of course they had domestic help. Unperturbed, I grabbed one of the muffins and went out the patio door. The pool shimmered in the early morning sun.
Taking a bite of the muffin, I started across the wide, impeccably manicured lawn. It must take a ton of water to keep it like this in the Louisiana heat. Passing the built-in, lavish barbeque, I chewed and swallowed. Hmm, not bad.
I made it to where I left my bike, and screeched to a halt. Jake Sutton’s ass was resting against the seat.
He was staring out into the bayou.
“I knew she was acting strange and she looked thoroughly fucked.” He turned to look at me. “You’re fucking my sister. Aren’t you?”
“You seem to have all the answers, Jake,” I said with nonchalance, polishing off the muffin.
He chuckled, but it was dry and bitter. “You’ve been sniffing around her for a long time. Finally seduced her.”
I didn’t respond. Jake was the microcosm of the town. They would think badly of me no matter what I said or did. Didn’t matter that I’d been resisting her for years.
But I didn’t answer to Jake Sutton. He shoved off the bike, anger and hostility rolling off him in waves.
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t?”
“Punching me isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Let’s find out.”
When he swung, I could easily have ducked, but I didn’t. His fist hit my jaw, catching my lower lip, and I felt it split. The impact of the blow blasted pain through my mouth, jaw, and cheekbone. My head swung to the side and I lost my balance, went sprawling on my belly. The pain dissipated, though I knew it would hit later, after the adrenaline wore off and the swelling began.
For a moment I lay there, then flipped over, blood in my mouth, sharp and metallic. I spat to the side and looked up at Jake. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t help remembering him as a little kid, and the totally great time we used to have. I just stared up at him.
His face saddened, as if he was remembering those times, too. I was closest to my brothers, but Jake and Chase had been our best buds, and our friendship had transcended our reputations back then. I’d learned he felt guilty about how we were treated. He told me once, but we’d never talked about it again.
But it’s how I knew Jake was harboring guilt. High school had been hell, complete hell…and those summers? He had been vicious to us those summers, guaranteeing him a solid place on the opposite team.
I knew he loathed himself. I knew it, but I couldn’t help him. In Suttontowne we were the target and he was part of a legacy. He had to live up to the legacy. It made him meaner. I understood. God, how I understood. But in this moment, as he glared down at me, I saw the guilt like a black shadow in his eyes, weighing heavily on his mind, and all I could think about was that little boy and how innocent we had been then.
“You happy now, Jake? You’ve defended your sister’s honor.”
His jaw clenched at my veiled put-down, “Aren’t you clever? A slick way to imply I don’t have any.”
He kicked me in the ribs, and I cried out at the hard blow, rolling away from him.
When the pain subsided to a dull throb, I stared up at him again. He looked like a man at war with himself. I didn’t say anything, which only goaded him further.
“Stop pretending like you care, like you understand.”
I spat more blood. “River makes her own decisions, everything else be damned. You should know it by now. You’ve done enough to uphold the family honor, Jake.”
It was a subtle dig, but Jake was a Harvard guy, so he didn’t miss it.
His face twisted and my gut ached, and tightened in anticipation of more abuse. “Fuck you, Braxton! Fuck you!” he yelled, his eyes wild. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from my sister! Stay away from all of us.” He turned and stalked away, then after a few feet, he started to run.
“Yeah,” I muttered, tonguing my lip and spitting blood again. “Fuck me.”
#
Braxton
I roared up to Boone’s house and dismounted the bike. Walking up to the front door, I wiped the blood off my lip, then hissed at the pain. I didn’t knock, just walked in. Aubree and Verity were on the couch, but Duel wasn’t there. Neither were my brothers. Perfect.
Their heads turned when they heard me come in. Aubree was the first to notice. Her eyes widened and she jumped up and rushed around the couch to me.
“Oh, my God. You’ve been in a fight. Are you all right?”
“Only one punch, sugar. I’m fine.”
Verity’s dark eyes watched me, and the sympathy I saw there affected me. I hadn’t quite worked up a defense against these two women. Once I discovered who they were and the way they fought for and loved my brothers, I had to work harder to hide my respect for them with my orneriness.
Verity got an ice bag from the fridge, as if she’d done it countless times before.
She walked up to me and pressed it gently against my face. “I’m sorry, Brax.”
“Nothing new.”
“Who hit you?”
I shook my head. “Not important.”
She sighed. “Booker and Boone took Duel to the park so we could look at wedding gowns for Aubree and Booker’s wedding.”
“I’m not here to see them, and if you’re looking at gowns, kinda suits me.” I pulled out the magazine page with the dress River had showed me. “I want this dress.”
Verity looked down at it, then over her shoulder at Aubree. Speechless, they both looked at me, then Aubree said, “Well, if you’re going with that dress, you have to get shoes to match.”
“Yeah, and a strapless bra,” Verity added with a perfectly straight face.
I gripped my side and mock laughed. “Stop it, you’re killing me,” I said.
Verity looked at the dress again. “Braxton, this is couture, and it’s extremely expensive.”
“I don’t care about the cost. Can you get it?”
“Yes, but….”
“Do it.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her my credit card. “How about glass slippers. Can you get some of those?”
“Glass slippers?” Aubree stepped closer, peered into my face, then knocked lightly on my head. “Prince Charming, is it really you?”
Verity chuckled at the wry look on my face. “Seriously?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Umm, I can come close, but glass slippers will be even more expensive than the dress.”
“Verity, I don’t care. Get them for me.”
“All right.”
“I need your help with something else.”
“What?”
“A tux…um…formal wear.”
Her brows rose and her expression went worried. “A tux. Oh, Braxton, you’re not going to River Pearl’s stupid coming-out party are you?”
I shifted, the ice painfully cold against my cheek. “Why? Don’t you think I belong there?”
She frowned and punched me in the arm. “What? Of course you do, but River—”
“I already know what she thinks about it.”
“She wouldn’t—”
“Can you help me or not?” I snapped.
She sighed. “Yes, of course. Come on. We’ll look everything up on the computer.”
I followed her into the spare room where Boone ran his business. “I don’t want my brothers to know about this. You have to keep it a secret.”
“For the sake of peace and no bloodshed, we agree,” Aubree said, wrapping her arm around my waist and giving me a quick hug.
Verity brought up a page of tuxes, but they all featured a white jacket. “No, no fucking white jacket.”
“But Brax, everyone will be wearing white tuxes. It’s traditional.”
“Nope, not me.”
She sighed, but even though she gave me a pretty good Verity stare, I remained resolute.
She brought up the black tuxes. “I don’t like any of those.” I said.
“Armani? Seriously? You don’t like Armani?”
I rubbed my hand over her hair, mussing it. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll take care of it myself. Thanks for your help.”
I turned to go and Aubree set her hand on my arm. “Brax do you know how to dance?”
“I’m a fucking fiddle player and singer. You don’t need to be a math whiz to figure that one out.”
I took a step forward and she stopped me in my tracks.
“Do you know how to waltz?”
I groaned. I turned around. “No. Do you?”
Aubree smiled. “Oh, yes. I went to Miss Amelia’s School of Etiquette. I learned all the ladylike skills.”