I draw myself up to my full height. "There are no feelings where she’s concerned."
He turns and props a hand on his hip. "I don’t know you that well, but you’re here. Meaning, not only do we have friends in common, but they trust you enough to invite you into their inner circle, so I’m going to tell you a secret."
"Not sure I want to hear it."
"Oh, trust me; you do."
"Save your breath… Father." I turn to leave, but he steps around and in front of me.
I glare at him.
He half smiles. "I wish someone had told me this when I was busy being an arse and forfeiting the chance to keep the most important thing in my life. I left when she needed me most. I was too much of a coward to face my own feelings. I wasn’t ready to face my own reality. I had too many of my own issues to sort out. I didn’t deserve her. I lost her."
"Sounds like a hell of tearjerker," I growl.
His smile widens. "Pride comes before a fall."
I scoff. "Thanks, but no thanks, for the free advice."
I turn to leave, only to find two men walking toward me.
"Hey, motherfucker." Rick smirks.
"Where you been hiding yourself, sunshine?" Finn nods.
"Out of my way, Rick, or I’ll be forced to tell people what your real name is."
Rick groans, then slaps the back of his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated gesture that portrays angst. "Oh, no! Not again," he pretends to cry before turning serious. "I’m tired of your holding that particular piece of information over me."
I snort.
"So, Rick isn’t your real name, huh?" Finn turns on him. After leaving the military, Rick went private, where he met Finn. Their love for ice hockey sealed their friendship. Rick played for the NHL in his late teens before he quit, moved back to London and joined the Royal Marines. Finn was an NHL player until a year ago when he’d decided to move into private security.
"Is Finn your real name?" Rick drawls.
Finn sets his jaw, and Rick smirks. "That’s what I thought. Also—" He stabs a finger at me. "Why you being a wallflower?"
"Because.” I shrug.
Finn’s grin widens. "So, you’re going to exchange sweet nothings with the priest here while someone else moves in on your girl?"
32
Penny
"Here’s your drink." The tall, dark and handsome man with silver at his temples, who's almost as gorgeous as Sir, but who is not Sir, hands me a flute of champagne.
"Thank you," I murmur, then take a sip. It’s cool and crisp and nowhere as delicious as the champagne Knight served on his deck yesterday. Was it only yesterday that we had dinner and shared conversation? When I thought we were making headway in getting to know each other? Was it only last night when he’d almost made me come, then pulled me into his chest and lulled me to sleep, before waking me up in the middle of the night with his face between my legs? At least, I think he ate me out like a starving man and almost made me come again. Unless I was dreaming. No, I don’t think I was dreaming. It felt too real, too intense, too good in the way that only Sir can make me feel. He’s the only one who can manage to take me to the edge, and when I think I can’t go any higher, he takes me there the next time around.
The anticipation licks my nerve-endings, clings to my veins, and slithers under my skin in an ever-growing pool of lava released from the volcano between my legs. My stomach flip-flops, and heat flushes my skin.
"You all right?" the man asks.
I force myself to look up at his handsome visage. "I’m sorry, what’s your name again?"
He smiles. "I haven’t told you yet."
"Ah." I blush a little.
"And by the looks of the man who’s glaring at us from across the room, I don’t think I should, either."
I suck in my breath through my lips. "Is he a tall man, with shoulders like an NFL quarterback, and a face that resembles Lucifer having a very bad day, and is he standing there with his legs slightly apart and leaning forward on the balls of his feet, with his fingers rolled into fists at his sides? And is he…" The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I swallow. "Is he rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck and giving the appearance of getting ready for a fight?"
He glances over my shoulder, then back at me. "Seems you're familiar with the bloke." A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. "And that was unnervingly accurate. You two married?"
"Nope—" I snort. "He’s my boss."
"Hmm." His lips curl in a smirk that I should find attractive, but unfortunately, it’s not the puffy lower lip and the thin, mean upper lip of the man who haunts my dreams. So, I register it in a desultory fashion. The kind that tells me I’m screwed, I’ll never find any man as attractive, as sexy, and as appealing as the alphahole staring daggers at my back.
"Whatever his relation to you, and whatever lies he’s been telling himself, it’s about to change."
"Oh?" I blink.
"The fastest way to get a man to admit he wants you is to show him you find someone else attractive."
"But I don’t…"
His smile broadens, and really, though he’s older than me—or perhaps, because he’s older than me—he has that entire forbidden thing going for him. Which, I have to admit, is hot. A-n-d the penny drops. "You think if I were to pretend to be interested in you, it’d make him do something out of character?"
"Smart girl." He laughs, showing white, even teeth, which set off his tan. He has that Pedro Pascal 'Daddy' vibe going for him, that honestly, should have made my panties moist by now, but newsflash, my pussy only weeps for one man. And he’s the meanest, growliest, most wounded man ever, who prefers to pretend he has no more feelings left for anyone.
"I’m Penny Easton." I hold out my hand.
"Philippe Beauchamp." He takes my hand in his, then raises it to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
I swear I can hear a growl roll my way from somewhere on the other side of the room. I suppress a smirk of my own.
"You’re beautiful, Penny, and you’re young enough to be my daughter, so you should know I’m not coming on to you at all—" He releases my hand. "However, thanks to my age and experience, I’m able to see when a couple is about to make a mistake they might regret for the rest of their lives. And then, my conscience tells me if I don’t step in, I’ll never forgive myself."
I laugh. "You always this generous with your interventions?"
"Only when it’s too easy to push the wankhead involved into making a move."
"You know Knight, I take it?"
His smile fades a little. "I know of him. My son, Declan, is his friend. I happened to be in town for work, so Abby insisted I come. She thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a few newish faces around; though now, I wonder if she asked me precisely so I’d do something to make the proceedings more interesting."
"You’re wrong about that. Knight might be a little pissed off at the fact I’m talking to you, but he’s not going to make a move."