Page 25

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. My eyes never leave hers. “I said, sit.”

Her mouth hangs open as she runs her tongue lightly along her bottom lip. Looking to the side, her wine glass still in hand, she focuses her attention back on me. “I don’t fraternize with the enemy.”

“Neither do I, Princess. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” I tap my hand on the cushioned seat next to me. “Come.”

Hesitantly, she takes a seat. She tries to look relaxed, but I notice the way her skin pebbles along her bare arms. “Feeling bossy tonight?” she drawls, trying to sound unaffected when I know she’s anything but.

I reach over and take the wine glass from her hand. Her peach lip gloss stains the rim of the glass, and on instinct, I bring it to my lips, placing my mouth exactly over where hers just was. Downing the rest of the drink in one gulp, I set the glass down on the ground next to me and turn to look at her. “Pinot. Nice.”

“What?!” she screeches.

I chuckle and rest my arm along the back of the seat behind her. “You’re way past tipsy. I’m doing your head a favor.”

She hesitates for a second as her blue eyes, slightly glazed with the effects of the alcohol, fall to my mouth. “You have gloss on your lips.”

Leaning forward, I smirk but never break our eye contact as I swipe my tongue along my bottom lip. Her gloss tastes how it looks: sweet, fruity, and just like her.

For the briefest of moments, she pins her lips between her teeth but releases them quickly and looks to the ground. “Zach said you wanted to talk about something, and I’m really tired, so can we make this quick?”

Jesus, she’s hard work.

“Sure, Princess.”

Her head whips up. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t get to call me nicknames.”

I lower my arm from the back of the seat until my hand rests just behind her ass. I’m not touching her, but I see the way she responds to my proximity. “I’d still let you call me JJ despite being a bitch half the time.”

She scoffs. “I have no idea who JJ is. He died eighteen months ago.”

“Well, that’s just not true, is it? I can see evidence of him on your cheeks.”

She flushes further, and I can’t help the smug laugh that leaves me.

“I hate you. You know that, right?”

I pick my beer up and take another sip. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I can and can’t feel!” Her frustration, combined with the booze, has her voice raising several octaves higher, and I notice as Jon’s head whips around from where he is making out with Felicity at the bottom of the garden like a pair of teenagers.

I set my bottle back down and run a hand through my hair. She’s still sitting forward on the chair, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Here’s the thing, Princess. If I don’t take charge of thissituationbetween us and leave it all to you, then I fear we’ll never actually fuck. And I can’t have that.” I don’t know if it’s the beers and wine I’ve had tonight, but I take a huge gamble and shift my hand to her left hip, teasing her skin through the thick, black fabric of her dress.

Her lips part at the contact, but she fights to keep her arms folded across her chest. “Go find a redhead,” she spits.

My grip tightens slightly. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm-hmm, I think I do.”

“Tell me, is this incessant need to always be right with everyone or just when it comes to me?”

She pins me with a glare. “You.”

I can’t wipe the shit-eating grin off my face. “Good answer.”

A long stretch of silence passes between us before I speak again. “You haven’t asked me to move my hand.”