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Jordan glides his hand from my ass to my waist until he's crushing me with all ten fingers. He's a man consumed by his own demons. “I can't make you tell me the truth of everything. Not yet. But I'm smart enough to knowthis.”He kisses me, brief but hard. “This is too good to walk away from. You want it, too.”

I let out a shuddering sigh. “I'm not as into this as you think I am.”

“You're wet, sweet bird. I can smell it from here.”

New waves of arousal swell in me, my clit thrumming. “You think way too highly of yourself, Jordan. You're not my type.”

“Yes, I am. Guys you hate, right?” He says it with a cruel smirk. Somehow that, too, turns me on. “Go ahead. Hate me if that's what gets you off. I'll even help give you a reason.”

Panic dries out my mouth. “I don't understand.”

“You don't want to tell me what game you're playing with Dezmond. That's fine. I'm going to take anything andeverythingfrom you that I can get, and I'll do it right under his nose. He'll never know. How does that sound?”

Incredibly hot.Instead, I say, “You're right. That would make me hate you.”

There's a noise downstairs—someone knocking. I stumble away from Jordan, trip on his polished loafers, catch myself against the wall. He stands there with his hands half-up, fingers spread, itching to grab hold of me again. But he doesn't. He just narrows his eyes, tilts his head to listen, then says, “Caterers are here.”

My voice cracks. “Oh.”

Jordan bends down to pick up the copper-tone tie I dropped. Looping it around his neck, under the shirt collar, he starts to knot it with ease, deft fingers working from muscle memory. “I guess it's time to get ready for the party.”

“Yeah. I should grab the flowers …before they wilt inside my car.”

I don't make it into the hall before he calls out, “Lorikeet?” My nails dig into the doorframe, I look over my shoulder at him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, guiding a shoe onto his foot. He finishes, watching me watch him. His smile is sharp—he knows he has my full attention. Pressing his thumb to his lips, he reminds me how amazing it felt when we kissed. Then he drags his hand down to the front of his pants, thighs spreading so he can give his erection a slow stroke. My pussy throbs angrily at the release it didn't get. “Thanks for your help.”

Wordlessly I spin around, flying down the stairs two at a time.

I escaped with my dignity intact.

I'm not sure I will the next time we're alone.

Chapter 14

It'samazinghowquicklya professional can make a space look different. By the time the caterers have arranged the platters of fruit, sandwiches, tiny cakes, and placed buckets of iced champagne and juice around the kitchen, you'd never imagine this engagement party was for two people who can't stand each other.

Dezmond wakes up around half an hour into the set-up. I'm standing in the kitchen, far in the corner where the bay window meets the bench. He's wearing stained gray sweatpants and a loose black muscle shirt. He wipes a hand down his face, groggily eyeing the people running around his house.

He doesn't see me at first. It's a wonderful little moment where I don't exist to him.

Then he notices. His sneer curdles every drop of my blood. “Hey, babe,” he calls. “Party isn't for another hour. Why are you here so early? Miss me?”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “Just delivering flowers.” I point at the large bouquets of purple lilacs and pampas grass around the room. There are enough arrangements to cover the kitchen table, the counter, a few of the stairs, and one waits outside by the welcome mat.

“You and your mom do great work,” he says, swaggering between two young men in black vests that are carrying boxes of champagne flutes. He shoots them a mean glare as they block his path, then smiles at me. “Nice dress, looks hot on you.”

“Dezmond,” Jordan says flatly.

Both of us turn to see the older man standing at the top of the stairs. It's the first time he's appeared since our kiss. I don't know what he was doing on the second floor—I was the one who let the caterers inside—and I was too terrified to go up and check on him.

Seeing him poised in his full outfit, fingers tugging at his cuffs, he cuts a marvelous vision. I can imagine him in some commercial selling cologne. The copper tie was the right choice.

His attention shifts to me; I squirm. Dez scowls openly, asking, “What?”

“Get dressed. Everyone will arrive soon.”

“Fuck, man,” Dez snorts. “It's my damn engagement party and you're still trying to control everything.”

“He's right,” I say, keeping my eyes on Jordan, “you should clean up. People will be taking photos.” I saw the photographer minutes ago out front, his car trunk wide open while he checked his equipment. Had Jordan actuallyhiredall these people? If I didn't know better … if he hadn't told me so … I'd swear he was happy I was marrying Dezmond.