Page 75 of Beautiful Lies

Just like at the club. Except we were alone in the club. Here, we’re in front ofeveryone.

A slow current sparks under my skin when he traces the lace of my panties.

“Knox,” I hiss under my breath.

He ignores me and grins at his aunt as if I haven’t spoken.

Under the table, I grab his hand, hoping to stop him, but then he cups my pussy, and I freeze.

All this time, his aunt rattles on, utterly oblivious to what her great-nephew is doing to me under the table.

The warmth of his palm brands my skin through the thin lace, every nerve drawn tight like wire.

“Knox…” My voice trembles, half warning, half plea.

I grip the edge of my seat and lean into him.

He finally turns his head and that calm, lethal smile curves his mouth. “Are you okay,love?” he murmurs, so softly only I can hear.

“You asshole,” I hiss back.

“Careful, love. She might hear you.”

Maureen hasn’t heard one thing, though. She’s deep in explanation about the different types of Shire horses. “The interesting thing about Laila is?—”

“Aunt Maureen,” Knox cuts her off, his hand stilling for a moment but still there at the entrance of my pussy, where it shouldn’t damn well be.

“Yes, dear.” The sweet smile on her face suggests she was enjoying telling us about her beloved horses.

“Why don’t you get some carrot cake before it’s gone? It’s old nan’s recipe.”

Maureen’s eyes light up, and she clasps her bony hands together. “Oh, bless your heart, son. I love that carrot cake.”

“I know.” Knox nods, grinning back at her with that effortless charm. “Didn’t want you to miss out. You can tell us more about the horses when we visit.”

“I’d love that, dear. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Oh, we will.”

As soon as Maureen saunters away, Knox snaps his gaze back to me, and his hand resumes its exploit, fingers pressing into my mound.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I grit my teeth.

“Making use of this hideous dress. The only thing it’s good for isaccess.”

Bastard.I knew it. He was lying. My gaze sharpens. “You said you liked it.”

“How long have you known me?”

“Eleven days too long.”

“And what do you really think I’d do if I sent you a one-of-a-kind couture dress that was madespeciallyfor you, and you turn up to our engagement party—at the fucking Astoria—looking like a clown?”

“You had the dress made forme?” My breath catches, but for the wrong reason. It’s ridiculous how touched I am that he went to that effort.

“Don’t get sidetracked now, love. Answer the question.” He shoots me a maddening smile.

I frown. “I think you’d be mad at me.”