Page 38 of Beyond Question

“I can open my own door, Cabot.”

“There she is,” I whisper.

“Of course you can; but why should you?” He brings her hand to his lips and she shakes her head in annoyance, then swivels it toward Rylan.

“Is he always like this?” she asks, a hint of playfulness amidst all that indignation.

“You know that he is.” Rylan claps her hands near her chest. “Paige, that dress…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “It’s even better than the other two you were looking at.”

I don’t know what the other two looked like, but this dress is a work of art.

Or, rather, the woman wearing it is.

This is a far cry from pantsuits and workwear, and the sight of her has my chest light and my balls heavy.

I’ve thought of little else but this woman since she said goodbye to me two weeks ago, but even the image in my mind couldn’t have prepared me for this.

Dressed in an evening gown that looks like it was made for her frame and painted to her curves by Michelangelo himself, Paige has stolen the wind from my lungs and every coherent thought seems to have evaporated into the warmth of early summer.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

Paige’s silvery hair falls over one shoulder tonight, styled in large rolling waves. It shines beneath the glittering lights strung above as if it was spun from actual metal. In deep purple, her dress is form-fitting from bust to mid-calf, then flares out at the bottom in multiple layers of ruffling.

When her crystalline eyes meet mine, I realize she’s ditched the glasses tonight. Something about meeting that gaze head on, with nothing between her eyes and mine, sends a shockwave to my cock.

“Mr. Wilder,” she says, stepping toward me and extending her hand. “What a nice surprise.”

She slides her soft, delicate hand into mine and I forget how to speak. Her lips quirk up to the side as she holds my gaze.

“Travis,” Cabot coughs.

I blink quickly, then incline my head. “Paige, you look…” Shaking my head to clear the fog, I finally say, “Breathtaking.”

A man steps into my line of vision, extending one hand toward me as he snakes the other around her waist. My gaze lands on the hand resting on her full hip and my chest tightens uncomfortably.

“Charles Buchanan,” he announces boisterously. “Buchanan Literary Management.”

Tearing my gaze away from Chuck’s hand on Paige’s hip, I stare at the one extended toward me until he drops it.

She broughta date?

She won’t spend time with me, but she’ll letthis guyput his hands all over her?

I knew I wasn’t her usual type, but this is just insulting.

I focus on Paige and her brows furrow, but then she allows her date to turn her away from me and they begin making their way inside, leaving me to contend with what can only be described as an alarming—and ridiculously possessive—cavemanimpulse to rip her from his arms and throw her over my shoulder so I can take her home and keep her to myself.

Heh. Maybe I’m a little more Joe Goldberg than I thought.

Nudging me forward with a firm grip on my shoulder, Cabot settles into step beside me, Rylan on his other arm. “What the fuck was that?”

Scrubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I bark out a laugh. “Jealousy, brother,” I answer honestly, shaking my head in hopes to push those silly feelings aside. “Good old-fashioned jealousy.”

What has Paige done to me?

Chapter Thirteen

Paige