Page 24 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

“Then prove me wrong and tell me all about your life experiences.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound like your brother right now.”

“Which brother?”

“Tye. He manages to insert hints of sex into nearly every situation. I’m not even sure it’s intentional.”

“You can stop wondering. With Tye, it’s definitely intentional. And don’t look now but he’s already inserting sex into another situation.”

Cecilia swivels to observe Tye playing tonsil hockey with a tall brunette. “The boy works fast. I’ll give him that.”

“Are you offended?”

She blinks at the question. “No. But I guess I come off as a real prude or you wouldn’t have asked.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you better, Cecilia.”

Our eyes lock and the heat shifts between us.

“Ditto, Julian,” she says, hunching her shoulders and leaning a little closer.

Too fucking tempting. My eyes drift down and devour the curve of her breasts. My cock surges and my balls throb. I’m rapidly reaching the breaking point.

Our drinks are dropped off. I’d really like to steal her whiskey shot in the hopes of distracting from my massive boner. However, I can’t get buzzed when everyone else is getting frat party drunk. I’m stuck suffering with a hard dick and a soda.

Cecilia sips her beer. It’s clear she doesn’t like the taste but she gulps a few mouthfuls anyway before setting the glass down and giving me a frank stare. “My cousin Lianna lives in Portland now. She’s married with a little boy.”

“Good for her.” I wondered if this would come up at some point. The last time I saw Lianna Grimaldi was the day of the wedding massacre. A bullet shattered her collarbone and her father, Cecilia’s uncle, was killed.

“Is it true about you and her?” Cecilia asks. “I always wondered if she was lying about hooking up with you.”

Sure it’s true. By my teen years I was already my father’s apprentice. I accompanied him on a Vegas trip to meet with a roomful of Mafia overlords. In my spare time, I got dirty with the daughter of the hotel’s owner. We didn’t have sex but we did enough.

“My only excuse is that I was seventeen and horny,” I tell Cecilia.

She takes a delicate sip of her beer. “I see. Now you’re thirty and no longer horny?”

“Ouch. I’m not thirty yet. And I’m more horny than ever.”

She chokes on her last sip of beer. I’ll count that as a victory.

When she recovers, she dabs at her lips with a napkin and says, “You’re not like your brothers. I mean, all four of you are different. But with you, nothing you say or do seems frivolous. You get what you want but not by being impulsive.”

“It’s just that I have more self-control.” A quality that rapidly fades the more I stare at her soft lips and imagine all the ways I can use them.

She chews on this answer for a moment. “I think there’s more to it. You’re insightful. Shrewd. Determined. None are bad qualities. I’m not knocking you for being practical.”

“You strike me as pretty damn practical yourself.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve been accused of being too practical. Maybe that explains why I’ve never fallen in love. Not that it matters.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

Her fingertip traces a bead of water sliding down her beer glass and her brow creases. “My grandfather and Angelo kept a close watch on me. They chased away every boyfriend I ever had.”

“Then to hell with them. Useless pricks.”

She sniffs out a laugh. “They weren’t all pricks.”

“Trust me on something. Chasing me away would be impossible.”

“I believe you,” she says and this time her eyes wander, focusing on my mouth. “You haven’t been in love either, have you?”

“Not even close. How did you guess?”

“Because you wouldn’t have considered this whole marriage arrangement if you had. You’d want to wait for something better, something real.”

“Real isn’t better. Real can destroy you, leaving you with nothing but heartsickness and an addiction to memories.”

She’s startled by this candid observation. And it’s probably too heavy a line to drop in a crowded bar while my brothers grind on college girls a few feet away and the women sitting behind us tell penis jokes.

But this is where we are. She might as well know where I stand and what I’m offering.

Slowly, she nods as the wisdom sinks in. “You’re not wrong.”

Her whiskey shot is untouched but now she picks it up. I want to laugh at the way she holds it gingerly with two fingers like it’s a sharp object. She takes a tiny sip and grimaces.

“You need to down it all at once,” I say. “Or it’s not really a shot. By the way, I don’t recommend this in your case.”

She continues to hold the glass with uncertainty. “How’d you figure out that I don’t drink much?” A teasing smile touches her lips. “Were you spying on me before I got here?”

Yes. But I’m not confessing.

“The one time I saw you pick up a wine glass at dinner you only took two sips and made a face,” I tell her. “But if you need to learn the hard way what whiskey shots do to you if you’re not used to them then go for it. I promise to hold your hair back when you vomit.”

I expect her to set the glass down but another unexpected willful spark strikes.

“Here’s to new experiences,” she says and tilts her head back, swallowing the contents of the shot glass with one gulp. The sight is so unexpected and so hot that I end up gripping the edge of the table to keep my cool.

She coughs twice and turns the glass over on the table, still grimacing as the heat of the alcohol sears her throat.

How I’d fucking love to push my hand under her dress. I want to watch her bite her lip and get embarrassed when she can’t avoid coming on my fingers. I bet it wouldn’t take much.

We’ll get to that point. But not yet.

Instead, I push my soda in her direction. It’s filled with crushed ice and will help with the fire in her throat. She throws me a grateful look and takes a sip with no clue that I’m thinking her next taste of whiskey ought to be the one I spit into her mouth.

“Do me a favor,” she says when she’s able to talk again.

I’ll do anything she asks. “Name it.”

Cecilia pulls out her phone and holds it up. “Say cheese.”

Okay, I lied. I won’t be doing that shit.

I sit back, cross my arms over my chest and glare into the phone’s camera lens. I’m about as fond of getting my picture taken as I am of shoveling a hill of manure.

Cecilia snaps the photo anyway. She lowers the phone and smiles at her handiwork. She turns it around for me to see.

My resemblance to Getty is strong in this snapshot. I look like I’m plotting the cleanest way to whittle an enemy’s heart out of his chest.

“She’ll love it,” Cecilia says and starts tapping a message with her thumbs.

“Who?”

“Alice. She begged for a picture of you.” Cecilia finishes typing and returns the phone to her handbag. “She’s my best friend. I can’t remember if I’ve told you about her.”

Alice would be Alice Dreyfus. Cecilia’s roommate for all four years at Arizona State.

She was once arrested for running onto a baseball field in the middle of a game while wearing an inflatable unicorn costume.

The charges were dismissed. She now teaches fifth grade in a suburb west of Phoenix and is Cecilia’s only close friend.

But none of these details came from Cecilia so I can’t reveal them.

“I think you might have mentioned her,” I say. “Why does your best friend want to see a picture of me?”

“Oh, she was just curious.” Cecilia fidgets and drinks more beer, suddenly too nervous to look me in the eye. “I mean, I told her about you. Not just you. I told her about all of you. And the ranch. And, you know, everything.”

She’s adorable when she babbles.

“Then shouldn’t you take pictures of my brothers too? I can call them over here.”

She looks behind her and sees Fort sitting at a nearby table and getting slobbered on by two girls at the same time. Tye is loudly ordering more drinks with his arm slung over the shoulders of the girl he’s been making out with.

“They look busy,” she says. “And it seems like one of them already escaped.”

“Getty didn’t escape. Look to your right. He’s giving lessons over at the pool table.”

More accurately, he’s bent over the table and pressing into the ass of a cute blonde who giggles the entire time as he guides her hands on the cue stick.

Cecilia takes note and raises her eyebrows. “You’re good at keeping tabs on them.”

“I’ve had a lot of experience.”

“I know.” She nods. “You were always the captain of the crew.”

“Still am. Can’t really run from your birthright.”

“Not even when you try.” She winces. “I tried. I wasn’t allowed. My grandfather was always watching and interfering and getting Angelo to do his dirty work. I didn’t even know. Why didn’t I know? I was kidding myself, thinking I was on my own. They’ll never let that happen.”

Maybe the alcohol is responsible for loosening her tongue. I wasn’t joking when I warned what a straight shot of whiskey will do to a girl who can’t even finish a glass of wine.

Cecilia rubs a hand across her forehead. The shoulder of her dress drops another inch. Dirty thoughts gallop through my mind.

“Are you all right?” My forefinger touches her wrist. Her bones are delicate, her fingers long and slender.

She doesn’t flinch from the contact. Those big brown eyes of hers lift to focus on my face and different emotions all crunch together.

I want her in the most obvious sense. The urge to drag her home to my bed and fuck until we’re both senseless is overpowering.

Also, I feel the intense need to destroy everything and everyone that has ever caused her pain.

“I just need to use the restroom.” She stands too quickly and wobbles.

I’m at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

“I’m fine,” she says, and gives me a weak smile before politely stepping out of my grip. “Really. I’ll be right back.”