Page 28 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

Bolan, still with that shit-eating grin and all the swagger he can muster, raises both hands. “It’s Sully’s fault. He made me a bet. I won.” The grin shifts into a smirk, and Bolan’s lax body language sharpens as he stalks toward Mirth — completely ignoring everything else.

Mirth puts it together before I do. “I’m not a prize!”

“Oh, baby,” Bolan croons, now looming over her. “You are so much a prize.”

Roz yanks the door shut behind Sully, closing us all in together. The far-too-large office suddenly feels very full.

Bolan leans over the couch, hands braced on either side of Mirth’s shoulders. Laughing but shaking her head, she shoves him away. He falls in a heap beside her, pouting.

Much more composed, Sully passes his gaze over me, freezing me in place in my chair. Then he saunters over to Mirth’s other side, leans over the arm of the couch, threads a hand through her hair, and lays a blistering kiss on her. A kiss Mirth leans deeply back to completely accept.

Bolan and I just watch them both. Not a flicker of jealousy in either of us, though. Just pure contentment. And as the kiss continues, more than a little want. A need.

Breaking the kiss, Sully edges himself onto the couch, pulling Mirth into his lap. She protests playfully but doesn’t push him away. Bolan snags one of her long curls between two fingers and presses it to his face, inhaling.

Can he scent her desire for Sully? If so, I’m suddenly and irrationally jealous of that ability.

“No, wolf,” Mirth says, though she’s smiling at him sweetly. And just a little provocatively. Or that might be the slight puffiness her lips have gained from Sully kissing her hello.

Salvatore grasps Mirth’s hips, positioning her exactly where he wants her in his lap. Then he levels an impassive look over her shoulder. At me. No playful brat in sight. Sully is pissed about something. Fed up.

“You have contracts to sign?”

I hesitate. “First drafts.”

“I’m tired of this shit.”

“Me too,” Bolan huffs dramatically. He throws himself back to rest his head on the other arm of the couch, then slings an arm over his eyes.

Without kicking Sully and Mirth, he only fits lengthwise with one foot on the ground and one leg bent against the back of the couch.

Legs splayed, groin pointed toward his soul-bound mate. Presumably with intention.

“There will still be changes,” I say cautiously. “We haven’t discussed everything that needs —”

“Then add … addendums or codicils or whatever,” Sully says. “I want Mirth to know we want her, that we’re doing all of this for her. Now. Not three days from now.”

“Sully,” Mirth murmurs, “I have to make responsible choices. I have to think of —”

Sully covers Mirth’s mouth with his hand, tugging her head back so they’re pressed cheek to cheek. Her eyes go round with indignation. The rest of her protest is muffled in his palm.

Clearly peeved at being silenced, after already being displaced from her seat, she grabs Sully’s forearm, then squirms to get away.

Thus wiggling her delectable ass on Sully’s lap.

He groans, openly and loudly. Then he sucks on Mirth’s earlobe, whispering, “Just like that, Mir.”

She stills, eyes narrowing, both hands still gripping Sully’s forearm.

Bolan, peeking at the two of them from under his arm, grins saucily. The shifter’s emotion and intent are always easy to read, both worn like an epic chip on his shoulder. And his heart beats blatantly, solely, for Mirth. I can see that every time they’re anywhere near each other.

Even having only really known Mirth and the bond I’m convinced we share for a few days, I understand Bolan’s lifestyle choices — all the numbing agents he once needed to continue functioning — far better. At least he had Armin and Sully.

I’ve been adrift since my father died. Since before that, really, but I let all my responsibilities distract me. I understand the rush, though. The need to —

“I want to sign now,” Sully reiterates between planting light kisses on Mirth’s neck. “If I have to be Lord fucking Savoy, I want Mirth. Mirth is my prize whether or not Bolan won the last bet.”

“And what bet was that?” I ask, unable to tear my gaze off Mirth as she twists to try to get a look at Sully.

He grips one of her plush hips and visibly, though slowly, grinds into her ass from below.

Her protest sounds a lot more like a muffled moan this time.

“The bet …” Bolan’s eyes, bright with his wolf, remain fixed to Mirth. “The bet isn’t important. The wager is.”

“And what is the wager?” I know I’m just playing into Bolan and Sully’s game, the power play between them. But I desperately want to see where they think they’re taking it.

Bolan laughs huskily. “Dibs.”

Mirth shrieks indignantly behind Sully’s hand. Then she bites him. Hard.

He shouts, releasing her to shake his hand out.

She’s on her feet, twisting to face them both, hands on her hips. “This is entirely inappropriate. We’re interrupting Lord —”

Bolan practically slides off the couch to kneel before her, head falling back. To her, it likely looks as though he’s groveling, but I know the pose for what it truly is. Prayer.

Ever helpful, I casually lean over and drag the coffee table away a few steps so Mirth doesn’t accidentally stumble over or around it.

Sully meets my gaze around Mirth’s lush hips, smirking. “Lord Hereford doesn’t appear to be minding the interruption, Mir.” His gaze drops to my groin. An impertinent eyebrow rises to match his smirk.

I was interested, even enticed while watching Mirth and him, of course. But not yet erect. Not enough to be obvious. Sully’s look changes that, though. I lounge back in my chair, and I ignore my hardening cock.

I ignore him.

I don’t like being played with.

I won’t be played with.

Something shutters in Sully’s gaze. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s talk about contracts. Have you drafted one for Mirth yet?”

I know exactly what he’s implying. What he’s heard. Clearly, I’m not the only one who has been doing research this week.

“Does Mirth know all about your little … predilection, Eli?” Sully says, pushing. “That one of your little contract fucks is still hanging around outside this office, waiting to see if —”

“Enough, Sully,” Bolan snaps, standing as effortlessly as he’d slid to the ground.

Sully levels a fierce look at Bolan. “I’m protecting Mirth. If I have to be Lord fucking Savoy, then —”

“Then don’t be,” Mirth says. Her cool, quiet statement instantly blankets all the rising tension in the room. “Don’t be Lord Savoy, Sully.”

Sully’s face falls. His shoulders slump. All the pent-up frustration and burbling anger just drains from him.

My heart pinches in a way I’ve never felt before. At Sully’s devastation, and at Mirth’s cool pronouncement, and at everything she’s rightfully read into his ire.

How is all of this hinging on such a delicate balance?

I believe what I said to Mirth— that Armin’s death was obviously a catalyst. But it’s also obvious that we weren’t all ready to come together, to fully commit to each other, to a bond group. And to our roles within that group.

This is why I had a plan. This is why I wanted a solid foundation. We don’t even know each other. So how are we going to convince Mirth that we can support her in every way she needs?

“Princess …” Bolan reaches for Mirth, but she pivots, perfectly steady on her feet. She easily sidesteps the coffee table, crossing to retrieve her backpack.

“Mirth …” Sully closes his eyes and hangs his head. But he’s utterly deflated, almost flat. Pushed too far out of his comfort zone.

And maybe that’s partly my fault. With the lists and contracts.

Backpack in hand, the urn heavy within it, Mirth turns to take us in with a sweep of violet-hued eyes— which don’t look at any of us at all. Her expression is once again perfectly serene.

A numb sensation slowly spreads through my chest as I stand, buttoning my suit jacket by rote. Is that sensation the absence of Mirth? She’s gathered all her essence tightly again.

Sully stumbles to his feet as if he feels the same— perhaps even more acutely, given how pale his naturally tanned skin has become. “Please. That’s not … that’s not what I meant, Mirth.”

“It’s exactly what you meant, Sully. And it’s perfectly fine.

Perfectly understandable, in fact.” She flicks her gaze to me, smiling without exposing her teeth.

Without it reaching her eyes. “I apologize again for interrupting you, Lord Hereford. Thank you for indulging my … whims. I’ll leave you to your paperwork. ”

Bolan steps forward with that shifter swiftness, touching Mirth’s jaw.

Just lightly, but it seems to break her free of the facade she’s pulled around herself like a physical barrier between us and her.

The rock star’s eyes glow with his wolf.

Her gaze snaps to meet his as he looms over her, like he’s completely ensnared her.

“You know that’s not what Sully meant, Mirth.” Bolan’s voice rumbles through his chest.

All the hair on my arms stands up as Bolan’s innate dominance coils around Mirth.

She bares her teeth at him in a blatant challenge. “It’s too much, Bolan. I’m too much!”

“Which is it?” he asks, darkly intent.

I have no idea where the sullen, belligerent, self-centered rock star has suddenly disappeared to. Even Sully is staring at Bolan as if truly seeing him for the first time.

“What?!”

“We’ll address both those statements, Mirth. Pick which one bothers you the most, and we’ll start there.”

She huffs. “Bolan!”

“We’re not going anywhere. None of us.” His words are low and measured.

“You’re being a bully, Bolan,” Mirth says, her gaze still riveted to him. “I’m allowed to have feelings. I’m allowed time to think. I don’t have to accept —”

“You know what happens when you run.”

They’ve bonded, I realize.