Page 181 of Wicked Little Darling

“Damn it, that was my last bag,” he pouted, stopping to pick up the pieces and shove them back into the bag.

I helped him clean it up, then climbed onto his back and kissed his neck. “Sorry. That was really mean. I’ll buy you ten bags to replace it.”

He grabbed my arms, holding me in place, and stood up, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist or fall.

He turned his head so his lips brushed against mine as he said, “I want something else.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m in the mood for something sweet and sour.”

“Pork?”

He laughed and licked my cheek. “No,you, dummy.”

“I think you’re in for just sour, then.”

He faced forward and held me tight under my legs, walking toward the house. “Nah. There’s some sweet in there. I’ll find it, don’t worry. I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Yeah, he was. I propped my chin on his shoulder and drew lazy circles over his chest.

In spite of the fact that his family was…well, not great, to put it lightly, Iwasa little nervous.

Because seeing the dean in this kind of situation, and knowing how we were deceiving Dakota, weighed on my heart like an anvil crafted with metal spikes.

But maybe this was the perfect opportunity to clear Dakota’s name. If I could just get Albert alone, I could tie up all the loose ends today.

There must’ve beenat least a thousand people here.

It was overwhelming. I’d never attended an event like this before, and I was so afraid of losing Dakota in the crowd that I’d wound my finger through one of his belt loops and held on so tight it was cutting off the circulation.

This was beyond a party; it was what I imagined a gala for royalty might look like. The manor was even bigger on the inside, and the crux of the party was in the ballroom.

They had a motherfuckingballroom.

With astage.

There was an enormous chandelier that was probably made of real diamonds hanging in the center of the ceiling; there were waiters dressed like old-timey butlers or valets or whatever walking around holding silver trays of fancy-looking finger foods; and everyone was dressed so nicely that I stood out like a sore thumb.

I’d actually told Dakota that verbatim and he’d just called me a sexy sore thumb.

There was a smattering of dining tables closer to the stage, and just before that an open area where a few people were dancing.

Like, waltzing.

“Dakota,” I whispered, tugging on his pants.

“Mm.” He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, gently tugged me loose from his pants, then slid his palm up to mine and linked our fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t tell me it was gonna be likethis.” I swept a hand out, gesturing at everything.

Instead of laughing at my discomfort, he rubbed his thumb back and forth on my hand and said, “Do you want to leave? We don’t have to stay, Val will understand.”

“No, it’s okay, I just…”

Am so entirely out of my element.

But I had Dakota. Everything would be fine.