Sin "Surprised you went through with the rec eption, bro."
Damian, the self-designated bartender for the evening, hands me a tumbler of whiskey. I grip the glass, toss back
its contents.
He raises an eyebrow, but tops me up.
"You okay?"
"Peachy." I suck down the 200-year-old whiskey like it’s going out of fashion.
"How’s the bridegroom?"
I glance up to find Jace walk in, flanked by Arpad and Weston.
I scowl, "What are you doing here?”
"Wouldn’t have missed seeing you hitched for the world, bro. Besides, your friends made sure I knew the date and
time."
"Sinclair." A woman shoves herself between Jace and Arpad. The men move apart, and she stalks through. "How
could you?"
Bloody hell! "Sienna?" I hold out my glass, Damian shakes his head. "You’re drinking this way too fast. You need
to be sober."
"Bollocks." I grab the bottle from Damian and top myself up. I’m halfway through emptying the contents of the
glass before Sienna reaches me.
"Really, Sin. You thought you could get away with ke eping this a secret?"
"I prefer to ke ep things low-key."
"Huh?" She props a hand on her hip, "You expect me to believe that?"
"Umm." Damn it, I don’t want to lie to her.
Sienna and Jace are the only two outside of the circle of the Seven that I'd count as friends. I survey the room. The
fuck do I do with this bottle anyway? Damian takes it from me. I shoot him a grateful glance, as he shakes his head
and walks off. "You tell him, Sienna. He hasn’t introduced his bride to us yet."
Her gaze widens. "Why, Sinclair, how could you?"
"It’s not like that." I glance past the comfortable chairs arranged on the decking. Everyone who means something
to me—not necessarily in the friend space, but you know what I mean—is there. They look at me with varying
expressions of curiosity. There’s a hum of anticipation in the air. They’re waiting for the bride to arrive. Well,
technically so am I, though I don’t want to admit it.
A laugh breaks out from a corner, and I turn to find Amelie, engaged in animated discussion with Isla and Karma.
Weston follows my gaze. "Who’s that?"
Like I care.
"Why don’t you go ahead and introduce yourself? You can find out for yourself that way."
"Maybe I'll do just that, but first..." He turns to the bar and pours out two flutes of champagne. "Can’t believe you
trusted this wanker to man the bar." He jerks his chin at Damian.
"Hello to you, too." Damian raises his whiskey tumbler and takes a sip. "I do think I am livening up the
environment quite nicely."
"Surely you mean bringing down the collective IQ of the place by a hundred, old chap?" Weston chuckles.
Sienna looks between them. "You guys are so delightfully British."
Jace saunters up, pulls her close. "It’s the only time I am thankful to my old man for insisting that I go to boarding
school in the UK. That accent always does it." He palms her stomach.
"As long as our son or daughter speaks like you, I’m good." She peers up at him.
Damian straightens, "When are you due?”
“We are due in less than four weeks." Jace's chest seems to expand.
Well fuck, the man's done for. Hook, line and sinker.
"I am right chuffed for the both of you." Weston straightens. "However, I see something that needs my attention."
He excuses himself and walks over to Amelie.
The three women fall silent as Amelie eyes him suspiciously.
Good for her. She has street smarts written all over her, unlike my wife who is clearly trusting. She has to be for
having allowed herself to be ensnared by me. And why do I ke ep insisting on calling her mine? When she isn’t. I
haven’t touched her, not since that day in my conference room, when I had almost come in my pants, as I had
fingered her to orgasm. The taste of her lips, the feel of that soft wet core as she had climaxed on my fingers. The
hair on the nape of my neck rises.
I pivot and see her.
She stands at the doorway, the simple pale pink-colored sheath covering her from the high collar to below her
knees.
I’d chosen it for her from the wardrobe I’d had delivered for her. It is the most conservative of all the dresses I’d
personally picked out for her. What I hadn’t counted on was that the sheer simplicity of the cut brings out her
curves. It enhances her luscious figure rather than hide it. And the color... The soft pink de epens the flush of her
cheeks and compliments the highlights in her hair. My mouth waters.
My groin tightens.
I want to lick up the creaminess of her skin, bury my nose in her scented hair, grab the upright perkiness of her
breasts and squeeze until her nipples bead, her thighs clench, and the soft flesh between her legs melts with
anticipation for me. My cock. My essence inside of her, filling her up and overflowing from her every orifice.
Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head. When I crack my eyelids open, she’s still there. She surveys the room and
her gaze homes in on me.
She swallows and I swear I can hear the sound from across the space of the room. She tips her chin up. My dick
instantly mirrors the move. This woman... I’d sense her in a packed stadium. Blindfold me and I’ll home in on her
in a crowded room.
Every pore in my being snaps to attention, every muscle in my body coils with tension. If you cut me open now,
my flesh would hum with the need for her. To be inside of her.
To pin her to the ground with my cock and thrust into her.
Shag her, mark her, claim her.
The bloody hell—?
One make-believe almost-ceremony and I want to show the world who she truly belongs to. Why is that? Why
does it matter that every damn male gaze in the room is drawn to her? And yes, they are people whom I trust, as
much as I can trust anyone, and who’d never breach their loyalty for me—well, all exc ept Saint. That twat, I don’t
trust. He
throws me a smirk. Then crosses the floor toward her. The fuck—? What does he think he’s doing?
Only when my feet eat up the ground in front of me, do I realize I am moving.
I stalk toward my newly-wedded wife—apparently being at the ceremony did not get the message home to my
soon- to-be-murdered ex-friend and business partner—when a man st eps in front of me.