The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

The crowd jostles to the music as I push my way through as inconspicuously as possible. Maverick is back at it, dancing in one of the floating cages above the dance floor to some of the best mixes Ki-Ki’s ever made. She’s on fire tonight, and the crowd is responding in kind.

The business side of me knows I should stop by the bar on my way over to the group to see how they’re handling the onslaught, but the foolishly fixated part knows it’s not an option. Maybe on the way back, but not yet. Not before I talk to the bride and her friends and her identical twin again.

Finally through the dancing crowd, I readjust my suit jacket at my waist and hop up two steps at a time onto the elevated platform where their group resides. Several sets of eyes lock on to me—followed by even more catcalls and yells of a happy, drunken nature—and I feel the corners of my mouth lift into a smile.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Jude, the Magic Dancer!” the bride’s twin cheers, making the other women hoot and the bride herself blush and look toward the ground.

I chuckle at the moniker, feeling a little emboldened by the obvious pat on the back it gives me. “Is that what I’m supposed to go by from now on?” I ask the woman whose sash reads Maid of Honor in big, glittery letters.

I study her face closely, waiting for the deep burn in my gut that I get when I look at her sister to fire up, but it never does.

No flutter of butterflies, no intense arousal, no desire to find out all her dirtiest secrets—none of it. And yet, she looks exactly the fucking same. Given how little I know about these women other than their looks, the rest of it shouldn’t matter.

But it does, goddammit. Why? Is it as simple as wanting what I can’t have?

“Yes!” the loud-mouthed blonde shouts at me excitedly. “Jude, the Magic Dancer is a better high than any dragon I’ve ever puffed, and I wasn’t even experiencing you firsthand.” She turns to the bride and demands wildly, “Tell us, Belle. What’s it like to be that close to exotic royalty?”

The rest of the girls dissolve into a cackle, and Belle’s gaze jumps to meet mine with wide-eyed scandal just as I’m running the feel of her name over my lips.

“Belle,” I mouth, rolling the Ls with a curl of my tongue. Her gaze flicks to my mouth and holds, her eyebrows pinching together slightly with a grimace. It’s strange. I don’t understand it. Though, I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t understand about a literal stranger, Jude, I chastise myself.

Belle’s twin reaches over and squeezes her knee, visibly aware of her discomfort, so I change the subject. I don’t want her to be embarrassed—not at all. As a matter of fact, I’m almost alarmingly attuned to her emotions.

I don’t know. Maybe the unexpected act of intimacy we shared during my dance has bonded us in some strange way.

“Now, now, ladies, that’s not actually the reason I’m here. I just came to check in and make sure you’re all enjoying the rest of your night. Service is good? Drinks are plentiful?”

“You bet!” the girl with curly hair shouts, holding up her drink as evidence before taking a huge gulp.

“And what about you?” I say directly to Belle, demanding her eyes with my voice in a way that makes them jump to mine almost violently. “Having a good party? Everything you dreamed it would be?”

Her green eyes flash toward her sister before locking back on to mine, a small smirk curving up the perfect line of her red-stained mouth. “You have no idea how different this is from what I pictured, actually.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah? And what did you picture?”

She pauses briefly. “You know, I’m not sure, but I thought I’d do a lot more dancing?”

Without thought, I take an extra step into the platform, breaking the barrier of the circle of gals, and reach across the table in front of her. Belle looks at my hand like it’ll slink out and bite her if she reaches for it.

Still, I’ve come this far, so there’s not much point in turning back now.

“Come on,” I cajole. “If you want more dancing, let’s do more dancing.”

Her twin nods furiously, elbowing her in the side so many times that Belle finally jumps up just to escape the onslaught of pain. After a little more vibing from the group, she puts her hand in mine and makes her way around the low-set table to stand in front of me.

Her short dress hugs the long, lean lines of her body, and the neckline dips into a V between her breasts. They might not be as obvious if she weren’t breathing like a chain-smoker at the end of a marathon, but to be honest, I’m not so sure. For some reason, I can’t stop noticing everything about her.