Wrong Man, Right Kiss (Gage Brothers 2)

“Come on, I can see you struggling, Jules. Be the better man and admit it,” Molly teased, clearly enjoying this.

“I’m the only man here, Molls, and I’d gladly admit it if I wasn’t so busy looking for the rest of the dress. So? Where’s the rest of the goddamned dress?”

Her smile wavered. “You don’t like it? Fine. I’m not wearing this to impress you.” With a stiff shrug, she breezed past him to her bedroom, where she began shoving her things into a small clutch purse.

Julian followed her to the threshold of her room and watched her buttocks wiggle as she bent over. His mouth watered. She looked so sweet and so delicious he was salivating like a dog.

He’d had mile-long legs wrapped around his body, centerfold lips around his privates and breasts the size of melons in his hands. And he had never, ever, been so turned on.

He wanted Molly so bad he’d die for it.

He wanted to cup her breasts and suckle her until his jaw ached. He wanted to unpin her hair and watch as every fiery-red strand fell to caress the lovely curve of her nape and shoulders. He wanted to take a plunge into her cleavage and lick his way downward until he found the very center of her being—and he wanted to stay there, all night, drinking and feasting and adoring every prized and special inch of her.

He knew this girl like he knew himself. And he still wanted to know her more.

He knew he only had Lucky Charms for breakfast when she did, so he could eat her marshmallows. He knew she had her cereal with almond milk. He knew when she got painting fever she would disappear into her studio for months and not care whether the world kept spinning or fell apart, except for taking a moment each day to see him and Kate. He knew she’d secretly donated the first million she’d made to an orphanage and that when she was younger she’d watched The Princess Bride about twenty times, rewinding and replaying the part when the hero tells the princess, “As you wish,” rather than, “I love you.”

He knew that she wanted his praise tonight.

He had seen the uncertainty underneath the confidence in those striking blue eyes of hers, could see the eager rise and fall of her pretty breasts.

More than anything, he wanted to shower her with the praise she wanted. He wanted to take off that slinky black dress with his teeth so she knew how badly he craved her. Then he wanted to take his teeth from her tiny toes and drag them up her shapely ankles, her firm calves, her slim beautiful thighs, and roam his hands up her tiny waist and her beautiful breasts while he buried his lips between her legs and drowned in the intoxicating taste of her. He wanted to take her to heaven, because that was the place where angels live, and he wanted her to ask something of him—anything—so that he could look into her eyes and tell her, “As you wish.”

But he did none of that.

Could not do it. Not yet.

Because she’d worn this dress tonight for another man. And the thought of that alone made him feel like kicking a kitten.

“I can feel your eyes on my back, Jules.” Molly broke into his thoughts, probably sensing his overwhelming testosterone encircling her.

He leaned on the door frame with his wide shoulders, still struggling to process this new feeling of complete and utter jealousy. “You’re showing off so much skin I’m concerned you’re contracting pneumonia as you stand there,” he said.

She swung around in surprise. Her mouth hung open, and then she tossed her head back and laughed. “Really? You’re concerned about my health? Or about your ego and the fact that you can’t even admit to me for one night in my life that I don’t look like I came out of a fistfight and a blender?”

His fingers curled into his palms and his lips clamped shut. So…she thought he’d insulted her?

“If you don’t want to be mauled the entire evening, I suggest you at least find a sweater,” he instructed. He was trying to sound friendly. Like a good friend. A best friend would make such a suggestion, wouldn’t he?

“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Why would I need a sweater?”

He stared down pointedly at her breasts—yes, so that she noticed—then back up at her until she squirmed under his stare. “Need I remind you you’re my lover for the time being? You’re like a property of mine and I won’t have any of those bastards…staring at your…your assets.”

“I’m like five feet tall and almost invisible, Jules. Nobody’s going to stare except, hopefully, Garrett. And then he’ll propose and we’ll have babies together.”

Over my dead, rotting body, you will!

He was a hair from hyperventilating by now. “I didn’t sign up to play the part of the freaking fool, Molls. What am I supposed to do while you hold court at the family gathering? You’re supposed to be my girl!”

Her eyes sparkled in mirth, because she’d probably never seen him worked up to a lather before. “Well, at least you can give your big ‘guns’ a good workout as you fend off my unwanted suitors, huh.”

He stalked over and grabbed her shoulders, not amused and very freaking jealous about all this. “Damned right I will, and you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“All the guys in attendance, from Landon’s friends to business associates, are going to swarm you like a pack of starving beasts. They always have, and you don’t even notice. You’re so damned different, Molly…” She had no idea, no idea what she did to him or anyone else. She was not only blind to him, she was blind to all men. The looks she received while she was staring off into space, thinking of a painting, were never even noticed.

Had she forgotten all the invitations she’d had to prom? She hadn’t even attended, but she goddamned well had been asked.