“Happy birthday,” I say and lift my glass to clink with his.
“It is now.”
I’ve never actually believed eyes could mesmerize, but there’s no other way to describe my reaction to Vaughn’s. The opaque green around his pupils lightens to a translucent shade as bright and rare as beach glass before deepening to a thin dark outer ring.
His gaze holds me hostage. I can’t look away. Part of me is overwhelmed with panic, but another part of me is buzzing with euphoria I can’t blame on the drink. I’m under the Vaughn influence, and I don’t want the light-headed sensation to end. With Brit’s advice on replay in the back of my mind, I want to revel in it.
“Thanks for last night,” he whispers as I try to get comfortable on his lap and not spill my drink. Or let anyone around us notice my hand is shaking.
“You’re welcome.” And where should I put my arm? Around his neck or keep it wedged between us? He settles me closer, and I’ve no choice but to drape my arm over his shoulder. The side of my boob rests against his chest.
“Hey.” He slants his mouth so it’s right at my ear. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
He certainly does.
But keeping calm is impossible. My dress is thin and I can feel him inside his classic-fit dark-blue shorts. I force myself to stop wiggling.
“How was Paris?” a girl asks from across the sitting area.
“Bonne,” Vaughn tells her.
Talk continues after that to trips his friends have planned over the summer. I sip my cocktail and listen to the conversation. Vaughn finishes his drink, puts his glass on the low round table at the center of the sitting area, and then rests his hand on my thigh, fingertips underneath the hem of my dress.
A bomb of arousal goes off in my body. I clench my legs together to stave off the tingles making their way between my thighs. My panties were already wet, but now I suspect there are more obvious signs of what he’s doing to me. I’m sure a flush covers my cheeks and neck.
I scramble to my feet. “Point me in the direction of the bathroom?”
“I’ll take you—”
“Don’t be silly.” I stop him from rising with a hand to his chest. “I can find it.” I desperately need a few minutes alone to get my overactive hormones under control.
“There’s one off the kitchen,” he says.
“Great. Thanks.” I hurry away, only to be stopped by Dylan at the built-in bar.
“Kendall! Hold up. Your sister says she can make a better daiquiri than me, and I need you to be the judge.”
“Princess there doesn’t know the first thing about a good drink,” Dixie says from behind the blender without sparing me a glance.
“I don’t know, Dix, she approved wholeheartedly of mine already, but if you want to chicken out…”
“You do know she’s a bartender, right?” I ask Dylan.
“What?” He stares at Dixie. “You bartend?” She winks at him. “Pass me a taste.” He beckons with his fingers, palm up, indicating he wants a drink right this second.
Dixie pours with a flourish and then slides the glass across the granite. Dylan downs a large gulp. “Fuck me, that’s exceptional. You’re hired.”
“Wrong. I’m here to enjoy this party.” To prove her point, she tosses back a shot.
“I meant at The Cabana. I’m down a bartender and could seriously use your help.”
She puts a hand on her hip, arches her brows. “You seriously can’t afford me.”
“Come by the club tomorrow morning and we’ll talk.” He takes another sip of his drink. “I can sweeten the deal with a fringe benefit.”
“Dylan, I’m sure your benefits are impressive”—sarcasm coats her words like sugar on a daiquiri glass—“but I don’t sleep with my boss.”
“My benefits are legendary, actually, but I meant stage time, Dix. I don’t mix business with pleasure, either. I was talking about a weekly gig in addition to bartending. However”—he shrugs and grins—“if you’d rather sleep with me, that’s your call.”