Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol) - Page 35

Usually, I cut those thoughts off, hid them behind a wall, but I reminded myself of desperate measures. So, when her tapping foot let me know she was waiting, I let her read the desire in my eyes.

The tapping stopped.

“Why are you jealous of Aubrey?”

She scoffed, looking away. “Puh-lease. I am not jealous. Why would I be? You can marry whoever you want.”

I waited for her to meet my stare again before responding. “And here I am, married to you.”

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

I wanted to call her on ignoring my comment, but as soon as the words left her mouth, her teeth clamped down on her full lip. It bothered her that I hadn’t told her, and this was her way of asking, with forced nonchalance that carried a depth of meaning.

“Because you were busy, and when you got back, it just seemed irrelevant.”

The tap, tap, tap of her shoe returned, and she released her lip, looking out at the ocean beyond the pool and vibrant green yard. I watched her think and waited, wondering if she was planning her escape—not that I’d let her. I wasn’t done yet.

“Did you give her the same ring?” she demanded, her eyes snapping back to mine.

“Would you care if I did?”

“Pft. No,” she huffed with an eye roll you could have seen from Pluto. “I just don’t like sloppy seconds.”

“Oh, Rae.” I took my time looking her up and down, taking a step forward. She took a step back but hit the wall with nowhere to go. “You’re not anyone’s sloppy seconds.”

“I’m aware. Trust me.”

“So, what has you so mad?”

“I’m not.”

Somehow, I managed to hold back my bark of laughter, but my brows shot high with doubt. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she assured with a curled lip and sassy tone.

“It doesn’t bother you to be here as my wife with the only serious person I’ve ever been with?”

“As a real wife, maybe I would care.”

“You are my real wife.” She could call us fake all she wanted, but legally, she was my wife, and I’d make her own up to it as long as I could. “Does that mean you do care?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Another eye roll, but it only served to encourage me more. I was getting too close to something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Rae was eloquent in her arguments, but in her need to push me away, she turned to petulance and immature rudeness.

Damn, she was so stubborn, but so was I.

Adding more slack to the reins around my desire, I took another step, closing the gap to almost nothing. Her head tipped back, staring me down, but what she found in my gaze halted any snarky comment.

“So, it doesn’t bother you that she knows what it feels like when I do this to you?” I gently brushed her hair behind her ear, skimming my thumb along the outer shell and down her jaw. Her lips parted, and I rested one hand on the wall by her head and took the final step, removing all space between us. “Or how about when I get close to you like this? Does it bother you that she can place herself in your shoes because she knows what I feel like?”

“I—I don’t care.”

We stood on a precipice, and she clung to the edge of her denial, but it was time to let go. Maybe like me, Rae buried any attraction or feelings beneath our friendship. I assumed it had only been me—that my attraction was unrequited, but I was wrong. I didn’t know why she’d denied anything more than friendship when so much heat simmered under the surface, but our Vegas wedding blew the cover off, and I planned to dig in and find out.

I just needed to push a little harder to make her let go.

Her skin pebbled under where I ran my finger down her neck to her shoulder, toying with the edge of her dress. Her eyes darkened to almost black. Her soft breaths brushed my chin, and I knew then I’d give anything to hear her pant for me.

Opening the gates to my fantasies, I let her see every ounce of want and need that had been caged inside me since the first moment I laid eyes on her and played my final card. “You’re not jealous that she knows how I like to fuck, and you don’t? Because a wife should know how her husband likes to fuck her.”

“No,” she breathed.

So fucking stubborn, and I loved it.

She could be as stubborn as she wanted, but we both knew the truth.

My lips tipped the slightest bit in victory, refueling Rae’s fight. I should’ve known better than to gloat. She only took it as a challenge, and she thrived on a good challenge.

“Arrogance doesn’t look good on you.”

Tags: Fiona Cole Erotic
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