I stare at the pink drink in my hand and shake my head. “I hope it doesn’t taste the way it looks—”
“Like Pepto-Bismol.” Nate inspects the contents. “Yeah, I don’t know if I want to drink this girly shit.” He scrunches his nose and then sets the flute on the bar. “I bet Reid’s having a stroke by now.”
I look around the room, and a roar of laughter shakes through me. Reid Grayson is standing next to the French doors that lead to the back yard, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at no one in particular. The dude looks mad all the time, and for no apparent reason. Of course, he’s dressed impeccably in a three-piece tailored suit, wearing it with his usual perma-scowl like it’s another piece of clothing.
Jules stands next to Reid, attempting to have a conversation with him. Is she suicidal? Her lips move at a rapid pace, and Reid seems genuinely uninterested. She purses her lips and then continues speaking, her body language more frigid than before. Whatever she said finally captures his attention. Reid turns his head, eyes narrowed and cruel. Scary as fuck. Why does Jules even bother with him? Aside from the fact he’s stupidly hot and richer than God, what is the appeal of Reid? Well, I suppose I’m not one to talk. Nate was a complete jerk only a few short weeks ago and now look at him.
People can change, right?
“Does Reid ever smile?” I ask Nate.
His eyes find Reid, and he shakes his head. “Nope. He’s been like this for as long as I’ve known him.”
“What about when his mom was alive?”
Reid is only in Philly because of her death, and his brother’s inability to keep his hands off the secretarial pool. Otherwise, Reid would still be holed up in his high-end flat in London, living better than the Queen of England. Nate might be a King by name, but he’s more like an entitled prince compared to Reid. And he’s not afraid to assert his dominance. Reid makes Henry VIII seem like a silly boy with too much power.
“He was nicer when Katrina was around,” Nate says. “She softened him a little bit but not much. Reid’s a complicated man.”
“I used to think you were complicated, too,” I confess.
Nate snickers. “Most men are not complicated. We like simple pleasures. Good food. A good fuck. A stiff drink. And some peace and quiet.”
“You forgot love,” I quip. “Everyone needs love, even men.”
He stares down at me, his eyes full of fire and intensity. A long moment passes between us. Did I say the wrong thing? According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, everyone needs love. I learned that shit in high school.
Nate slides his hand to the back of my head, fisting my hair between his fingers. I expect him to kiss me in front of everyone. My top lip quivers in anticipation, and Nate notices, rewarding me with one of his cocky smirks. But he surprises me, something he’s done a lot lately. Instead of the hot kiss I crave, he pulls me closer and brushes his lips against my forehead. Somehow, this kiss is so much better.
“Yeah,” he says under his breath. “We need love, too.”
And I want to be loved by you.
Because I’m in love with you.
I sip my pink drink, surprised how good it tastes, and lick my lips. When I turn to place the empty glass on the bar, I lift another flute from a tray and find Nate staring at me.
“You never finished your thought earlier,” he says, studying me with a severe look. “What were you going to tell me?”
“Oh, that was nothing.” I wave off his concern with my hand.
Nate grabs my wrist, feeling my quickening pulse beneath his fingers. “Tell me.”
I gulp down some liquid courage, and then I decide now is not the time to punk out.
“Earlier, you said I want my man to act like Mr. Darcy.” He nods, and I continue, “You’re more like Darcy than you realize.”
He gives me an amused look, entertained by the comparison. “How so?”
I count off the first of many traits they share, one finger raised. “You’re too prideful.”
He grins. “Check.”
Another finger. “Arrogant.”
The dimple in his cheek pops. “Double check.”
I add a third finger, our bodies so close to touching I can feel his heat. “Rich.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Triple check.”
I hold up my fourth finger and speak inches from his lips. “Ridiculously handsome.”
Nate winks. “At least you finally admit it. About time, Queen.”
“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.” I press my palm to his chest and sigh. “My skin burns when I’m this close to you. It’s like every atom in my body can sense you, awakening something inside me.”
What am I saying? I have gone too far. Confession time is over, Harley.