Truths That Saints Believe (The Klutch Duet 2)

Still, I refused to look in Jay’s direction. I’d never been in this situation with him before. He’d been very insistent about other men while in the arrangement, but I couldn’t say how he’d react once we were out of it.

I got my answer when hands circled my hips. It seemed that Jay was not the man to watch from across the room as a muscled and rugged Kiwi hottie spoke to his woman.

Brent’s eyes went to the hands on my hips, then the man they belonged to. Still, I didn’t look up at Jay. His fury rippled off him, even though he wasn’t technically entitled to any. I felt guilty even though there was absolutely no reason to. Even if I had, one night, taken Brent up on his offer for a drink, if I’d let him take me home to satisfy me with those callused hands, I would’ve done nothing wrong. In theory, at least.

But the mere act of smiling at him, of even considering letting that happen, felt like a betrayal.

“Jay,” he introduced himself, holding out the hand that wasn’t biting into my hip. His voice was even. Not quite pleasant. Not overly hostile either. But I was sure if I looked up, there would be some kind of challenge, some kind of ownership in his eyes.

I watched the soft, easy expression leave Brent’s face. He shook hands with Jay, both men probably gripping with the intention to break a few fingers.

“Brent,” he replied with some steel to his tone.

I barely restrained a snort at the blatant display of testosterone.

Brent’s gaze flickered to me. “You never told me you had an old man, Stella,” he stated this playfully, without any kind of accusation, but there was still an edge to his gaze.

I swallowed, still not looking up at Jay. “I...” I trailed off. What did I say? I had once been in a very strict sexual arrangement with this man, fell in love with him and then was cast out of his life when I wanted more than he could give? Then after months of pain and suffering, he made his way back to me with promises and a future?

Hmmm, no. A little wordy.

“I do, I have an old man,” I quipped, grinning ever so slightly despite the situation.

“Come to take her back to America, mate?” Brent addressed Jay. “Good thing if you have because New Zealand is mighty fond of her.”

Jay’s hand at my hip gripped tighter. “I’ve come to take her back to where she belongs.”

I was so fucked.

We stayed at the party for a couple more drinks—for me. Jay nursed his second beer—I’d never seen him drink beer in my life—and watched me talk and joke with the crew. He interacted when necessary, but he mostly observed. If anyone thought it was odd that I’d suddenly became a walking, talking, smiling human again accompanied by an unsmiling sex god, they didn’t say it outright.

We left early because things were getting rowdy, and I was greedy for my time alone with Jay. Even though I felt an undercurrent, a tension, that had started building the second that Brent’s arm went around me.

Especially then.

Because even though I did absolutely nothing wrong, I still wanted to be punished.

He was driving because I’d had more than a couple of wines, and also because he was the big alpha male here, and it was the alpha male’s job to drive, apparently.

“Did you fuck him?”

I flinched at the cold emptiness of his voice. He hadn’t spoken like that yet. Not since he got here. Silly of me to get complacent in this new dynamic between us. To think that it would be lasting.

“Who?” I asked, a slight edge to my tone. It took me a second to gather myself, to remember my backbone.

“The man with his hands all over you,” Jay bit out.

I rolled my eyes. “He didn’t have his hands all over me, Jay,” I replied, eyeing his profile.

He was watching the road. “Did you fuck him?” he repeated. His knuckles were white.

I tilted my head and regarded him. The man I’d craved all these months. The one who'd said all those elegant things that first night, the one who had played with the tie on my bikini like he didn’t have a care in the world. The man I’d agreed to marry.

The one who was seriously pissing me off right now.

“Did you bring anyone else up to your office in Klutch?” I asked him sharply. “Did you order some woman to take off her clothes, to open her legs and to not ask questions?”

My rage surprised me. I’d been so wrapped up in my utter relief at having Jay back in my life, I’d deluded myself in to thinking I wasn’t just the least bit mad at him for leaving it in the first place. Yes, I understood why he left. I didn’t blame him for it. But parts of me hated him just as much as they loved him.