Sterling (Carolina Reapers 6)

I shook my head. “No. I didn’t want you with her. I was afraid you’d hurt her—emotionally. But I just wanted her. Right from the first moment I saw her.”

“I’d never hurt London.” He bristled. “Not that I’d be good for her, either. Mostly I just wanted to fuck with you. But I believe you, and if I can sit here and say I was wrong, then I think you can probably put on a tux and make her believe she was wrong, too. I’d say go over tonight and beg her to listen to you, but we both know she won’t open the door. She’s stubborn like that. Besides, a tuxedo is a damn fine weapon against the fairer sex.” He smirked.

The New Year’s Eve party. It was this weekend.

“Again, just some brotherly advice.” For the first time since we’d met on the ice when we were twenty-two, there was no hatred in his eyes.

“She kept me a secret. Just like our father.” There it was, the real heart of the matter.

“Yeah. Well, you’re just going to have to forgive her for that,” he said softly.

“We’re not having a moment.” I forked in another bite.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He went back to his lasagna, but he was smiling.

He was right. London wasn’t going to listen to me unless I caught her in public. She would slam the door in my face before I got a word out.

And even I could admit, I looked pretty damned good in a tux, but what was I going to do if she wanted to take our relationship under whatever was left of the radar?

All or nothing. That had to be the line.

I was done being anyone’s dirty little secret.

18

London

I checked myself in the bathroom mirror once again, my stomach fluttering with nerves. The dress I wore was glittering black with an A-line and thin black straps. A side slit exposed one leg all the way up to my hip, and the rest of the dress flowed around me in puddles of silk, stopping just above my ankles. The black pumps I wore strapped around the ankle, and since the dress was elegant enough, I opted for no jewelry and clean makeup.

Tonight was the night I’d worked toward all season.

New Year’s Eve.

But that wasn’t why my nerves were tangled—it was because I couldn’t stop wondering if Jansen would show up.

It had been a little over two weeks since the mess at Reaper Arena, and I missed him. I missed him so much it was like someone had carved out a piece of my soul.

The black fabric sparkled in the lights, and I blew out a breath, nodding to myself in the mirror. If he did show, I thought I might catch his eye.

At least I hope.

Because if I’d learned anything from the last two weeks without him, it was the absolute knowledge that I didn’t want to be without him. Even if he’d started dating me because of a revenge plot, it didn’t change how he’d made me feel. How I knew he felt about me. Time and space from the situation had forced that clarity into my mind. Jansen wouldn’t have done all he did just to irk Maxim. He wouldn’t help me conquer my fear, wouldn’t go out of his way to truly understand what made me me.

And in the end, that’s all that mattered. If he showed tonight—to the event I’d stressed was the most important for my career—then it would be a sign he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. If I didn’t actually matter to him? If I was just a pawn in a game against his brother? Then he wouldn’t show up. Wouldn’t be here to support me.

And I’d have to find a way to live with it.

I emerged from the bathroom and was met with the delightful sounds of an event in full swing. My chest swelled with pride as I sashayed through the clusters of the guests, all dressed in their finest. Some sipped champagne, others drank liquor from crystal tumblers, and some nibbled on the delights being served on silver platters. Chatter and laughter and music bounced off the walls, and I couldn’t be prouder of the turnout. So many pro-athletes, team owners, and celebrities had shown up at my request, each one of them emptying their deep pockets for such a good cause.

I walked toward the mahogany and marble bar, gazing toward the wall of windows surrounded by brick. Moonlight glittered off the Ashley River just outside, the Historic Rice Mill building providing the absolute perfect space to host this event. Charleston’s Ronald McDonald House was less than a mile away, and most of the staff, volunteers, and organizers were already enjoying the event.

Caz chatted with a petite girl with jet-black hair and thick black-rimmed glasses at the opposite end of the bar but waved to me when he saw me. I lifted my champagne flute to him but was content where I was at. I’d mingled earlier, and with how much pressure had been riding on this event, I was ready to relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor.