Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

“Really?” he asked.

“Come on.” I grinned, making him laugh. “It’ll be fun.”

We left the inn after I fixed my tear-stained face and put on a nice dress. I’d given Dahlia and Mona a quick rundown of events and asked Dahlia to call my family, to explain everything was okay, and that I’d call them as soon as I’d finished my errand with Vaughn to explain all.

Although it was a mere short walk, Vaughn insisted on driving us to the Grand in his Aston Martin.

“Is it a guy thing?” I asked when he wouldn’t tell me why. “A ‘my dick is bigger than your dick’ thing?”

He’d grinned. “Yes.”

I’d laughed, so much joy and mischief inside me I was ready to burst with it.

This man, this beautiful man, had turned the shittiest day ever into the most beautiful day ever, ever, ever.

Holding my hand in his, I felt this weird sense of possessiveness I’d never felt before as we walked through the reception of the Grand. I gloried in the fact that this guy was my guy, and I felt a triumphant swing in my hips as women drooled over my guy and stared at me in envy. They thought he was beautiful and they envied me my beautiful. But what they didn’t know was that Vaughn Tremaine’s complicated soul was a million times more beautiful to me than the pretty face they saw.

I wasn’t triumphant because my guy was hot.

I was triumphant because I’d found the kind of love that was hard to find, and I was finally brave enough to embrace it.

Mine.

All mine.

I tightened my grip on his hand and he looked back at me. “It’ll be okay.” He assumed I was nervous.

I just smiled. “I know.”

He squeezed my hand. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you. But you always do.”

Vaughn just rolled his eyes at me, making me laugh, laughter that was squashed with a more subtle glee as the restaurant maître d’, Arnold Rumer, stopped us.

“Our party is waiting for us,” Vaughn said, and I followed his gaze.

He’d spotted Devlin. And he wasn’t alone. Ian sat with his sons, Jack and Stu.

“Table, sir?”

“Mr. Devlin’s.”

“Ah.” Arnold recognized me. “Miss Hartwell, of course. Mr. Devlin said he was expecting you.”

Not the one he was expecting but technically . . . “Yes.”

Struggling not to giggle like an impish child, I curled my arm around Vaughn’s and he patted my hand.

“Keep it together, princess,” he murmured, amused, as we followed Arnold over to Devlin’s table.

Ian Devlin’s face broke into a smug smirk at the sight of us. He waved Arnold away and studied us. The bastard thought he had me in the palm of his hands.

I couldn’t wait to wipe that look off his face.

As for Jack, I let him see how betrayed I felt. He stared back at me, blank, apparently unmoved by my hurt.

Fine. No forgiveness or Emery Saunders for you, you jerk.