Torch (Wildwood 3)

He’d been to a few of Harper and West’s get-togethers over the summer and they were always crowded. Full of people and music and food and plenty of beer flowing. They definitely knew how to throw a party. He arrived at West and Harper’s place and didn’t see Wren’s car in the parking lot. He figured he would have the upper hand when she finally appeared, already comfortable and chatting someone up, preferably a pretty girl. If the party was a real rager, he might never encounter Wren at all.

But once he walked through the door, he realized quickly that it wasn’t a typical party. Oh, Harper pretended that it was, but really? It was a couples thing. A couples-only dinner thing.

Meaning he was paired up with Wren for the evening.

Shit.

His friends said nothing, the pussy-whipped fuckers. He nursed a beer and bit his tongue, afraid he might say something rude to Harper since she was the one who’d put him in this position.

Wren was going to kill him when she discovered what their so-called friends had done.

When she finally walked through the front door, he sent her a helpless look, one that he hoped said, I had nothing to do with this. Don’t hate me.

He swore he could see the momentary panic on her face when her gaze swept the room, noting how many people weren’t there. She sent a death stare Harper’s way before she started her approach.

Toward him.

Tate tried not to act like an asshole and gape at her, but it proved difficult considering how damn beautiful she looked. She wore a strapless blue dress that covered even her feet but didn’t really show off any of the curves he knew she had. That was only a minor disappointment since her shoulders and arms were bare, revealing her collarbones and the very, very top of her breasts. She didn’t have it all hanging out—what a shame—but there was the slightest hint of cleavage, and she kept yanking the top up self-consciously.

Weirdo that he was, he liked the glimmer of self-consciousness, considering she made him a little nervous when pretty much nothing made him feel that way. He wondered if he made her nervous too.

Damn. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He’d bet big money her skin was soft. And he’d bet she smelled extra good tonight too.

She stopped just in front of him, and he snapped his lips shut, trying to appear unaffected.

“Tate.” Her voice was icy.

He started to sweat. “Dove. Though I should probably call you Bluebird, what with the dress.”

Her gaze narrowed. She looked pissed. What else was new? Didn’t she see he teased no one else like he teased her? It was a sign of affection, damn it. He liked her.

Okay, fine. He more than liked her.

He wanted to see her naked. Have sex. Fuck her. Make her come. Slip his dick in her mouth. Feel her fingers curl around his dick. Whatever it took, whatever she was up for, that’s what he wanted.

She sighed, the sound full of irritation. “So typical.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.

“You go for the obvious every single time. Calling me bird names. It’s becoming old news.”

He reached over and tugged on a glossy strand of brown hair, his gaze locking with hers. “You don’t like the bird names?” He liked her hair down. Could imagine gathering it into his hand and pulling as he fucked her from behind.

“I hate the bird names.”

“Why? It’s fun.”

“Maybe to you.” She lifted her chin. “I find them annoying.”

“I hate to break it to you, but . . . ” He paused, taking a step closer until his mouth was by her ear. “You think pretty much everything I do is annoying.”

She was quiet for a moment and he didn’t move, her ear so temptingly close he wanted to lick it. Nibble it. Whisper dirty things in it.

“True,” she finally said on a shuddery exhale. She took a step back, as if needing the distance. “I guess you just can’t help yourself.”

“I guess not. I’m just teasing you, Wren. I don’t mean to irritate you.” He decided to change the subject before she ran with this and continued to insult him. “You think they’re trying to pair us together?”

Her eyes went almost comically wide, and she rested a hand on her chest, covering her cleavage. A damn shame if anyone asked him. “Noooo. You don’t really think so, do you?” She was most definitely mocking him.