The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(34)

She’d removed her gloves while she was speaking, and the sight of her delicate fingers distracted him. Briefly, he wondered what they would feel like on his bare skin. He forced his gaze back to her face. “You’ve proven that isn’t true. So has your friend Nellie. And certainly there are other women who don’t aspire to land a husband.”

“Not many, and Nellie has been ostracized for it. It’s also worth noting that I believed I was betrothed for the last year.”

“I still find it mind-boggling. I’m sorry, but I can’t understand how you agreed. Didn’t you wish to get to know me, to decide if you desired the match?”

She quickly reached for her drink, almost desperately, lifting it to her mouth and taking a swallow. Preston cocked his head and studied her. “What are you hiding, reinette?”

“Stop calling me that,” she said, the edges of her mouth curling, as if she were smothering a smile.

“Why? I know you like the nickname.”

“It’s inappropriate. We’re friends.”

She emphasized the last word, and he nearly laughed. “That’s not what I would call it, but fine.”

“What would you call our relationship, then?”

He stroked his jaw and considered this. There was no good word for his thoughts regarding her, the myriad feelings that erupted in her presence. He was a man of measured action, not impulsive words, and all he knew was the need to taste her again, to hear the sound of her cries in his ears.

Angling toward her, he said, “Unfinished.”

She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, while color dotted her cheeks. “Then I would have to call you delusional.”

He let that go, instead returning to the question she hadn’t answered. “Why didn’t you feel the need to meet me before you agreed to the betrothal? Have a dinner or a drive in the park? Something?”

“I did meet you.”

Was she joking? “We met? When?”

“We were introduced during my debut. I—”

When she didn’t finish her sentence, he edged forward, curious. “You, what?”

“I need another drink.” She pushed her empty coupe toward him. “Please?”

She was clearly trying to distract him, but avoidance wouldn’t work, not with him. He’d negotiated with criminals and lawyers and politicians; one beautiful woman wasn’t going to outwit him. Rising, he took her glass to the bar and fixed another drink.

When he sat the full coupe on the table, he didn’t let go, not even when she reached for it. “Tell me.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s ridiculous, but I had a tiny crush on you.”

His hand fell off the glass and flopped onto the table as he struggled to make sense of this. A crush? On him? She picked up the coupe and drank, her eyes glittering with amusement over the rim of the glass. The only thing he could think to say was, “You’re pulling my leg.”

“Oh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” She took a hasty gulp of the alcohol. “I’m making a fool of myself again.”

Hardly. They’d met and he didn’t remember. At all. And this gorgeous creature had planned her whole future as his wife because of it? The knowledge made him feel two inches tall.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Believe me, I’m the fool, Kat.”

Her smile turned teasing. Flirtatious, like they shared a secret. “Well, perhaps if I had been in short skirts and a wig the night we met you would’ve remembered.”

Lust sparked in his groin at the memory of her costume. Hard to say what he’d liked more: the tight bodice thrusting her tits up or the short skirts showing off her spectacular legs. Luckily, he didn’t have to choose.

He shifted closer, much closer than was proper for a friend, and lowered his voice. “I can’t get the image of you in that costume out of my head. I think about it often. Every morning, in fact.” When he pleasured himself before he got out of bed, but he didn’t tell her that.

“I think of you and the things you did, too. At night. When I’m alone.”

His body jolted and his mouth went dry. Was she implying she touched herself to thoughts of him? The possibility was pure torture and, for once, he couldn’t think of a witty or flirtatious rejoinder. “Is this the sort of thing friends share?”

Her long lashes fluttered as she blinked at him innocently. He didn’t buy it. She knew exactly what she was doing—tormenting him, as she’d done in the coat closet. “So, you’re allowed to tease me and I can’t do the same?”

“You’re allowed to tease, but be prepared. If you bite me, sweetheart, I’ll bite back.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Her gaze darted to his mouth. “Because I don’t think I’d mind that.”

Oh, Jesus, this girl. Without thinking, he reached for her, desperate to touch her, to pull her closer, but she stood and edged out of his reach. “May I go up on the stage?”

An evasion? Or was this another of her games? He couldn’t tell. “Of course.”

She threaded through the tables and stepped up onto the small stage. When she turned around, he couldn’t drag his eyes away. The yellow cast from the overhead bulbs brought out the golden strands in her brown hair, as well as the glow of her skin, and he was mesmerized. Even in a small jacket, shirtwaist and long skirts, he found her utterly enticing. Arousal thrummed in his veins, an increasing pressure that echoed in every cell, causing his skin to feel too tight for his bones.