The Game (Wagered Hearts Series, #3)(40)

Instead, he'd deliberately walked away from me as if I were nothing. He didn't even shoot me a look or a word to explain where he was off to. Just gone. I heard titters from some of the people around me who had witnessed his rude exit, but I held my head up, trying not to let it get to me--or at least show that it got to me.

I wouldn't let Rob's callous behavior ruin my mood or my night, and I certainly wasn't going to let a perfectly good designer dress go to waste by leaving early or hiding myself away in a corner. If Rob wanted to pretend I didn't exist, then I was sure I could find someone else who would jump at the chance to keep me company.

It didn't take long for Peter Stanwick to saunter over to me, a cocky grin on his face. He was handsome in an arrogant way. He had the look of a blue blood all over him, from his aquiline nose to his slightly protruding teeth. Still, he was tall, fit and had a good head of sandy brown hair that was slicked back from his forehead.

He looked me up and down appreciatively, his eyes lingering on the plunging neckline of my dress. Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to tell him off for leering at me like a piece of meat, but tonight I welcomed it. At least he was someone who paid attention to me. Seeing my smile as an invitation, he reached out and lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. I had to fight to keep from recoiling at his touch, and maintain a pleasant look on my face even though he was cheesy as hell.

"You look like a fairy goddess," he said.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something rash. It wasn't the man's fault that he had no game. I wondered idly if his lines ever worked on anyone else, but I kept my mouth shut and just smiled and thanked him for his compliment.

"I see your fiancé has left you to fend for yourself," he added a moment later.

I shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself," I said.

At that moment, I looked over and caught Rob talking to his family, not even looking my way. His total indifference felt like salt in the wound, as if he couldn't care less whether I stayed or went. I hated how hurt I was at his behavior.

"Come, let's go get some fresh air. It's getting a bit stuffy in here," Peter said, noticing my deflating mood. He looked genuinely concerned, and I wondered if I might have misjudged him, so I nodded my head and left with him.

Turned out, my first impression was right. Once out of the crowd of guests, Peter turned up the charm, or what he thought was charm. He complimented me again on my dress, my hair, my eyes, and my charming American accent. He was also getting a little more touchy-feely out in the relative seclusion of the balcony. We weren't the only ones out here, but he had managed to get us to a somewhat private spot hidden in the shadows. I was getting sick of his attention and thought I'd rather take my chances back inside the house.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

I looked up and stared at Peter blankly. I had no idea that he was even still talking, but shook my head and smiled politely.

"I'm sorry. I must have been distracted. Do you mind if we head back inside? It's getting a little bit chilly out here." To emphasize my point, I rubbed my bare arms and shivered.

Instead of being a gentleman and offering to escort me back in, he got a wicked gleam in his eye, and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. "I'm sure I can think of countless ways to warm you back up," he said, licking his lips.

I shuddered at the thought. "No, I'm going inside. You can stay out here if you like," I said more firmly.

Peter's face transformed, and he looked almost dangerous as he grabbed my arm in a firm grip when I turned go. "What's your hurry? I'm sure no one inside will miss you," he said, his voice laced with menace. His grasp on my arm was tight, and was pinching the sensitive skin under my upper arm.

I was not only cold now, but pissed off. If this guy thought he could overpower me because I was petite and a woman, he had another thing coming. I wasn't raised in a family with three brothers, and I didn't spend most of my career fending off creepy older men, only to be taken advantage of by some pansy little prick like Peter Stanwick.

My first instinct was to turn around and deck him with my free hand, but I was at a bad angle for that. Plus, his grip on my arm restrained my movements. Instead, I relaxed my body and smiled at him coyly.

"You're right. Let's get away from here," I said, batting my lashes at him.

I don't know if he was just an idiot, or so arrogant that he believed I could really want him, but his hold on my arm loosened enough for me to break free. I turned to face him fully, and before he knew what was coming, kneed him right in the groin. I heard a loud satisfying crack as he fell to the ground in a heap, curled up in a fetal position.

"You bitch!" he yelled as he lay writing on the floor.

"Don't forget it either. Next time you come at me like that, I will f**king cut your balls off, capiche?" I whispered menacingly in his ear.

He didn't say anything, but continued to writhe on the floor, breathing heavily. I turned around and marched back into the house, adrenaline rushing through me, making my heart pound in my chest. The evening had just completely turned into one of the worse nights of my life. I wondered if it could get any worse when my eyes caught sight of Rob standing next to some other woman.

She was backed up against a wall, looking up at him adoringly while he stood close to her--so close their bodies were touching. Rob's arms were pressed up against the wall on either side of her head. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and she laughed loudly.