Something about sleeping in Julian’s apartment made Molly restless.
Well past midnight, still tortured by the memory of Garrett’s kiss, she found herself tiptoeing down the hall toward the kitchen in the hopes of finding some sort of sleep aid in his cupboards. She had her heart set on Sleepytime Tea, but valerian root or chamomile would do, too. Hey, at this point, she’d take anything as long as it meant quieting her troubled brain and getting some rest.
But what she found on her way to the cupboards was a beautifully sculpted, seminaked man instead—and the sight of him was sure to give her permanent insomnia.
Wearing only a pair of white cotton briefs that hugged his buttocks perfectly, he leaned against the open refrigerator door, his head stuck inside as he surveyed the food.
Molly stopped in her tracks, her heart flying to her throat.
The warm fridge light silhouetted Julian’s magnificent form, shamelessly caressing every dent, every shadow and every sharp rise of lean, ripped muscle. Her breasts pricked unexpectedly. And suddenly he was not just Julian.
He was every inch...Julian John Gage.
Sexy playboy, dangerous male.
Not a hero, not harmless and definitely not just a friend.
A tremor rushed down her legs as her eyes helplessly drank up what was so blatantly on display, aided by the moonlight that filtered through the windows; she took in the sinewy arm folded above his head as he leaned forward, the broad muscled back, the lean hips and...the rest. His long, muscled calves and hamstrings, his hard buttocks under that snug white cotton.
Her temperature skyrocketed. Not because he was utterly sexy in a way that made her want to swim in ice right now, but because she was here. With him. At midnight. And he was about 90 percent naked. When it should be Garrett here, Garrett almost naked, Garrett in her head.
Her hormones clearly knew nothing of reason. They burst into action until she could feel the hot little pinpricks all over her body, to her utter confusion and despair.
Even her fingers tingled at her sides with a painful itch to trace the muscles on his back, determine the texture, the hardness, paint the thick ropes straining in his forearms. For a wild moment she kidded herself that it was the artist in her; it had to be. For she felt the same fever she did when she was gripped with the need to paint.
Except now she was gripped with the need to trace the length of Julian John.
With finger paint. All of him. She thought wildly that if he were a canvas, she would not leave an inch of him unpainted except his lips. He was just too masculine to wear them any way but bare.
But she could still trace them with her fingertips and find out what sort of power they held when they kissed her. She could explore the thick bottom one and then the top one and she might even kiss them again just to be sure her memory wasn’t failing her...
Molly, you love Garrett, you tramp!
Shocked by the untoward thoughts, she snapped back to the present and swallowed a lump in her throat. An awful guilt surfaced inside her. Had she actually been thinking of accosting Julian in his own kitchen? What was wrong with her?
Ever since that evening at the masquerade, it felt as if her entire life had been flipped over as easily as a pancake.
Now she could not stop thinking about kissing, touching, tasting, wanting. Garrett had awakened the desperate needs of a woman inside her, and Molly felt so hyperaware of her body now, even her reactions to Julian were uncommonly, embarrassingly...unsettling.
See what you’ve done to me, Garrett? Apparently I’m a nymphomaniac now.
“Um. Did you forget you have a guest here?” she blurted out from her spot a few feet away.
Julian’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. His head dropped an inch or so, that gorgeous mane with sun-streaked strands that were lighter than the others. “Damn—you’re supposed to be asleep, Molls.” He pulled his head out of the fridge, his chin dropping an inch or so as he faced her, his hair catching the light just right.
“People with insomnia don’t sleep, Jules.”
Molly should go back to her bedroom, she supposed, but being squeamish about a man’s near-nakedness did not go with her artistic persona. She had to treat it as a natural state of being, or at least that was what she told herself as she woodenly walked over and opened and shut cabinet doors in search of her tea.
“Here, have some milk, always works for me.” He shoved the carton he’d just drunk from in her direction.
Molly took it and set her lips over the place his mouth had been, trying not to get too hooked on that discomforting detail as she downed a big gulp. Swallowing, she said, “Ah, it’s cold,” and handed it back, all her efforts focused solely on not noticing how velvety smooth and hairless his massive chest was.
She had never felt five feet tall when she was with Julian until today. When he seemed to hulk over her, appearing for the first time in her life almost...threatening. Extremely male.
“I’m going back to bed,” he said, shoving the milk back into the fridge and shutting the door.
“Can I come sleep with you?” Molly blurted out to his retreating back.
Suddenly she just knew if she went back to sleep alone in her room, she would be haunted. By her masked man. And by Julian in sexy white cotton briefs. She desperately wanted to watch a movie with him and snuggle and sleep and get her best friend back. She ached for him to make her feel...safe. Like when they were kids.
“No,” he answered without a single backward glance.
“Don’t be a jackass, Jules.”
“I don’t sleep with women I can’t take to bed,” he yelled back.
“I’m not women. I’m just me.”
“Precisely.”
She scowled and said, “Just put some pants on and I’ll bring my pillow. Come on, don’t be mean.”
She heard silence, then receding footsteps down the hall.
“Julian?” she called back tentatively.
His laugh made her hope for a moment, but then he spoke. “Good night, Molls!”
And so Molly cursed him all the way to her room, climbed alone into her bed and didn’t sleep a wink.
She didn’t fare so well on the second night, or on the third, either. Even though she tried every night to get him to invite her for a sleepover, the man’s will was iron. She was surprised she couldn’t bend him to her plea at all, but she was more surprised by the amount of effort Garrett had been putting into stopping her from getting into a “relationship” with Julian. Which amounted to zero so far.
That was not the approach of a man in love!
Then again, Garrett had always been the most hardheaded of the three, so he’d probably need extra incentives in order to react to her provocations.
Molly fantasized about the sexy clothing she could wear to catch his attention. She was growing so desperate, she even imagined pulling out that stupid wench costume again—but what sane person wore that? Nobody, that was who. Only Molly Devaney on a dare from Julian.
By the sixth night and seventh morning at Julian’s, Molly decided she was being tortured. Cranky from lack of sleep and out of sorts from painting all night, she began to wonder if she might have taken too deep of a plunge into this whole “relationship.” She’d barely even seen Garrett, much less talked to him, yet oh, boy, she’d been seeing plenty of Julian John.
Of course seeing him seminaked in the kitchen that first night took the gold.
But the close silver went to the times when he had breakfast in those linen drawstring pants that drove her crazy. He had several in different colors, and when the sunlight hit them at just the right angle, she could almost see through them. It was torture trying not to.
Like having an open chocolate bar stare back at you for hours and trying not to eat it. It was crazy.
And then watching all those bare shoulders and biceps and triceps and lats and traps and pecs and all that hairless tanned skin moving and flexing as he had breakfast nearly catapulted her to internal combustion. He was just too...defined. His virility too overwhelming to endure when she’d had no sleep.
But on the other hand, the bantering between them was wonderful.
Julian usually read the paper while Molly eyed all the junk mail, and this morning he’d accused her of being the only person he knew who actually enjoyed reading it. They’d laughed about that, among other stuff. And yet there were also moments that felt...serious. Too serious.
Every time Molly rose for more coffee, she caught Julian staring at her bare legs that peeked from under her long T-shirt. She had never in her life been more self-conscious of her walk until she came back to the table with his smooth green eyes admiring her every step. To cover up her awkwardness, she’d blurt out a silly question and Julian would jerk his gaze back to her face, asking a distracted, “What?” as if he had not even heard her.
It was not like him at all; he was usually as sharp as a tack.
Today, his teasing had continued as he drove her to her old place. Once again he mentioned her clothes. But this time his remarks had felt strangely...intimate.
He didn’t exactly say her flowered sundress came from her “blender” collection, he merely said, eyes glinting in mirth, “You almost look naked without a single paint mark on you.”
Naked.
Molly still wondered why her stomach had twisted like a pretzel at the word, but just the prospect of him seeing her naked made her head spin wildly. Now she waved goodbye to Julian from her front door as his Aston Martin rolled around the curve, a dazed smile lingering on her lips.
She’d promised to catch a ride home with Kate later today, once she managed to pack more of her paint supplies and found herself a dress to wear to tonight’s event, a small housewarming for Landon and his wife, Beth. Although the couple had been married for two years, they’d never really taken the time to honeymoon until now. At first, they’d married because it suited Landon’s business purposes and would help Beth could regain custody of her son, David. But soon they’d fallen madly in love. Now their turbulent waters had calmed and they had one of the most loving marriages Molly had ever seen.
This was the first time Julian and Molly would face all the Gages at once.
The first time they would face Garrett and make him realize he was an idiot for letting Molly go.
And suddenly, sexy and sophisticated wouldn’t do.
Suddenly it was crucial that Molly look stunning.
Using the key neatly hidden in the potted fern outside her door, she quickly entered the apartment to the aroma of baking: cinnamon, cardamom and every scent she associated with home.
Her heart swelled at the sight of their nice, tidy place looking cozy as usual. It was prime-time girly, scattered with lacy pillows and throws on the couches and colorful accessories. Even Molly’s old teddy bear sat contentedly under a Tiffany lamp.
After sequestering herself for days in an ultramasculine bachelor pad, the feminine vibe in their small one-story home appealed to her. Right then, she decided to take some of her pink pillows to Julian’s place. She needed to make herself more at home if she was going to be there for a while, plus she definitely planned to stock up his cupboards with her beloved Sleepytime Tea.
“Okay, what is going on with you?”
Molly spun around to find Kate standing in the kitchen archway, her red hair tied in a ponytail, a frilly apron around her waist and a what-in-the-world expression on her face.
People used to say Kate had so much energy the sun would burn out before she did. They were right; she was always doing something.
“I just came for some more clothes. Julian’s car is so impractical a kid can fit more stuff in a bike basket, I swear,” Molly said.
When Kate’s expression didn’t soften, Molly went to the kitchen to give her a hug, which might have been easier if Kate wasn’t holding a bowl.
“I can smell something’s cooking, Molly. I’m like your mother and sister and father all in one.”
“And I smell cinnamon.”
Molly peeked at all the yummy offerings on the kitchen island and selected several muffins to take to Julian. She shoved them into a brown paper bag and rolled it closed with a lot of noise.
“Aww, you always do this to me,” Kate said, exasperated, setting down her bowl with a plunk. “Those muffins happen to be for Landon and Beth’s welcome-back party, Moo. I’ll bake some for you tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” Molly grumbled. Already halfway to her room, she retraced her path to where her sister stood and handed her the paper bag. Instead of leaving, though, she stared into eyes that were clear and blue and almost identical to hers.
Her chest felt so heavy today, she just ached to be truthful with her sister.
They’d always been close with each other. As tight as two people who were left alone in the world could possibly be. But both of them were creatively inclined and tended to disappear into their own private bubbles of imagination half the time. Molly had been known to spend months locked away, painting away her restlessness. Kate cooked her heart out as well so that by the end of the day they were both too tired to even remember that they had lives outside their jobs, jobs which also happened to be their hobbies.
Kate had always been there for Molly, a shoulder to lean on, always supportive but not suffocating. But rarely in all these years had they actually discussed men. Or the strange feelings a woman might have toward them.
It was as though they both tried to pretend men did not exist in their lives. Or maybe just pretend that, other than their wonderful relationship with the Gages, they didn’t need any man at all.
Molly had been perfectly content with that pretense because she had Julian John’s friendship. And he counted for a hundred men. So she’d never felt she lacked any male attention at all.
Until that one night, when his brother had made her feel wanted.
Until that one night when she’d been kissed and fondled until she’d burst. Literally.
Now Molly couldn’t seem to stop craving that extra spark in her life. That wonderful feeling she’d felt as those hot lips, those expert hands, had reminded her she was a living, breathing woman who deserved a man’s love. Because why the hell not?
But how to inform Kate of her masquerade escapade with one brother when she was now supposed to be the other’s lover?
Molly just couldn’t talk about Garrett yet. It was still impossible to mention that kiss that had flipped her whole life upside down. But at least she could mention something else that was gnawing at her.
“Julian hates my wardrobe,” she blurted at last. She hated how her stomach cramped at the admission. And she loathed remembering how cockily Julian had assured her that this “starving artist look” would not do anything for Garrett. Damn him anyway for making her feel insecure.
Kate’s eyes widened, then she cocked an I-told-you-so brow. “Now, why am I not surprised to hear that?”
“Because you’ve said the same. There. Does it please you, Kay? That he thinks I dress bad? Because the last thing it gives me is pleasure.”
Suddenly, just remembering the sexiness of that woman she’d seen in Julian’s apartment made Molly flush in anger all over again. She had to look better than her. She had so many other looks in her wardrobe, not just the “blender” ones. Jules would see.
Eyebrows joining over a nose that was dotted with freckles, Kate took a step to scrutinize Molly more closely. “Molly, I don’t get you. You haven’t called in days and when I text you, you tell me you’re flying in Julian’s airplane over to South Padre Island to get an hour of suntanning with him? Your last two unfinished paintings for the exhibit sit all alone down the hall in your studio with your deadline looming...and after years of listening to me beg you to let me give you a makeover, you finally decide to do it because of what he said? What is going on with you two? I couldn’t sleep last night—I had to call Garrett. I’m worried sick!”
“Garrett? Well, what did he say?”
Looking genuinely mortified, Kate shook her ponytail and rubbed her temples. “He said to relax, that he’ll talk to you. I just don’t understand how this could come on so suddenly without me noticing what you two were up to. I thought this would happen later, when you were more experienced and mature.”
“Forget that! Tell me what tone Garrett used. Was he angry? Concerned? Kind of possessive?”
Maybe the idiot was so arrogantly certain of Molly and her feelings for him, he thought he still had her in his grasp. Well! She’d just have to set the man straight, wouldn’t she? And play harder to get with him than ever. In fact, Julian would know just how to take care of that tonight.
“I don’t remember exactly what else he said, but I’m truly mortified over this. Moo, I thought you were a virgin until now?”
Kate seized her shoulders, and as her wide blue eyes searched deep into her own, Molly dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling suddenly transparent. “I am a virgin,” she whispered, then she realized what she’d admitted to, and that the truth, right now, wouldn’t do. “I mean I was before Jules...”
“Were you hurt your first time, Molly? Did he hurt you?”
That soft question, full of caring and concern, sent Molly for a loop. Suddenly she felt like the very red center spot of the Target sign. That was what liars felt like when they were put on the spot. So now she was going to have to draw on her imagination.
“He didn’t mean to hurt me, but you know...” She trailed off and hoped to leave Kate to her own conclusion.
Which, judging by her struck expression, wasn’t all that good. “I could kill him!”
“No! No! It was amazing, he was...” Helplessly hooked into an image of Julian John making love to her, Molly trailed off. Or was it Garrett she was fantasizing about? Her mouth felt so moist all of a sudden, she had to swallow. “It was actually perfect,” she finished in a whisper.
“But anyway, my pride is smarting like crazy after he insulted my dress choice,” she continued after a moment. “I’m truly torn, Kate. I want to show him that I can look fantastic but don’t care what he thinks, either. I know you’re catering for our event tonight, but do you think you can take an hour off to help make me look good?”
“Good enough to make Jules eat his words?”
“Yes!” Molly laughed, grabbing a frilly pink pillow and playfully smacking Kate with it.
She pictured Julian’s face when he saw her walk through those elevator doors. Oooooh, it would be priceless. He’d look stunned and shocked and he would definitely no longer think Molly needed a new mirror.
And Garrett? He would regret every hour of these days they had been spending apart when they could have spent them together. Necking.
Kate slapped the pillow back at Molly, laughing. “Yes, I’ll give you a makeover. But Molls?”
“Hmm?” Molly was already storming into her bedroom, rummaging through her closet in search of options that would make a man’s mouth water. She didn’t have a lot. But she still found a very nice dress in Kate’s closet. She extended it to her sister, loving how the sapphire silk fabric shimmered in the light. “It has the tag on,” Molly said aloud.
“Take it off,” Kate said excitedly, and pulled on the plastic.
Molly shook her head. “But it’s new. I can’t wear this.”
“Yes, you can. I was saving it for a rainy day. You’d look so lovely, Moo.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me Moo. I feel like a cow.” Molly hung the dress back up with a sigh, and her heart clenched for her sister. “I’ll borrow this one day, but only after you wear it. When it rains.”
They shared a smile, and minutes later, Molly found another dress in her sister’s closet. It was black, fitted, and had an open back that was to die for. Molly tried it on backward and loved it so much, she decided she was doing things her own special way and cut off the label. She’d wear it this way and show plenty of cleavage tonight.
By that evening, after spending a wonderful day with Kate, getting her makeover and even helping her sister finish loading some of tonight’s munchies into the catering van, Molly arrived at Julian’s posh apartment building, her heart pounding in anticipation.
Her hair was held loosely by a shimmering crystal butterfly clasp, with a few soft tendrils escaping along her temples. She wasn’t used to pulling her hair back, but it seemed to emphasize her features this way. Her round cheekbones, her plump lips.
Her insecurities flickered to the forefront as she asked the bellhop to hold her canvases and paints below until she rang for them. He kept staring at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she wanted to run back home and put on a boho skirt, let her hair down and grab a huge pair of earrings.
But no. This was not the time to feel insecure.
She would show Julian sexy and confident if it killed her.
She crossed the marble lobby with purpose, aware of her hips swaying, the material clinging to her skin. Garrett was going to like what she was wearing; if he’d liked the wench costume, then he would love this one for sure. And if Julian didn’t like it? Her stomach did a twist inside her, and she wondered what that meant. Hopefully it meant screw him.
She wasn’t wearing this for him. At all.
Taking in a deep breath, she waved at the receptionist and pushed the elevator’s up button.
All right. Here goes nothing....
* * *
The elevator chimed, and Julian glanced up from the bar and almost dropped the bottle of wine he’d been examining. It was a Penfolds Grange Hermitage 1951—so rare and prized, only twenty bottles were left in the entire world, with the last having sold at auction for almost fifty thousand dollars.
But who cared about that now?
Because an exotic-looking creature resembling Molly had just stepped off the elevator, and something that felt like a paddle struck him in the chest, the gut and right between his straining eyeballs.
Holy mama.
He’d though this morning had been tough, watching that redheaded little package prance around in an old T-shirt of his with those curvy bare legs begging to be stroked.
And now...
He was certain that never in his life, after dating models, actresses and even a pampered princess, had he been as fired up by the sight of a woman as he was this instant, watching Molly Devaney and her pinup body walk toward him in that minuscule black dress.
She looked like a sexpot. A sex goddess. A sex bomb. Awakening every Neanderthal instinct inside of him.
Julian could hardly take her all in with one long sweep of his eyes, he was so dumbstruck.
Her titian hair was drawn back into some sort of careless knot, but several soft wisps escaped to frame her lovely face, the overall look enhancing the delicacy of her doll-like features. Her lovely, heart-shaped lips shone with a peach-colored gloss, and whatever silver-gray shade of eye shadow she’d worn made her eyes look even rounder and bluer than usual. Her earrings were small pearly dots, unlike her usual flashy chandelier style, and they made her look so elegant he wanted to fly her to Monaco on his jet right now and seat her next to him at a baccarat table.
Then the dress. Ahh, the dress. The satiny black fabric fell from her nape to drape over a pair of beautiful round breasts he’d kill to taste while the plunging neckline revealed inches and inches of smooth porcelain skin in the cleavage between. The skirt was barely a couple of inches long, and it hugged her rounded hips like Lycra. Suddenly he wanted to be that skirt. That dress. That cloth that molded to her and felt her and hugged her and practically rode those curves all over the place.
Molly had always been the funniest baby, the happiest baby he’d ever seen in his life. She cackled all the time. Especially with him. Now she was entirely, 100 percent, take-me-serious woman. And Julian was primed to stop mucking around with her and ready to do some serious, serious things with her. Aww, crap!
This was going to be a long night.
Schooling his expression, he set the wine bottle down and noticed his hand wasn’t so steady. Not while his heart was doing vaults and backflips. “Is something wrong with your usual clothes, Molls?” He was amazed his voice made it past his dry throat.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” She planted her hands on her hips, thrusting her chin up in a silent dare. “They’re not sophisticated and sexy, according to you.”
He cocked a brow and remained silent, mentally deliberating what in the world to do now. A part of him wanted to escort this impostor out the door and demand to know where his red-haired, paint-streaked imp was. And another part was just thinking of how good this woman would look in his bedroom. Splayed open on his bed...where he would give her a goddamned hickey that would sting like hell tomorrow...
Okay, no.
No.
He was not doing any of that.
Not so soon and not like this.
But hell, had she actually picked this dress for Garrett?
His jaw locked in wordless jealousy, his eyes so starved they felt like Ping-Pong balls as they went from her prominent cleavage to her narrow waist to her sexy stilettos and back to the enticing swell of her breasts and to her slim, sleek arms. A torch blazed inside his chest and the heat quickly spread to every corner of his tense body. “You call that sophisticated and sexy?” he asked gruffly.
Yeah. It was definitely sophisticated and it was so damned sexy his eyes were about to burst. But it was also practically nonexistent. And he told her so.
She stuck her little pink tongue out at him. “Eat your heart out, Jules. I look good.”
He was not even going to think of all the places he wanted to feel that little tongue. Really. “Good is not the word I’d use.”
“All right. I look amazing,” Molly countered.
“Says who? You?”
“Come on, I can see you struggling, Jules. Be the better man and admit it,” Molly teased, clearly enjoying this.
“I’m the only man here, Molls, and I’d gladly admit it if I wasn’t so busy looking for the rest of the dress. So? Where’s the rest of the goddamned dress?”
Her smile wavered. “You don’t like it? Fine. I’m not wearing this to impress you.” With a stiff shrug, she breezed past him to her bedroom, where she began shoving her things into a small clutch purse.
Julian followed her to the threshold of her room and watched her buttocks wiggle as she bent over. His mouth watered. She looked so sweet and so delicious he was salivating like a dog.
He’d had mile-long legs wrapped around his body, centerfold lips around his privates and breasts the size of melons in his hands. And he had never, ever, been so turned on.
He wanted Molly so bad he’d die for it.
He wanted to cup her breasts and suckle her until his jaw ached. He wanted to unpin her hair and watch as every fiery-red strand fell to caress the lovely curve of her nape and shoulders. He wanted to take a plunge into her cleavage and lick his way downward until he found the very center of her being—and he wanted to stay there, all night, drinking and feasting and adoring every prized and special inch of her.
He knew this girl like he knew himself. And he still wanted to know her more.
He knew he only had Lucky Charms for breakfast when she did, so he could eat her marshmallows. He knew she had her cereal with almond milk. He knew when she got painting fever she would disappear into her studio for months and not care whether the world kept spinning or fell apart, except for taking a moment each day to see him and Kate. He knew she’d secretly donated the first million she’d made to an orphanage and that when she was younger she’d watched The Princess Bride about twenty times, rewinding and replaying the part when the hero tells the princess, “As you wish,” rather than, “I love you.”
He knew that she wanted his praise tonight.
He had seen the uncertainty underneath the confidence in those striking blue eyes of hers, could see the eager rise and fall of her pretty breasts.
More than anything, he wanted to shower her with the praise she wanted. He wanted to take off that slinky black dress with his teeth so she knew how badly he craved her. Then he wanted to take his teeth from her tiny toes and drag them up her shapely ankles, her firm calves, her slim beautiful thighs, and roam his hands up her tiny waist and her beautiful breasts while he buried his lips between her legs and drowned in the intoxicating taste of her. He wanted to take her to heaven, because that was the place where angels live, and he wanted her to ask something of him—anything—so that he could look into her eyes and tell her, “As you wish.”
But he did none of that.
Could not do it. Not yet.
Because she’d worn this dress tonight for another man. And the thought of that alone made him feel like kicking a kitten.
“I can feel your eyes on my back, Jules.” Molly broke into his thoughts, probably sensing his overwhelming testosterone encircling her.
He leaned on the door frame with his wide shoulders, still struggling to process this new feeling of complete and utter jealousy. “You’re showing off so much skin I’m concerned you’re contracting pneumonia as you stand there,” he said.
She swung around in surprise. Her mouth hung open, and then she tossed her head back and laughed. “Really? You’re concerned about my health? Or about your ego and the fact that you can’t even admit to me for one night in my life that I don’t look like I came out of a fistfight and a blender?”
His fingers curled into his palms and his lips clamped shut. So...she thought he’d insulted her?
“If you don’t want to be mauled the entire evening, I suggest you at least find a sweater,” he instructed. He was trying to sound friendly. Like a good friend. A best friend would make such a suggestion, wouldn’t he?
“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Why would I need a sweater?”
He stared down pointedly at her breasts—yes, so that she noticed—then back up at her until she squirmed under his stare. “Need I remind you you’re my lover for the time being? You’re like a property of mine and I won’t have any of those bastards...staring at your...your assets.”
“I’m like five feet tall and almost invisible, Jules. Nobody’s going to stare except, hopefully, Garrett. And then he’ll propose and we’ll have babies together.”
Over my dead, rotting body, you will!
He was a hair from hyperventilating by now. “I didn’t sign up to play the part of the freaking fool, Molls. What am I supposed to do while you hold court at the family gathering? You’re supposed to be my girl!”
Her eyes sparkled in mirth, because she’d probably never seen him worked up to a lather before. “Well, at least you can give your big ‘guns’ a good workout as you fend off my unwanted suitors, huh.”
He stalked over and grabbed her shoulders, not amused and very freaking jealous about all this. “Damned right I will, and you know why?”
“Enlighten me.”
“All the guys in attendance, from Landon’s friends to business associates, are going to swarm you like a pack of starving beasts. They always have, and you don’t even notice. You’re so damned different, Molly...” She had no idea, no idea what she did to him or anyone else. She was not only blind to him, she was blind to all men. The looks she received while she was staring off into space, thinking of a painting, were never even noticed.
Had she forgotten all the invitations she’d had to prom? She hadn’t even attended, but she goddamned well had been asked.
“You really think I’m different, Jules? You know, maybe that’s because of my special relationship with my Oster!”
He laughed and wondered when the hell he would hear the last of that. Never, he thought, then growled in frustration and clenched her shoulders. “You don’t need to change one whit about you to catch a man. If you need to change your identity to make him see something great about you, then Garrett doesn’t deserve you. None of those bastards do.”
Something he said struck a chord. Molly stopped fiddling with the bag and clutched it firmly to her abdomen. She surveyed him in curious speculation and tilted her head a notch, those sky-blue eyes wide with innocent expectation.
“So basically,” she said, her lips lifting at the corners, those same lips he wanted to kiss more than anything until they were red and swollen and only his. “So what you’re saying is—I do look good?”
Julian stood ramrod stiff as he struggled to reply, not wanting her to be seen like this by anyone. Anyone. But he owed her the truth and he had to shove his jealousy aside if it killed him.
And it was. Killing him.
Looking at her like this. Killing him.
Wanting her and having to wait. Killing him.
He twirled his finger in the air and thickly commanded, “Give a little spin for me.”
She spun, slowly. Yep, killing him. Her butt was so perky and round he could already feel it in his hands. Needing to do something—touch her, anywhere—he reached out to tuck a loose tendril of red hair behind her ear, then his lips curled ever so slightly on one side as he inclined his head just a fraction, and said in a gruff voice, “Yeah, baby. You look good.” And he gave that rump a little playful pat because he’d been aching to. “Too damned good.”