“Shocking that you get so much ass with that attitude.”
“That hurts.” Bentley tapped his chest. “Right here.” And then he smirked. “But not as much as right here.” He grabbed his crotch with a jerk, then laughed and walked off.
Watching Bentley strut across the room like a rooster, Brock tightened his hold on his glass. Both of his brothers were free.
While he lived in a prison of his own making. With gold bars. And a mirror where his grandfather stared back at him.
He returned his attention to his grandfather and the group of people who had crowded around him. His vision was starting to blur, but only because of the lights. He could easily hold more alcohol than most.
Then, in a sudden flurry of screaming, a woman was pushed onto the dance floor right into the two crazy women with even crazier lipstick.
A catfight broke out as one of the women ripped at the newcomer’s dress almost hard enough to pull the entire thing off and leave her flashing half the club. The girl pressed her hands to her chest while the woman standing on her other side tugged at the girl’s hair.
The hell?
How drunk were they?
He started toward the dance floor to pull them apart when suddenly the crowd parted.
The girl glanced up at him with wide eyes.
He stopped walking.
Breathing.
It wasn’t her face…her lips… It wasn’t the way her body looked poured into her tight black dress.
No, it was her eyes.
As if she was begging for someone to save her.
Protectiveness slammed into him and he shoved his body through the remaining people watching the scene, and picked the girl up into his arms.
Chapter Four
Jane was pressed so tightly against the wall she would have sworn her body was starting to blend into the wallpaper. Most people didn’t give her a second glance. Then again, she wouldn’t give herself a second glance either.
Women with fake boobs and injected lips mocked her while rich men in three-piece suits completely ignored her.
She self-consciously tugged at hem of the short black dress. In a last ditch effort to modernize the dress, or at least add a bit of spice, she’d grabbed her mother’s long pearls, wrapped them around her neck twice and called it good.
But the minute they’d arrived at the party she’d wanted to disappear. Her sisters were already semi-drunk, thanks to the vodka they’d had in the car. Against Jane’s protests they’d taken shots while she drove. And then she’d paid for parking only to hear them whine that she had parked too far away.
They’d been here for twenty minutes and already she wanted to leave, or at least sit down, but most of the available space was taken by couples talking, eating…kissing.
She was surrounded by the beautiful and rich.
The only reason her sisters had even been invited was because they were complete and total social climbers, and had managed to gain an invitation from a friend who was an heiress to some french fry company.
A waiter passed by with champagne.
She grabbed a glass and downed the entire thing. The alcohol didn’t help her nerves, but at least the bubbles semi-calmed her stomach.
Her sweaty feet slid in her too-big red pumps as she pressed harder against the wall to alleviate the ache in her toes.
The music shifted to a loud techno song as the lights went from red to a bright white, and with a gasp she covered her eyes and then blinked a few times to clear her line of vision.
The jumbled sweaty bodies moved aside as the music changed to a slow song. There was just enough of a break for her to see across the room.
“Oh.” It was all she could utter, really the only word she was capable of as her breathing picked up. Without thinking, she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, suddenly awkward. What was she supposed to do with her hands?
Thick wavy auburn hair fell in disarray over his forehead. It was lush, shiny, perfect. Were guys born with hair like that? Or was his somehow chemically engineered? His full lips pressed together in a secret smile as the equally handsome man next to him said something, then erupted in laughter.
The first man stiffened, then shook his head. His broad shoulders seemed to grow tight as a drum. A slight tic in his jaw was the only clue that he was irritated or maybe outright angry.
And then his shoulders slumped as he was handed another drink and then another.
Nervous. He must be nervous. But what could a man like that possibly have to be nervous about?
He easily towered over most of the men in attendance. Suddenly his posture changed, then he smiled.
Jane felt her mouth drop open in shock.
Dazzling.
He was…like a duke or a lord or a prince from a storybook. Clearly, she read too many romance novels, but his entire presence demanded attention; screamed authority, importance, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.