The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,34

spoke again. “You’re going to come to me.”

Falling right into his trap, I stopped and turned. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I just witnessed you having a panic attack. I imagine your parents would like to be aware of their daughter’s distress.”

The confused frown I wore cleared when I finally caught his drift. “You’re going to tattle on me? That’s your weapon?”

He didn’t respond as he tossed his lit cigarette over the railing. God forbid it landed in a bush and burned the whole club down. I doubt he’d care. Jamie hated all things pretentious, which was ironic since he was probably the wealthiest person here.

“Come here, Barbette.”

My pussy tightened at the command. Bossy Jamie turned me on just as much as gentle, carefree Jamie, though I’d never tell him so.

“No.” Shaking my head, I took a step back.

His smile was gentle, and for a moment, I foolishly thought he’d let me go. Warily, I watched as he hopped onto the ledge, but then my heart dropped to my feet when he lost his balance. Without thinking, I was across the antechamber and rushing out to the balcony. My hands gripped his shirt, and I didn’t stop to question how I could have reached him in time. I was just so damn grateful that I did.

“I got you,” he cooed as if he weren’t the one who’d almost fallen two stories. The moment he winked, I realized he’d tricked and trapped me.

“You’re such a fucking bastard.” I ground out each word, but the insult wasn’t enough, so I dug my nails into his chest, making him wince.

Crooking his finger, he lifted my chin, but it was the emotion in his gaze that held me. “I’d never let anything happen to you, either.”

I felt boneless as my hand fell to my side. I didn’t realize his head was lowering until it was almost too late.

“No!” I yelped, ripping away from his hold. “You can’t kiss me.”

“Why not? You used to love it.” His lids lowered after his gaze zeroed in on my lips. “I bet you still do.”

Because I’m engaged. “Because I… I’ll want more.”

I didn’t see his reaction because I’d closed my eyes, praying that I hadn’t said those words aloud. As true as they might be, they were a mistake.

When I opened my eyes, the space Jamie had occupied was empty. Spinning, I gaped at his retreating back. “That’s it?” I screamed after him. “You’re leaving?”

He faced me and started walking backward. “I told you I’d make you crawl, Bette, but you’re not on your knees, are you?”

“Screw you.”

His smile was the last thing I saw before he stepped through the antechamber doors, but his words rang loud and clear. “Only if you beg.”

I’m not sure how long I stood rooted to the spot before the door leading to the dining room opened, and my parents stepped through. Where were Ever and Evelyn? Had the rest of their meeting gone well? My father wasn’t beet red, and my mother wasn’t clutching her pearls, so I had to assume everything was okay.

“I thought you were going to see Klara?” my mother questioned. Even though my father was the head of the family, my mother did all the talking when it came to me. God forbid Elliot Montgomery actually have a hand in raising and caring for his child.

“I wasn’t feeling well, but it was nothing a little fresh air couldn’t cure,” I said, explaining my presence on the balcony.

“Well, then… we’d better get you home,” my father announced. His sharp, blue eyes were boring a hole through me, and I wondered if mine held the same glacial chill when I stubbornly held his gaze. I no longer cared if he hurt me. I’ll never bend for him as my mother had.

The week following the clubhouse catastrophe had come and gone without a hitch. It was now Saturday morning, the beginning of what I hoped was another monotonous weekend. My thrill-seeking days were long over, no matter how much Jamie tried to prove otherwise. After my long but mandatory beauty ritual, I descended the stairs to join my parents for breakfast as I did every morning, but instead, I found my mother standing in the foyer with two other women. One of them looked to be just a few years older than me. She was blonde, nervous, and carried a clipboard. The other was older, around my mother’s age, and fashionably dressed in a red A-line skirt, cream blouse, and