Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,41
felt like a refuge to me. But even with all the dinners around their big dining room table and the summer afternoons by the swimming hole, it still wasn’t my family. Not really. I belonged but I wasn’t one of them. I didn’t look like a Farrell or act like a Farrell or have the same history or the same stories. Because I wasn’t one of them. I was me, all along. My own entity of one.
What a gift it must be to grow up like these siblings. Linked to your own band of laughter and memories and belonging and love.
And it makes me think about what Gage said, about his parents. They were very much in love, right up until they died.
It must be a beautiful thing, to love like that. To know that there’s at least one person on this Earth who’s got your back, who’ll be there for you every step of the way, who will love you just because you’re you. Someone to share a life with and build your own close-knit family with, day by day. It’s hard to imagine. A best friend is one thing but true love really must be the ultimate lucky score.
I happen to glance over at Gage at that exact moment. The look on his face is … something I might never forget. It’s layered and contemplative. He’s been watching me. The soft shadowed light flatters him, like every light does. There’s none of the playboy in him at this exact moment. There’s heat and that purely-masculine swagger, but also a tenderness that catches me off guard. He overcomes it, like I’ve busted him, and the aloof charisma clicks back into place. He stands up and holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Of course he issues it as a command rather than a question, but whatever. I do want to dance. The dancefloor in front of the stage is already packed. The music sounds ten times better live. You can feel the emotion thrumming out of every husky word and every vibrating note. The strum of Kade’s bass guitar hits you somewhere deep inside the broken pieces of your own goddamn soul.
Okay, maybe that whiskey is starting to have its way with me.
But I take Gage’s hand—which feels warm and strong enough to secure my balance—and he leads me down to the crowded dancefloor. He’s tall, and big. I’ve never thought of myself as tiny or fragile, but in his grasp I can feel his energy and his brimming strength. Maybe it’s the whiskey or the champagne or the music or some combination of all three, but the thought of him overpowering me—which he could obviously very easily do—doesn’t feel threatening to me, not tonight. It feels sort of … hot.
I’m mortified to realize that my nipples are beading into tight buds. And my panties feel damp, clinging to me intimately … there, where a warm pulse plays. Oh God.
To most women this wouldn’t be a big deal. To me, it is. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a man. It was an experience that changed me. It shut me down and basically broke me. And I’ve been avoiding anything like this ever since.
Which, of course, sucks.
Tonight, the whiskey is helping. And so does the fact that a certain big city playboy is a seriously good dancer. He holds me against his ludicrously hard body and leans down to my ear so I can hear him above the noise. “What were you thinking about just then?”
It sort of amuses me that I have this small power over him. He owns my bar, he has more money than God and he weighs as much as three of me. But he can’t read my mind. And it’s bugging him that he doesn’t know.
“I was thinking about how I don’t appreciate you going ‘caveman’ when we agreed this was a business meeting.”
He shakes his head, more relaxed now. “Trust me, that wasn’t caveman. That was a flea on a mammoth the caveman was about to hunt down with his bloody, razor-sharp spear.”
I laugh, confused. “What?”
Gage wraps his arm around me more tightly and sways to the song. He’s so strong I have no choice but to sway along with him. He holds me close against the outrageous planes of his big body.
God.
Is he … hard?
Holy hell, he is. And he’s huge … if that’s what that even is.
It must be, unless he’s carrying a wooden club in his