The Harder You Fall. Gena Showalter
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and this is the biggest one of all, and I need to talk to him before I totally—flip—out. Okay? All right?”
“This isn’t that big a change, honey. Not really.” Who would have guessed Jessie Kay would be a voice of reason in a situation like this? Or any situation. “You guys live together already.”
“Beck!” she insisted. “Beck, Beck, Beck.”
“Temper tantrums are not attractive.” Jessie Kay shared a concerned look with her sister, who nodded. “All right. One Beck coming up.” As fast as her heels would allow, she made her way back to the sanctuary.
She purposely avoided West’s general direction, focusing only on the groom. “Harlow has decided to throw millions of years’ worth of tradition out the window. She wants to see you without delay. Are you wearing a cup? I’d wear a cup. Good luck.”
He’d been in the middle of a conversation with Jase, and like Harlow, he quickly paled. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t stick around for an answer, rushing past Jessie Kay without actually judging the distance between them, almost knocking her over.
As she stumbled, West flew over and latched on to her wrist to help steady her. The contact nearly buckled her knees. His hands were calloused, his fingers firm. His strength was unparalleled and his skin hot enough to burn. Electric tingles rushed through her, the world around her fading until they were the only two people in existence.
Fighting for every breath, she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips and narrowed, his focus savagely carnal and primal in its possessiveness, as if he saw nothing else, either—wanted nothing and no one else ever. But as he slowly lowered his arm and stepped away from her, the world snapped back into focus.
The bastard brought a date.
Right. She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the force of her reaction to him. “Thanks.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. A sign of anger? “May I speak with you privately?”
Uh... “Why?”
“Please.”
What the what now? Had Lincoln West actually said the word please to her? Her? “Whatever you have to say to me—” an insult, no doubt “—can wait. You should return to your flavor of the year.” Opting for honesty, she grudgingly added, “You guys look good together.”
The muscle jumped again, harder, faster. “You think we look good together?”
“Very much so.” Two perfect people. “I’m not being sarcastic, if that’s what you’re getting at. Who is she?”
“Monica Gentry. Fitness guru based in the city.”
Well. That explained the sense of familiarity. And the body. Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica’s video. Then she’d found a bag of Kit Kat Minis and the insane idea went back to hell where it belonged. “She’s a good choice for you. Beautiful. Successful. Driven. And despite what you think about me, despite the animosity between us, I want you happy. I know! I’m as shocked as you are.”
And she didn’t want him happy just because he’d had a crappy childhood, she realized. He was a part of her family, for better or worse. A girl made exceptions for family. Even the douche bags.
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “We’re going to speak privately, Jessie Kay, whether you agree or not. The only decision you need to make is whether or not you’ll walk out of this room. I’m more than willing to carry you.”
A girl also had the right to smack family. “You’re just going to tell me to change my hideous dress, and I’m going to tell you I’m fixing to cancel your birth certificate.”
When Harlow had told her to wear whatever she wanted, Jessie Kay had done just that, creating a blood red, off-the-shoulder, pencil-skirt dress that molded to her curves like a second skin...made from leftover material for drapes.
Scarlett O’Hara has nothing on me!
Jessie Kay was proud of her work, but she wasn’t blind to its flaws. Years had passed since she’d sewn anything, and her skills were rusty.
West gave her another once—twice—over as fire smoldered in his eyes. “Why would I tell you to change?” His voice dipped, nothing but smoke and gravel as he added, “You and that dress are a fantasy come true.”
Uh, what the what now? Had Lincoln West just called her a fantasy?
Almost can’t process...
“Maybe you should take me to the ER. I’m pretty sure I just had a brain aneurism.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m hallucinating.”
“Hallucinating isn’t a symptom, funny girl.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, snatched her hand and while Monica called his name, dragged Jessie Kay to a small room in back. A cleaning closet, the air sharp with antiseptic. What little space was available was consumed by overstuffed shelves.
“When did you decide to switch careers and become a caveman?” she asked.
“When you decided to switch careers and become a femme fatale.”
Have mercy on my soul.
He released her to run his fingers through his hair, leaving the strands in sexy spikes around his head. “Listen. I owe you an apology for the way I’ve treated you in the past. Even the way I’ve acted today. I shouldn’t have manhandled you, and I’m very sorry.”
Her eyes widened. Seriously, what the heck had happened to this man? In five minutes, he’d upended everything she’d come to expect from him.
And he wasn’t done! “I’m sorry for every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about who you are and what you’ve done. I’m sorry—”
“Stop. Just stop.” She placed her hands over her ears in case he failed to heed her order. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
He gently removed her hands and held on tight to her wrists. “What’s happening? I’m owning my mistakes and hoping you’re in a forgiving mood.”
“You want to be my friend?” The words squeaked from her.
“Yes, I think I do.”
He thinks? “Here’s the problem. You’re a dog and I’m a cat, and we’re never going to get along.”
One corner of his mouth quirked with lazy amusement, causing a flutter in her pulse. “I think you’re wrong...kitten.”
Kitten. A freakishly adorable nickname, and absolutely perfect for her while also absolutely unexpected.
Oh, she’d known he’d give her one sooner or later. He and his friends were old school and enjoyed renaming the women in their lives. Jase always called Brook Lynn “angel” and Beck called Harlow everything from “beauty” to “hag,” her initials. Well, HAG prewedding. But Jessie Kay had prepared herself for “demoness” or the always classic “bitch.”
“Dogs and cats can be friends,” he said, “especially when the dog minds his manners. I promise you, things will be different from now on.”
“Well.” Reeling, she could come up with no witty reply. “We could try, I guess.”
“Good.” His gaze dropped to her lips, heated a few more degrees. “Now all we have to do is decide what kind of friends we should be.”
Her heart started kicking up a fuss again, breath abandoning her lungs. “What do you mean?”
“Text frequently? Call each other occasionally? Only speak when we’re with our other friends?” He backed her into a shelf and cans rattled, threatening to fall. “Or should we be friends with benefits?”
Aaand the tingles returned, sweeping over her skin and sinking deep, deep into bone.