Filthy English (34 page)

She cried quietly—happy tears—and I held her, my own emotion clawing at my chest.

My fingers idly traced her arm, and she traced the tattoo on my chest.

“This is the best night of my life,” I said later, softly, into her hair. “And we owe it all to fate.”

She grinned. “And tequila.”

I laughed. Tightening my arms around her, I pulled her until she was lying on top of me, her head on my chest.

She was my light, my breath. She was my Juliet.

Only we’d have a happy ending. I’d make sure of it.

WE WOKE THE
next morning to the sun shining through the cracks of the thick, sweeping branches. It was our own private haven.

“Is everyone gone?” I whispered.

He eased away from me, stood, and stalked over to glimpse between the foliage. I bit my lip at the red marks on his broad shoulders and muscled back. His perfect ass.

How would I ever get used to such a man?

I grinned to myself. I’d come up with a few ways . . .

He turned, saw my smile, and smiled back.

He loved me.

He wanted us.

“I see a few cars and a couple of people are still here watching the fire burn down.”

“I guess Lulu left?”

“Why? You’re leaving here with me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know, but I just want to check on her.”

He peeked out again and turned back to me. “Don’t see her truck . . . which reminds me . . . let me get dressed and run to my car. I’ve got something for you.”

What?

He’d done so much for me. Rescuing me in London, fake-marrying me to make me laugh, letting me live with him when he knew it was a horrible idea, the bracelet.

“Okay, but be fast. I’m feeling lonely.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him and he chuckled.

“Woman, my back and arse are so bloody right now, the next time I take you, it will be in a soft bed with no rocks or trees.” His lips tipped up in a cocky grin. “But if you insist, I wouldn’t say no . . .”

I shooed him and he pulled on his clothes and shoes, stepped out from the heavy leaves, and took off at a run. Getting to his car, he pulled out a bag and dashed back to me.

He entered the area under the tree, threw down the bag, and pulled out a
Front Street Gym
shirt and a pair of slick athletic shorts. “Put this on.”

My brow wrinkled. “Why? I have my dress.”

“You really want me to get pissed off when you put that dress back on and march in front of my brothers?”

Heat went through me.
Yes?

I saw his point; I’d only done it to get his attention and obviously it had worked.

“Put on my clothes,” he murmured softly, his eyes vulnerable yet coupled with his domineering attitude.

He helped me pull the shirt on, and thank goodness the shorts had a drawstring so I could cinch them.

“I look homeless.”

“You have a home. Mine.” He pulled my pearls out to rest against my chest.

I sighed, brushing his tousled hair off his face. “Tell me how you came to know you loved me?”

He stared down at me. “When you slammed the door in my face at the Tau house, I knew I’d screwed up. When I heard you were engaged to Hartford, I was certain I’d screwed up.” He stopped. Closed his eyes. Opened them. “The night you kissed me at Masquerade and I
instantly
recognized your scent, the taste of your lips, and how you felt in my arms—I knew you were the only girl I wanted. I’m an idiot, and I just didn’t know how to do it right.”

“You’re doing it right, Sex Lord,” I murmured, running my fingers down his chest and down to the hard shaft in his jeans.

He groaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I can finish it. It’s your back that can’t take it.”

He laughed, grabbed my dress, and we took off for his Range Rover. At the last moment, he veered toward where a few of his brothers were standing by the fire. They appeared as if they’d just woken up, judging by the sleeping bags and cots strewn around the field.

Dax said hiya, sent some nods, and made his way to the low-burning fire.

I’d thought he was ready to go . . .

What was he doing?

He held my dress over the flames.

“Dax Winston Blay, if you drop that dress, there will be trouble,” I called loudly.

He lowered his eyes. “I can make you get over it soon enough.”

“Don’t do it,” I growled.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Give me one reason.”

I bit my lip. “I promise to only wear it for you. No one else.”

He pulled it back slowly, eyes on me. “Promise?”

“I promise,” I said and snatched the dress and dashed for his car, calling over my shoulder. “Unless you make me really mad and I have to teach you a lesson.”

I giggled and ran backward—scary for me—just to watch his face. He glowered at me, but in his favor, he gave me a few moments before he ran after me and chased me down. He scooped me up by my legs, making me yelp, and carried me the rest of the way to his Range Rover, kissing me the entire way.

I sighed, happiness exploding inside every atom.

Mr. Beautiful. He was mine and I was his.

The End

One Year Later

DAX WALKED IN
the Masquerade around ten, his black domino mask conforming to the perfectly chiseled planes of his face. Declan was with him. They both wore low-slung designer jeans and an
I am hot
attitude. At first glance, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart, except one was a bit bulkier and they had different tattoos.

I sat at the bar watching them, and even with an entire dance floor separating us, I knew exactly which man was mine.

I smiled as I tipped back another shot of tequila.

He hadn’t seen me yet, his head turning to search the crowd.

Declan was eyeing everyone too, his arms crossed, an inscrutable expression on his handsome face. He was the tough guy. The protector.

I leaned over to Elizabeth who was sitting on a stool next to me. “Our guys are here. They haven’t seen us yet.”

She smiled, pink lips curving up as she followed my eyes to the foyer of the club. “And, look, the women are fawning over them already,” she said with a chuckle.

True. A pack of giggly girls were pointing them out to their other girlfriends.

We weren’t worried. Our guys only had eyes for us.

I turned around to ask for more limes, putting my back to the door. “Let’s give them a minute to find us. I still need another drink.”

Excitement ran over me, thinking about how hard it would be for them to find us, especially since we’d chosen the biggest masks we could find, fluffy with lots of feathers and fabric. We’d also both worn our hair up in loose knots, with soft tendrils hanging down. Mine had grown out enough to make it work.

Since we’d had a girls’ day today, we’d splurged and gotten new dresses. I wore a slinky black number that contrasted nicely with my red hair, and Elizabeth had gone for a white halter dress.

I’d even put heels on. I know. Amazing.

We flagged down a bartender.

The four of us had come to London a few days ago for three reasons. First, we were celebrating that Elizabeth’s attacker, Colby, had pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of one count of first degree attempted murder instead of facing the other two charges against him. His sentence had been life in prison with the possibility of parole later. That was fine. She’d gotten closure, and Declan was mostly satisfied. He liked to say that if Colby ever got out, he’d kill him, but mostly I think Elizabeth has tamed him.

Second, Dax and I had both graduated Whitman this past semester. He’d pulled out a 3.0 GPA with diligent studying and lots of alone time with me. We liked to study in bed mostly, although our focus wasn’t always a college class. His plan (yes, I’d helped him) was to get his real estate license this year as well.

The housing market had worked well for him. He’d sold his first home after living there for six months and had promptly bought two additional properties. I’d started a YouTube channel for him where he took people on virtual tours of the two houses and talked about the renovations. I popped in on the video to talk about birds, eighties trivia, tattoos—anything really to make people laugh. The fans, who were in the millions, ate it up. They loved us—mostly because he was gorgeous and had that sexy British accent. HGTV had even contacted us, inquiring if we’d be interested in filming a pilot in Raleigh about redoing older homes in the South.

As for me, I was taking it slow with graduate school. I was enrolled in online courses through Duke, and for now, that was perfect. I refused to rush my life and plan out every single detail. Malcolm still stayed with us some, and he and Dax were like tea and biscuits. They adored each other, and I sent up a prayer each day, thanking the heavens that put Dax and I together. My soulmate.

Fifteen minutes later, they still hadn’t spotted us, and I was tempted to turn around and make eye contact—but I knew Dax liked this.

He knew I was here somewhere, and part of the hunt was finding me. Anticipation.

Elizabeth, who’d been dying to visit the ladies’ room, finally gave in and left me to go pee.

I toyed with my shot glass, running my fingers around the rim.

If he didn’t find me by the time she got back, maybe I should go look . . .

Warm hands settled on my bare shoulders as a steely voice whispered in my ear. “Want to dance, love?”

I stiffened and didn’t turn around. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”

He didn’t go away, but stood so close I could smell him and feel the heat emanating from his skin.

His breath skated across my neck, a light finger tracing my flying black birds tattoo I’d gotten a few months back in honor of my dad. “I like your birds. Does it mean you’re just as wild and free as they are?”

I sighed and turned around to face this person.

I raked my eyes over him. “I’m so wild you wouldn’t be able to keep up. It takes a real man to satisfy me. Are you him?”

He leaned in closer, his massive shoulders forcing me to ease back in my stool. With a gentle brush, he flicked his finger over my pearls, letting them fall back to my cleavage. Goosebumps flew everywhere.

“Indeed, you are gorgeous,” he said softly, hot eyes taking in my strapless dress.

I smirked. “Don’t “indeed” me with your haughty English accent. It takes more than that to get me to dance.”

“Then how about a kiss?”

I blinked. “You don’t waste any time do you?”

Dark eyes narrowed.

I swallowed, getting nervous. Excited? God, I didn’t know.

My eyes went over his shoulder, looking at random faces.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked, reaching across me to take my tequila bottle off the bar and look at it.

I smiled. “The hottest guy here—hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. I watched fascinated as he poured himself a shot—
in my glass
—and then drank it down.

What game was he playing?

“Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls came on, and I started, recognizing the song Dax and I had danced to. Memories of London a year ago flooded me.