Page 70 of Conflict
AFTER THATsemi-disastrous dinner with Alyssa and the way she blew me off in the cab—and not in the way I would’ve liked—I decided I wasn’t giving up so easily.
But after going to her office, seeing some other man already making dinner plans with her, I decided to back off, at least for a while.
For the time being.
Sure, she is smoking hot, with an ass to die for, and a pussy the great lord made for me, but I’ve never been a man who’s up for the chase. At least, that’s what I’d always thought…
Turns out I lie, even to myself.
Because here we are at the wedding rehearsal and I can’t take my goddamn eyes off her.
All it takes is one glimpse of her walking down the aisle to change my mind. Sure, I saw her at the house before we all left for the rehearsal dinner, but sweet Jesus, I didn’t have time to truly appreciate her what was under her coat.
Now?
I’m riveted. I’m held hostage. I’m possessed. I’mlonging, and before I met her, the only thing I ever longed for was a good scotch at the end of a long fucking day at work.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Instead of an elegant dress like her sister’s wearing, a form-fitting, black, strapless jumpsuit covers her skin from her ankles to just the tips of her breasts. The outfit showcases delicate cleavage just waiting to be caressed. Her hair, swept up in a sleek twist, leaves her neck bare. It beckons for my lips to cover every inch of exposed skin. When my gaze falls on the beauty mark in the curve of said neck, I nearly groan at the memory of my lips there. Not only is my dick now on high alert, but my heartbeat quickens. And that’s happened every single time she’s near.
I have to fight to keep my hand at my side, even though I run it across my face, trying to get it together. Instead, I follow every step as she approaches, with the ridiculous notion that I want Alyssa to be walking down the aisle, not to her sister’s side, but to mine.
The thought takes me back. My notorious claim of never-ending bachelorhood threatened from one girl, from one night inside her. It should scare the hell out of me. I should be running from this place, far from the infectious impending matrimonial bliss.
But I’m not.
It shocks me that I’m not petrified. I don’t want to run away. No, after months of wanting her, waiting for her to be back in my life, I don’t want to push her away. I want to explore these feelings, reignite the passion we created so explosively that night on the beach. God, I can still taste her on my tongue. Feel her in my hands. Smell the sweet scent of her desire.
I sound like a horny bastard. And, well, I am one. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know her. The girl. The woman. For the first time in my life, I don’t want just the physical. But physical is all we’ve had. If my reaction to it makes me a bastard, then so be it.
Because the truth is, from the moment I laid eyes on Alyssa Covington, I wanted her. From the first thrust into her virgin pussy, I knew that meeting her would change my life. A fierce, intoxicating pull to her gripped me—and nearly a year later, that pull hasn’t lessened. As I held her close throughout the rest of the night, only one word resounded in my head:mine.
One night was not enough.
It wouldneverbe enough.
And something tells me I only have twenty-four hours to convince her of just that.
The rehearsal goes off without a hitch unless you count tears from Amelia, snickers from Knox and Cohen (though I’m not exactly sure why), and Branson throwing Ariana over his shoulder and marching down the aisle as soon as they’re unofficially pronounced husband and wife. Where to? I have no idea, and I have zero plans of following.
“Mmm. Those Wellington men. They’re a bunch of beasts,” a feminine voice comments with appreciation next to me.
I glance over to see Charlie Wellington, the wife of Branson’s younger brother, Knox. From what I’ve seen, the two are practically newlyweds who put Branson and Ari to shame in the PDA department.
Not that I blame her. If Knox could be described with one word, it’d be brawny. A lifer in the Army with a muscular, well-built body that is impossible not to appreciate, he has a strong jawline and an equally prominent nose. His cheekbones could slice butter, and his eyes? Hot mama, the intensity will burn a hole in your skin if he so much as flicked a glance at you the way he watches his wife.
Raising an eyebrow at Charlie, I ask, “Where do I find one of those?” without thinking.
You know where,my pesky brain interrupts.
Except Shane’s not quite like Knox. He’s built more like Branson: athletic with lean muscle, longer hair, and blue eyes that remind me of Caribbean waters. His smile is more carefree than Knox’s serious gaze, which only softened—very slightly—when I spotted him giving his wife a subtle wink from across the room.
Charlie clears her throat, and her eyes light up with mischief. I follow her gaze when she lifts her chins to where her husband is standing right next to Shane. “Well, you can’t have mine. I’m pretty possessive. But from what I hear, that one’s available. And if he’s anything like Knox, let’s just say you won’t be disappointed with what you find underneath that suit,” she teases, wagging her eyebrows.
I don’t even want to imagine what’s under Knox’s suit. I’ve heard the stories about Charlie and her kickboxing passion. Instead, my eyes are glued to Shane, because I know all too well what he’s hiding under that suit. And I’m all too desirous for another peek.
Before I can respond, a snort sounds behind us. We both turn toward Grandma Kate, the matriarch of the Wellington clan, who raises an eyebrow at Charlie and shakes her head. “Charlie, do you really want to set her up with Shane? That boy puts too much product in his hair. Besides, don’t you want another sister-in-law?” She smiles at me with warmth. “Now, Cohen, my other grandson, is right over there. Let me introduce you.”
