Page 46 of Mexico Can Choke On It
Even my driver raised an eyebrow when I requested the stretch today—especially after I told himwhatpart of Hollywood we were headed to. He didn’t say a word, just gave me a look that said:Bold choice, my guy.
Petra shivers—a subtle movement, but it catches my attention. Her bare arms prickle with goosebumps.
I lean forward and press the intercom. “Carlos, let’s give the A/C a rest.”
“Right away, Mr. Sterling. ETA to the airfield is twelve minutes.”
I settle back, watching her. “Better?”
“My hero.” She smirks. “I lost feeling in one nipple, but don’t worry, I can still feel sarcasm.”
My gaze flickers—one second, tops—to the deep V of her vest. And I swiftly avert my eyes toward the bar. “Help yourself. Water, juice, whatever you prefer.”
She scans the selection. “Five kinds of water? I always thought you wealthy folks only guzzled champagne and the tears of the less fortunate. Surprise me, Moneybags. Show me how billionaires stay moist.”
There she goes. That criticism. The flirting. She’s doing her damnedest to provoke me, but it’s my turn. I grab the tall, sleek glass bottle with the wooden cap.This will set her off.
She eyes the label like it insulted her mother. “Svalbardi? Polar iceberg water? Let me guess… From endangered icebergs?”
“Close. Norwegian.”
She unscrews the cap, slow and taunting, like it’s an overly sensual act, keeping eye contact the whole time. My eyes take in the tattoos on her wrist, and then focus on those red lips as she wraps them around the bottle.
And my brain shorts out.
It’s water, Bryce!H2O is not seductive. But she moans like the bottle whispered something filthy. My jaw clenches. My pants tighten. My IQ plummets.
“Mmm. Tastes like tax evasion.” She pulls away, lips shiny, then takes another sip.
I fidget with my collar. “There are only twelve bottles left in the world. You’re drinking six thousand dollars.”
She chokes, sputtering all over my face like a sprinkler. “Fuck, Bryce! Are you kidding?”
I hand her a napkin, trying to look helpful andnot at alllike I’m fighting an erection. “You did say to surprise you.”
“I was expecting like… a splash of lime. Maybe cucumbers. Not penguin bath water.”
I swipe at the moisture on my face, hoping to erase the utterly inappropriate thoughts that have clouded my judgment.
“In proper society,” I say, a little too sharp, “knowing what you want is considered a virtue. This week, you’ll be asked a lot of questions about your preferences. I suggest you come prepared with appropriate responses.”
“Should I practice my opinions now?” she asks, slipping into an accent suspiciously like my mother’s. “I simply cannot tolerate Cristal. It’s Dom Pérignon or death.”
“That’s actually a perfect response.”
I unlock my phone, needing the barrier of technology between us because every part of me wants to touch her. Badly. Recklessly.
This isn’t me. I don’t lose control. I don’t fantasize like some blue-balled teenager.
This has to be about Amanda.Post-breakup rebound confusion. My mind latched on to the nearest attractive woman as some sort of coping mechanism. That’s logical. Why else would I be consumed by thoughts of—
Red underwear… red lips… that red dress.
Pip is unmistakably a woman now. No longer the teenage girl who used to steal Gavin’s car and sneak out to concerts. And thosetattoos, especially the ink above the low back of that dress, disappearing beneath crimson fabric.What is it? How far does it extend? What would it feel like under my fingers?
Yet another stark contrast between us. I’m defined by corporate suits and boardrooms; she’s characterized by tattoos and dive bars. I adhere to rules; she delights in breaking them.
And she’s Gavin’s sister.
