Page 56 of Damaged Mogul
“So, I don’t have to worry I’ll break an ankle?” My tone is teasing.
He pulls away from me, his gaze traveling down the length of my body. “Your outfit…” His nostrils flare. “Hmph…”
Not that again.
I’m wearing a pair of gold designer embroidered shorts with a sleeveless blouse in pale pink. The high neck hides my necklace. Lucky for me, Dom’s outfit matches my designer peep-toe ankle strap heels in a metallic gold sheen animal pattern.
Dom let me borrow her Chanel gold crocodile embossed calfskin clutch. My jaw dropped when sheoffered. My half-brothers would never allow me to borrow a cup of sugar, let alone something they cherish.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
His mouth is pinched as he gives me another onceover. “It’s a good thing I’m here to act as a buffer between you and all the single guys here tonight.” He meets my gaze. “Especially, Collin Dennison.”
How did he know?
And why does he care?
Something snaps inside me.
I halt my step, and twist out of his grasp. “That’s it? You’re here because you think I need a babysitter?”
Gage’s expression is tight and intense, his ice-green eyes almost mystical under the low lights. He crosses his muscular arms over his wide chest. The authoritative stance makes me swoon in sheer lust.
“You’re showing a mile long of legs.” His tone is accusatory.
My head jerks back as if he slapped me across the face.
This is where I’d swallow my response, bite my tongue, suppress the need to retort to avoid causing waves.
Not going to happen.
“Yesterday, you had a problem with my dress. Today, you have a problem with my shorts. I don’t need another man disapproving of me.” I’m on a roll. “As per your message to Mikki—a message you conveniently forgot to include me on—you weren’t going to show up. You should’ve stayed away. I don’t need you on babysitting duty.”
With that, I’m ready to distance myself from him, but I don’t go far.
A large hand clamps around my wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.”
His commanding voice suggests I have no choice in thematter, but fuck if that doesn’t stop me from putting my foot down. “Let go.” I try to free my arm from his vicelike grip.
It’s in vain.
The man is too strong.
“Sounds like you have a lot to get off your chest, princess.”
“I said, let go, you brute.”
“Let’s get it all out in the open.” He pulls me off the dance floor.
“Gage, where are we going?”
He ignores me, and keeps eating the floor with his long strides, forcing my step to speed up to a stomping-jog to keep up without tripping in my sky-high heels. Each rapid step matches the pounding of my heart.
As if we’re now the entertainment, the DJ lowers the music to background levels.
The sisterhood and the inner circle stare, but no one attempts to stop this beast.
Thanks for the support, guys.
