Page 72 of Release Me
Not defeat.
Not shame.
Something closer todone.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful. The red clings to her curves, low cowl neck skimming the soft line of her collarbone, the hem brushing elegant calves above gold straps. Her skin glows against the satin. The mere sight of her lights a fuse low in my gut, and I know I’m in trouble.
I push through the crowd, eyes locked on hers, every muscle coiled to get her out of there, away from the jackals and her horrific husband.
‘Rebekka.’ I stand in front of her, blocking her view of the bastard by the bar. Her perfume seeps into my nostrils. It’s not her usual scent, but I like it. Then again, I like every single thing about this woman. ‘Come with me,’ I say quietly when I reach her, pitching my voice low enough for only her to hear. ‘There’s a private lounge upstairs. You don’t have to stay out here.’
She shakes her head, calm now, voice steady despite the storm around us. ‘No. Take me to the bar.’ She peers around my shoulder.
I blink. ‘The bar?’
‘Yes.’ Her lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. ‘This is war. If my husband wants to make a spectacle, let’s give him a better one.’
For a beat, I stare, caught between admiration and alarm. She’s choosing to stand her ground, and I’m damned if I’m going to leave her alone in it.
‘Alright,’ I say at last. I guide her with a hand at the small of her back and steer her through the crowd. Heads turn aswe pass, conversations dip, but she keeps her gaze forward, poised as a queen.
At the bar, I signal to the barman. ‘Two glasses of Beckett’s Black Label.’
I keep my hand on her spine, offering silent support.
‘You look stunning, Bekka.’ I drink her in from head to toe. ‘Your husband is a fucking fool.’
‘The problem is, he’s making a fool of me too.’ She shrugs, and her eyes meet mine. That familiar, fatal energy pulses promisingly between us.
The barman places our drinks on the bar. I hand one to her. She takes it, fingers brushing mine, sending shockwaves soaring over my skin.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Rian. And congratulations on this place.’
Then—very slowly, deliberately—she raises her hand to catch her husband’s attention.
Across the room, he freezes mid-laugh. His smile falters. His eyes narrow as he registers his wife standing beside me, calm and radiant, a crystal flute in her hand. His mistress is utterly oblivious as she reaches for her drink.
Rebekka raises her champagne glass in a silent toast—to what, I have no idea.
His face darkens—horror first, then fury—and, for the first time in a long while, I watch Anthony De Courcy sweat.
Rebekka turns her attention back to me then. ‘Let’s hopeOkaymagazine got a hold of that shot.’
‘I’ll make sure they do, if that’s what you want.’ I stroke a thumb over her spine. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere quieter?’
She looks up at me from huge, kohl-lined eyes. Her lips part into a wolfish grin; they’re painted the same vivid shade as her dress. ‘That depends on what you’re going to do withme somewhere “quiet”.’ Her voice is low and weighted with want.
Getting involved with Rebekka De Courcy is the worst thing I could do right now.
Apart from the fact her husband is supposed to be my friend, she’s on the warpath and she wants to use me to get her revenge. It’s a bad idea for a hundred reasons, the biggest one being that I’m in love with her and there’s a good chance she’s going to shatter my heart into a trillion pieces, but tell that to my delinquent dick, which is straining in my pants.
‘Sweetheart, I will do anything you want me to do to you,’ I murmur over the music.
‘I’m done being a good girl.’ She drains her champagne and places the empty flute on the bar. ‘I’m ready to do something really bad. Show me this private lounge of yours.’
I glance at Anthony. He’s staring at me like he’s only really seeing me for the first time. If he grimaces any harder, he’s going to need emergency dental treatment. A vein pulses furiously at his temple.
Fuck him.
