Page 178 of The Perfect Wrong

My hand flutters out and flattens against his chest. I slowly skim my nails down his outfit, feeling his hard body underneath.

“I mean...we’ll make do,” I whisper, feeling faint.

Understatement of the century.

The man is a badass warrior, a knight, and a dream all rolled into one.

If it wasn’t for the tiny splash of ink sneaking out one cuff where his tattoo ends on the back of one hand, nobody would ever guess at the god underneath.

“Whatever. This monkey suit feels about as antiquated as thisBridgertonshit. Not my style, but orders are orders, and you’re queen of this bash tonight.” He winks.

The heat between my legs bristles.

Dear God.

I already want to rip it right off like he’s my own personal surprise present.

Something about the formal second skin only accents the perfection underneath. A reminder of how he can transport me to another place where the world drops out and I’m caught in steaming kisses and loud sighs.

“Shit, woman. Sometimes I think you’re hornier than I am.” His eyes tell me I’m not the only one having eye-sex here.

With a feral grin, Chris sneaks in a rough pat on the ass and takes my hand.

My thick dress muffles his touch, but it’s enough to get me moving, gladly holding him by the arm.

Meanwhile, the doorbell keeps ringing behind us every few minutes, letting in more of Marnie’s people, plus a few acquaintances from school.

Tonight, I’m thankful she handles all the party planning crap and joins in as co-host.

She may come without a filter, but she vets good people—mostly—the type who like to get plastered with drunken laughter and then sneak off with their dates.

We’ve never had anyone underhanded or high in this house who’d go stealing china or light a bathroom trash can on fire with a misplaced joint.

We saunter into the big dining room off the kitchen.

The massive doors yawn open to the back, welcoming everyone to fill the pool deck outside and the beach beyond.

Frowning, I see several people have already lost their suits and dresses. They’re stripped down to bare essentials and crowding the pool.

“That didn’t take long,” I say, tugging on Chris’ arm and pointing.

He chuckles. “What? You expect people to wander around all evening in these getups and bake? Let ’em cool off, Delia. I’ll help you do the same soon enough.”

I elbow him gently. I don’t like it when he chides me, even if he’s completely right.

Always so bossy and sure of himself.

He also knows how very little it takes to get me wet.

“You can hold the sass for later,” he growls. “Stop worrying about everybody else and enjoy yourself. This is your last big bash before school.”

Before I can say anything else, he leads me over to the bar, where I watch him ladle out premade punch for us.

He’s strangely light today, humming as he scoops ice into our glasses.

Wow.

What gives?

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