He dragged me into the middle of the dancefloor and quickly positioned his hands on my waist, pulling me as close as he could.
“Tell me what she said to you.”
“Is she the one making you like this? Is she the reason you dyed my fucking hair back? All so I could look like her?”
Anger morphed his face as his body swayed with the song, forcing me along with him. “No.”
I searched the room for that same shade of red. The second I found her staring at us from across the room, my eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck is she?”
His fingers gripped my chin, dragging my focus back to him. “No one important.”
I grabbed a chunk of my hair. “Thistells me otherwise.” His jaw worked, gaze hardening on the strands. “If you needed someone to marry so badly, I’m sure she would have been a more viable option.”
“Ly,” he warned. “Don’t.”
“And the boobs, I mean—” I hissed the words as I palmed my breasts, right there in the middle of the dancefloor. If anyone was gawking, I didn’t give a fuck. “I don’t have that. If you wanted a rack like that, you should have put it in the contract.”
“Ly.”
“Article 6: Must get a boob job. But don’t worry,Daddy Carverwill pay for that, too.”
“Ly,” he said so low, so foreboding, my stomach dropped. Someone raised the music higher, forcing more people to the dancefloor. Car’s eyes narrowed on a few people, probably whoever was left staring—I didn’t know.
All I saw was red, like that bitch’s dress and high-heeled shoes.
One hand slipped from my waist, trailing up the curve of my neck, then spearing into my hair. “This”—he tugged, yanking my head back—“was why she was useful for all of one night.” The hand around my waist fell to my ass. “Thisbody is all I could picture while I used her and anyone else in this damn town.” My breath caught in my chest as he dipped down, hovering his lips above mine. “And if you ever call medaddy, I’ll have to choke the words from your throat. I’m not your fucking dad, Lyra. I’m yourhusband.”
24
Carver
The Gun
Lyra was still in my arms on the dancefloor, those beautiful chestnut eyes of hers fluttering down to my lips, then darting away. The last time we kissed, it had been in private, right before I made her come on my knife. The next time wekissed, I wanted her to be the one to initiate it. To toe it past that line she drew in her damn head and jump right over it.
Her breaths quickened as I swept my lips over hers, a hair's breadth away from locking. All she had to do was give in.
Give in, sweetheart.
Her palms flattened on my chest as she rolled back on her heels, creating inches of separation that only made me more fucking desperate for her.
“I need a drink,” she said on an exhale and stepped away from my hold. My suddenly cold hands fell to my sides, fingers itching to fix this shit between us, and I had a good idea of where to start.
I searched the rest of the crowd, skirting over the couples that were swaying to some sappy country song I grew up hearing more than a million times. My hands didn’t stop curling into fists at my sides until I found her, standing right at the edge of the crowd with a glass in her hand—Tina. No, Christina?
Ah, fuck it.
Retribution needed no name.
All I had to do was cock a smirk and tip my chin toward the bathroom to get her bony ass to turn and head there. If she wanted to mess with my wife, I’d show her just how much I could turn those tables.
With her gone, I found Lyra next, who was shockingly alone at the bar, swirling a glass of amber liquid in her hand. I came up behind her, brushing her hair over the slight curve of her shoulder. And just like that, the warmth was back.
She let out a sigh. “Can’t you give me a break?”
I grinned and pressed my lips to her neck, not missing the squirm of her body and the quick fluttering of her pulse. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” she quipped. I slid my arm around her waist and she groaned. “I’m serious, Carver. You’re making my head spin.”
