“What does it look like? You interrupted us from sucking face,” Uri clips. His voice cuts the silence and then disappears in the surrounding chatter as if he’d never spoken.
Bloody hell!
Medusa’s pink nails are around Gabe’s arm, her thumb caressing the black sleeve. She gives me a quick once-over and then completely dismisses me to smile at Uri with her perfectly straight teeth—which I’d like to knock out.
“Lori,” Gabe rumbles. The dark velvety sound of his voice slithers so-so-slowly down my body.
“He decided to move on to the best brother, obviously,” Uri keeps going. He tightens his arm around me, and I feel that usual urge to push the unwanted touch away.
“You mean Sari?” I taunt him back. “Yeah, I could definitely see that happening?—”
“Ehm, I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Lilian.” Medusa outstretches her hand toward Uri.
“My temp PA,” Gabe clarifies, and I have to suck my lips into my mouth to stop the chuckle as I see her smile falter for a second. His eyes are intent on my hands, still pressed to Uri’s chest. I feel the sudden urge to pull back, and he lets me go to shake Medusa’s hand.
“A pleasure,” she utters in a suck-up voice.
“I know.” I can’t stifle my snort at Uri’s reply. After a quick glance at her face, he moves his gaze to Gabe and leaves it there as he addresses me, “Gremlin, I was invited to a dinner at the Von Klare’s?—”
“Gretchen Von Klare’s?” Medusa cuts him off, her voice is full of eagerness. She’s even leaning slightly toward us.
“Who?” I ask, turning my attention to Uri again.
“Some upscale family, Mayflower pilgrims, old money,” he utters in a bored tone. “Anyway, do you want to come?” Uri owns a multitude of restaurants all over Illinois. He built his empire from scratch and doesn’t have much respect for or interest in rich heirs.
I raise a questioning brow at him. A few minutes ago, he told me he regretted bringing me here, and now he wants a repeat? These foster brothers really like their mind games.
“Sure,” I answer, because I can’t turn down the opportunity to wear one of my party dresses.
A low, angry growl rises in the air, making my toes curl inside my shoes because I remember that sound. I keep hearing it in my hot dreams. I meet Gabe’s searing gaze as my brows reach my hairline in astonishment.
“Mr. Reed, Judge Dermot is waving at you,” Medusa says, pushing her neck-high breasts against Gabe’s arm. He looks down at her, specifically her gazongas, and nods.
“Let’s dance,” Uri suddenly announces. He grabs my hand without giving me any choice and drags me toward the few people slowly swaying in front of the small orchestra.
His hands fall on my waist as he pulls me against him, and my arms wrap loosely around his neck. That feeling of wanting to wiggle away is there but I force myself to ignore it.
“Didn’t take you for the dancing type,” I tell him with a sniff.
“I’m more of the enjoy-screwing-with-my-otherwise-robotic-brother type.”
“By dancing with me?” I ask with skepticism.
“Exactly.”
My eyes search for Gabe, who’s not looking at us at all. He’s instead talking to some rich-looking people with Medusa still clinging to him. She passes him an hors d’oeuvre, and he pops it into his mouth absently.
“Ugh. The only thing that would screw with Gabe is if he choked on one of those delicious croutons.” That’s a nice image. I’m sure Medusa is an expert in giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation with all the arse kissing she executes daily.
Maybe I should just let another guy fuck me and get this over with. Unfortunately, the way Uri is batting his eyelashes, smiling sultrily, and leaning close is doing fuck all for me.
“Why doesn’t he have a stupid nickname?”
“Eh?” I focus on Uri’s hazel eyes again.
“Rague is KKJ, Michael is Bones, Sari is Angel, Bully Boy is for Raph, Reacher for Rami, and I’m Supermodel.” He gives me a knowing look, the wanker. “Why doesn’t Gabe have another name?”
Bugger. “He doesn’t deserve one?” It’s more a question than a statement because the truth is that he’s always been Gabe to me. Controlled, haughty, amazingly skilled in the sack Gabe.
