Cruel King, page 9
Micah acted sullen, as if he’d been bullied into attending the event. Which … was possible. From my limited interactions with him, he thought the world shone out of his sorry ass. Margot, however, was Micah’s polar opposite. She was sneaky and cunning and hilarious. The youngest of the three and probably the cleverest. I rarely expected the youngest to be the peacemaker, but she wrangled both her older brothers and managed to make them both laugh.
Luckily, there was Blake Holliday filling up all the space and doling out shots. The day should have been merrier than it was. I was glad that Whitley had a task and couldn’t tell the false at all the edges.
Finally, pictures were taken, I walked little old ladies down the aisle to their seats, and there was nothing left to do but for the ceremony to begin.
Whitley met me at the back of the church. When I’d left her, she’d looked nervous, and now, she seemed more than ready.
“Know all the words?” I teased.
She wrinkled her nose at me. “I will get you back for this.”
“Hey, you agreed.”
“Like I had a choice.”
I laughed. “Is it going to be that bad to perform again?”
She paused, as if actually contemplating the answer to that question. Then, she turned her face away from me and shrugged. She released a soft, “No.”
My finger caressed her cheek, and I drew her face back to me. Her eyes were wide with something like desire and concern, all trapped together and rattling around inside her.
“You’re going to be magnificent.”
She smiled. “I know.”
It was my turn to laugh. I released her and then offered her my arm. “Walk with me?”
She slid her hand into the crook of my elbow by way of answer, and we walked down the center of the long stretch of outdoor seating toward the large circular arch on display. People from New York and a full half of Midland were in attendance to watch the momentous occasion. This would seal the Lockes and the Kings together in a way that nothing else could. An old-fashioned sort of bond.
Whitley and I had reserved seats near the front by my parents. I took the inside seat so that she could get up when it was her turn to sing. My mom squeezed my hand excitedly. My dad gave me a reassuring smile. Locke stood at the front of the room in a suit with a similar pink tie with his troop of groomsmen behind him. The band struck up a tune. Everyone turned around in their seats. It was finally time.
The bridesmaids came forward first in their blush gowns that almost grazed the grass at their feet. One by one until Cora was the last. A smile was plastered on her face. Only I could tell that it was false. Cora never smiled like that.
Then, Canon D was played, we all rose to our feet, and Margaret appeared at the end of the meadow in a dress as pure as snow in a full princess motif, complete with a tiara and my aunt’s glittering diamond necklace on her throat. Uncle Richard was at her side, keeping his head held high as he walked his oldest daughter down the aisle.
Words were exchanged at the altar before all assembled. Then, the pastor announced a special performance. Whitley rose to her feet on wobbly legs. They strengthened as she strode toward the band and stood before the microphone.
Her hazel eyes were wide as she surveyed the enormous crowd. For a second, I thought my brave, valiant girl would faint from the pressure. But as soon as the first note came from the band, she entered a trance.
Her body was taut as a bow, and it began to melt as she surrendered to the music. Her eyes fell closed, and her body swayed ever so slightly. As if her very being had been captivated before she even released.
And release she did.
The tune was low and almost haunting. A séance in the middle of a wedding. A call to worship. Her voice was so deliriously good that it felt like swallowing honey.
As the song picked up and the chorus took over, Whitley opened her eyes and met her audience. Her voice rose with her. I was entranced by that voice, unable to look away, and I wasn’t the only one. I could feel the rest of the wedding guests paralyzed by her. My mom’s grip on my hand tightened, and I heard a sniffle. Tears tracked down her face, and Aunt Susannah blew into a tissue in the seat in front of us. Margaret had tears in her eyes at the front of the aisle.
She sounded nothing like my grandmother. And somehow, it was as if she had been reincarnated into Whitley’s voice. Her soul singing through her voice. There was presence in each syllable. A force that I could no more walk away from than the gorgeous woman singing.
I’d thought that I felt something for her before.
I knew I did now.
At the end of the song, the word suspended in silence.
Then, a roar of approval came as everyone applauded her rendition. Margaret rushed forward and hugged Whitley. Whitley looked baffled by the reaction, hurrying back to the seat next to me and sitting down.
She was shaking.
“Whitley,” I got out hoarsely.
She shook her head. “It was awful. I know. Not my best performance. I was so pitchy at the start. But I thought the end was okay.”
I looked at her as if she had sprung a second head.
She reared back at the look. “What? I know everyone clapped. Was it that bad?”
“Believe me when I say, that was the best performance I have ever seen in my entire life.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”
I took her hand, threading our fingers together. She looked at me in surprise, but I didn’t release her. “I know that I joke about almost everything, but you were phenomenal. I have no idea who told you that you weren’t good enough or why you would hide your gift because what you have is a gift, Whit. It was incredible.”
She flushed then, bright pink, and ducked her chin to her chest. A tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away hastily. “Thank you.”
We could get to the bottom of this. Because, holy shit, that woman should sing. Even if it was only for me, she should sing as often as possible. No one should ever have told her otherwise. No one.
13
Whitley
Susannah was currently crying as she thanked me at the reception. Margaret and Cora had already come over. Malcolm, Trent, Nate, and Lawrence had followed. Aunts and uncles I didn’t know were whispering about the performance. Everyone was talking about it, offering their praises, and generally making me incredibly embarrassed.
I’d thought it was mediocre at best.
I’d certainly sung it better in high school than at present.
But that didn’t seem to matter to anyone.
Let alone Gavin. Who had been looking at me with no less than abject admiration from the moment I sat next to him. That same expression still graced his face as his mother stared at the engagement ring and wiped her eyes.
“My mother would be so happy right now. The perfect woman is wearing this ring,” Gavin’s mom said.
Susannah nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
A knot of worry formed in my stomach. This was all supposed to be a cover story for the week. Gavin had needed help, and I’d thought, Why not? And now, I was realizing why not. Because, now, they thought we were getting married, and they’d be genuinely upset when we called it off next week.
My gaze must have shown something like that because Gavin intervened. “Give her some room to breathe, Mom.”
“It was just a song.”
“It was more to us,” Susannah said.
Gavin took my hand. “Let’s get you a drink.”
“Yes, please.” I smiled wanly as we retreated. “I really didn’t think it was anything crazy.”
“They’re sentimental, and you’re wrong.”
I laughed softly as we got in line for drinks. “I’m glad everyone enjoyed it. It was worth the hours I spent working on it with the band. My voice felt like popcorn when I started.”
“So, why don’t you sing anymore?”
I shrugged. “Went to UCLA. Didn’t get famous. Same old story.”
“They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“Nah, it worked out in the end. I became a doctor instead.”
“Which you’re also brilliant at.”
Gavin ordered our drinks and then passed me a whiskey sour.
“That I can agree with.” I took a big swig of my drink. “But, yeah … I have so many bad memories attached to singing from when I was growing up. My parents didn’t approve. They thought I sang just fine, but I was smart, so it was a waste of time.”
“How can it be a waste of time when you have such talent?”
“Well, they wanted me to get married to a rich man. That’s how. Medical school was my in to marry a doctor, not become one. So few people become famous singers. They didn’t approve.”
“That’s horribly outdated, even for Texas,” Gavin said with an arched eyebrow.
“Tell me about it. That’s my parents.”
“I never hear you talk about them.”
I snorted. “For good reason. There’s nothing to say that would be worth repeating.” He looked like he wanted to ask more, so I quickly changed the subject. “But why don’t you talk about your family? They’re amazing. You made it seem like it would all be overwhelming and terrible.”
“Oh, no, they’re great. It’s just that there’s so many of them, and we all have giant personalities. Bringing us together usually results in some sort of enormous fight.”
“There’s been no fighting.”
Gavin shrugged with a grin. “I am going to let you take all the credit for that.”
“Me? Why?”
“You know, they don’t want to upset my fiancée.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous. That is not the reason. They’re happy for Locke and Maggie.”
“Could be.”
When we finished our drinks, Gavin took my hand again and led me out onto the dance floor. A slow song was playing, and I molded into his embrace. We’d never danced like this before. Most of our dancing had involved sweaty nightclubs, where I was grinding my ass against him.
Here, he held me tight and secure, as if he’d had ballroom lessons. We moved easily across the floor because I’d also had many, many lessons. Thanks, Junior League.
Gavin looked down at me with that same wicked smile I’d fallen for three years ago before I screwed it all up. I could easily fall again. I was hardly acting with any of it. Gavin and I fit into each other’s world. We always had. First as friends and then as more, and now, even pretending, we seemed to fit just fine.
I exhaled with relief when the dance turned to more common dance songs, and all of Margaret’s friends ran out to the Wobble and then the Electric Slide. I moved right into the middle of the group, following along with the steps I’d done a hundred times. Then, Gavin barreled into the middle of us and did an exaggerated dance. We all laughed. Life of the party, and he ate up all the attention.
The rest of the night went through much of the same motions. We danced until I was exhausted, until my feet were numb, and then we danced some more. Margaret and Locke’s exit was an insane affair with a horse-drawn carriage and sparklers for the night sky.
Gavin set a sparkler in my hand, and we each held one aloft as they dashed down the makeshift aisle we’d made. They stopped in the middle and kissed for the camera while we all cheered. Then, they were off into the carriage. Maggie waved good-bye to the crowd until they disappeared.
Gavin took my sparkler to dispose of it safely. While he was gone, a man I’d thought looked familiar all night sidled up to me.
“Hey, you’re Whitley Bowen, right?”
“That’s me,” I said.
“I’m Curt Smith, out of Dallas.”
I nodded once, wondering where he was going with this. Dallas was a big place. Like New York, you could get lost in the people there.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Is your brother Wyatt Bowen?”
Now, I froze. “Oh. Uh, yes.”
“Cool. Cool. I wasn’t sure you were that Bowen.”
That Bowen. Shit.
“You … know my brother?”
“We golf at the same club. His wife is friends with mine. Here, you can meet Anna Kate.”
“Oh, I think we were leaving,” I said, hastily retreating. “Nice to meet you.”
Then, I turned and fled toward Gavin. Shit, shit, shit. I hadn’t considered that someone from Dallas would both know the Kings and my family. There wasn’t a lot of crossover between the cities, even with the two big family names.
When I glanced back up at Curt, he was already heading back inside with some other guys. I blew out a breath. It was fine. He was probably drunk enough that he wouldn’t even remember that we’d had that brief conversation. No reason to freak out.
Gavin’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I jumped. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. Just ready to get back.”
“Me too. There’s some cleanup left, but it’s late. We should get you to bed.”
I looked up at him, expecting that to be an innuendo but it wasn’t. He looked serious. Like he was taking care of me after a long day.
After that kiss the first night, there hadn’t been anything else between us. Just hand holding and temple kisses in public. There had been tension in bed, but Gavin hadn’t made another move. Maybe I’d been misreading him.
We said our good-byes to his family and then drove back into town. Gavin had stopped drinking hours ago so that he could get us home. I was only a little tipsy. Neither of us needed alcohol to have a good time. Though it was nicer in New York, where we didn’t need a designated driver.
By the time we got back to the hotel, it was after midnight, and I was actually tired. I fought back a yawn as he pushed his way into the hotel room. We’d been up since dawn to get there in time for Gavin to be in pictures. I could crash face-first into the mattress and not wake until the next morning when we needed to catch our flight.
Then, I caught Gavin watching me, and I was suddenly wide awake.
“What?” I whispered.
He shook his head and stepped into the bedroom. “Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.”
He plucked the perfect knot I’d created for him this morning and let the ends of the tie hang loose around his neck. He faced me again, his expression a mask of indecision.
Then, he crooked his finger at me.
I swallowed hard and moved toward him. I didn’t stop until I was directly in front of him. His hands moved up into my hair, tilting my face up to meet his. I was frozen in place, my stomach roiling with anticipation of his practiced touch.
“What are you doing?” I managed to get out.
“Kissing my fiancée,” he growled.
Then, his lips landed on mine, and everything within me went pliant. His perfectly pouty lips were heavenly against mine. We’d had that one hot kiss a few nights ago, but I’d been drunk at the time. This was … so much better than that had ever been. He tasted of pure sin, and I wanted to dive headfirst into the heady lust that sprang like a well.
When he pulled back, my eyes fluttered open to look into the emerald orbs. “I’m not your fiancée.”
He laughed deep in his throat. “You are until I take that ring back.” He fingered the ring on my left hand.
“That so?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, in that case, I remember a certain pinkie promise.”
His eyes widened in surprise. As if he’d thought that I had completely forgotten about that. “Really?”
“Yes.” I glanced down and then back up at him through my long lashes. “Something about ravishing me.”
“I said, if you wanted that when you were sober.” He cleared his throat, looking hopeful. “Are you sober?”
“Ish,” I teased.
He drew me in closer. “And here I thought, you were offering.”
“Maybe I was,” I said in a breathy whisper. Then, I stood on my tiptoes again and kissed him.
All restraint left Gavin in that moment. As if he’d barely been containing himself, waiting for me to give him the okay. By the way he was kissing me, like a drowned man, that had cost him.
He’d said we should be friends. Now, I was wondering if that had all been a front, because he was not currently kissing me or biting my lip or grinding against me like any friend I’d ever had.
“How hard was sleeping in the same bed with me?” I gasped against his lips.
“Torture.”
“And you were so good.”
“So good,” he said, backing me toward the bed. “I deserve a reward.”
I snickered. “Am I the reward?”
“No,” he said as his hands slid down to my thighs. He lifted me into the air and then dropped me backward on the bed. “Your pussy is.”
I gasped as he buried his head between my legs, hiking up my skirt and kissing his way toward my awaiting pussy. All thoughts of stopping completely fled my mind. I’d wanted Gavin for far too long. I didn’t know what tomorrow held. But until I gave this ring back, I was going to enjoy every luxury Gavin King offered.
The first brush of his lips against my clit nearly sent me over the edge. I had been anticipating having him like this too. Lying in bed next to his body and imagining all the ways he would make me come and forcing myself not to have the thing that I wanted. I had never been good at self-restraint, which explained why I’d broken the instant he kissed me.
“If I remember correctly,” he said, sliding his tongue all the way from my lips to my clit, “you come hard when I eat you out.”
I nearly blacked out just from the words. Gavin King was filthy. Something I’d forgotten in the intervening years.
“Isn’t that right?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I cried as he flicked harder against my clit.
“Tell me how you like it.”
“Faster.”
He did as I requested until I was panting and breathless under his ministrations. Then, as I neared the edge, he slipped two fingers into my wet, aching pussy.
