Hayes glares while August chuckles and motions the blonde woman forward.
“This is my wife, Leslie.”
Rather than shake hands, we exchange niceties. “You have a beautiful home.”
“This?” She swings her hand around with her martini glass in it, spilling some over the side. “It’s a cage in a concrete jungle. I much prefer our home in the country.”
I laugh to myself. This is as much of a cage as I am Beyoncé. Some people are so out of touch.
Hayes is still glaring at me as if I’d just put their fire out by squatting and peeing on it.
“Hudson’s running late,” August says tightly. “Again.” He reclaims his seat next to his wife.
I look at Kingston, and he boldly watches Alexander and me with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“Why don’t you two grab yourselves a drink?” Leslie says with a slight slur.
Alexander moves away from the fire pit and then stops abruptly as if he slammed into an invisible wall. He turns and clears his throat. “Jordan, what would you like to drink?”
I can tell by his tense jaw that it was difficult for him to ask me what I want rather than decide for me—like he’s always done in the past.
“I’ll come with you.”
He waits for me to reach him, and I keep quiet until we’re inside, at the bar, and away from listening ears.
He pours himself a sparkling water.
“Don’t you drink?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Not anymore.” Those hazel eyes simmer as they meet mine. “What would you like?”
I peruse my options and decide on a glass of pinot. He pours me a glass, and I marvel at the quality of delicate-looking glassware that doesn’t crumble under his big hand.
“Thank you.” I take a sip and peek outside to see most of Alexander’s family looking at us. “I get the feeling you don’t usually bring a date to family dinners.”
He comes around to the end of the bar to stand next to me and sees his family watching. “No one does. I’m hoping your presence will ensure everyone is on their best behavior.” He squeezes a fresh lime wedge into his water.
“A buffer. I can do that.” I hop down off the barstool and bring my body close to his. So close, he flinches slightly. He looks down at me with pinched brows. I slip my hand into his. “Relax. Let’s give them something to talk about.”
His big fingers curl around mine.
“Lean down and act like you’re whispering something in my ear.”
“Why—”
“Just do it.”
With a put-out frown, he leans in and hovers his lips inches from my ear.
“Move my hair out of the way.”
He pushes my hair off my neck and the tips of his fingers graze my throat. I suppress a shiver. His breath ghosts along my skin, and I feel his intake of breath as well as hear him breathe in deeply as his nose brushes my throat. I lift my chin, close my eyes, bite my lip, and smile, feeling his family’s eyes on us.
“Perfect,” I whisper and then back away.
He slowly lifts his head, and when his eyes catch mine, there is heat boiling in his gaze. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”
“You’re much better than you think.” I push up on my tiptoes and kiss him, expecting him to reciprocate. Instead, his arm comes around my lower back, and he drags me against him. He tilts his head and parts his lips, and his tongue slides against mine. I cling to his sweater as he folds over me and kisses me until my knees wobble.
“Sorry I’m late!” Hudson’s voice comes bellowing from the foyer.
Alexander doesn’t abruptly end the kiss but slowly works his way back until I’m standing on my own and his mouth breaks free from mine.
“Whoa,” I say softly, trying to regain my wits.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, sounding mostly unaffected. How does he do that?
“I’m good.” I blow out a breath, take a big gulp of wine, and grab Alexander’s hand. “Come on, Grizzly. Let’s get this over with.”
Family dinners aren’t something I was exposed to growing up. My mom and I rarely ever ate together, mostly because my mom rarely ate and she preferred spending any special occasions with whichever guy she was currently trying to milk for money or drugs.
Not even ten minutes into the meal, I realize how exposing family dinners can be. None of the boys seem to like their father. They mostly tolerate their stepmother, and the twins tease her mercilessly. Not that she seems to notice or care. I suppose that’s what all the vodka is for.
I can’t put my finger on where, specifically, the tension is coming from, but it’s there, nonetheless. Alexander has been tense since we sat down. Hayes only stops glaring at me to glare at his dad or Kingston. Kingston seems to be the focus of August’s negative energy as he makes snide remarks about everything from his youngest son’s lack of direction to his questionable sexuality. Even Hudson has traded in his easy smile for something closer to a scowl.
“So, tell us the story about how you two met,” August says during the fourth of five courses.
I eye Alexander across the table from me, his tense shoulders, straight spine, and a blank stare aimed at his plate. The muscle in his jaw jumps as if he’s uncomfortable with his dad’s attention on me.
He’s not the only one.
I set down my fork and wipe my mouth. “You mean how Alexander saved my life?”
Alexander’s gaze flickers and slides up to meet mine.
I tell the story of how I got lost and fell into a ravine. The storm. How Alexander found me and brought me to the cabin. I leave out the details of our arguments and his darker side making an appearance, sticking to stories of his heroism. “If it weren’t for your son, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Alexander, the hero,” August says, his voice sounding a little sloppier since we arrived due to the bottle of wine he’s killed since we sat down.
Hudson drops his fork on his plate a little too loudly. Hayes stares at his father with a look of sheer boredom, while Kingston shakes his head like he’s heard it all before. The brothers resent the hell out of Alexander, that much is obvious.
August holds up his near-empty wine glass. “A toast to Alexander, who has successfully changed his branding.” He chuckles as if he’s told a joke, but no one else at the table seems to be in on it.
I hold up my glass, but Alexander keeps his eyes on his plate. I wish I were sitting next to him rather than across from him so I could put my hand on his thigh and reassure him. Not that I know what I’d be reassuring him for.
“From one extreme to the next, huh, boy?” August slugs back the rest of his wine.
I lower my glass without drinking because the way he referred to Alexander as boy makes my hackles rise. Alexander’s hands are fisted on either side of his plate, and his head sinks between his shoulders. His cheeks are red, and his muscles look tense enough to snap.
“August.” Hudson leans over his plate to get his dad’s eyes. “That’s enough.”
“What?” August says loudly, ignoring Hudson’s subtle request. “Am I wrong?” A staff member fills his glass with wine, pouring fuel on a simmering fire.