Chapter 3 – Lance
3
WE DO NOT FUCK OUR BEST FRIEND’S LITTLE SISTER
LANCE
We do not fuck our best friend’s little sister.
Okay then, stop staring at her.
I was going to. Any minute now. I couldn’t drag my gaze away though. Especially when she smiled like that. I would give anything to be the reason she smiled like that. My heart thumped and my mouth dried. As Morgan flitted across the dance floor with her sister in that light blue dress, her hair piled high in an intricate pattern, honey-brown skin glowing with shimmer, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.
The reception was in full swing at the Westhorpe Hotel's ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over marble columns wrapped in white roses and ivy. Elegant tables adorned with towering centerpieces of orchids and lilies completed the transformation. It must have cost millions, and every penny showed. Atticus had even had a vineyard in France make special non-alcoholic champagne for underage guests. The extravagance that only he could pull off surrounded us.
Gwen was in good hands.
Then it was time for the dance. All I had to do was survive for four minutes.
The sound of Lauryn Hill's "The Sweetest Thing" filled the space—our cue. We'd practiced this for weeks, fought over every step, and now it was time. Morgan's eyes met mine across the dance floor, that familiar challenge in them, but something else too. Something softer.
I moved toward her as the opening notes played, and she stepped into my arms without resistance. Her hand settled into mine like it belonged there.
"Ready to show them what we've got, Spitfire?" I murmured, my thumb tracing that same circle at the base of her spine that always made her shiver in practice.
"Try to keep up, Lakewood," she whispered back, but there was no bite in her words.
We moved together, everything else fading away. No more fighting, no more pretending this was just about the wedding. Her dress whispered against the floor as I guided her through the turns we'd practiced countless times. The crowd had cleared a space, but all I could see was Morgan.
When the music ended, she was breathless, her eyes bright, and something in my chest tightened painfully. And then she was out of my arms, walking away. I would always see her like this, her laugh a constant tease in my subconscious. I couldn't ignore her. I'd tried for two years. But she was firmly in the do-not-touch category.
Dick: Why is that again?
First, she was Gwen's sister. My best friend trusted me to look after Morgan like family. Not imagine every way I could bend her over a flat surface. Second, she was young. Too young.
Dick: She's an adult. And very clearly a woman.
But that nine-year age gap gave me pause. She was in her having fun mode. And she deserved that. She deserved to make mistakes and be silly and fuck up.
But the most important reason of all was that everything about her set me the fuck on edge. The control I’d carefully crafted over the last decade slipped right out of my fingers whenever she was near me.
A few months ago, I’d nearly beat some kid to death… because of her.
It was Atticus who stopped me. There was honestly nothing more humiliating than when an unhinged asshole was the one who had to pull you back from the brink.
The reception was in full swing, fairy lights twinkling above us like stars. For the wedding, the New York Public Library had been transformed into a wonderland, every inch dripping with opulence.But the reception had been moved next door to the Westthorpe Hotel.
Morgan continued her unconscious tease as she greeted guests from table to table, Her laughter a constant pull.
I stood on the edge of the dance floor for two more seconds, but then the compulsion took over, and suddenly I was walking toward her.
“All good, Lance?”
I could have said a million things. Things that would have kept us on even footing. But one glance at her lips and instead of taking the safe road, I muttered, “Fuck it.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
“We’re dancing again,” I told her, taking her hand and leading her from the tables.
“Why yes, Lance. Happy to dance. Or at least I would be if you’d asked.”
I ignored the jab. “You know you missed me," I said.
"Jackass, I was enjoying myself.” Her words had a little bite to them, and they made me hum with electricity.
“Oh, c’mon. You’d much rather fight with me.”
She immediately tried to twist out of my arms. “Can’t you just go annoy someone else? My cousin Tara is right there. She looks bored, and she needs a rebound, so bother her.”
My hands tightened on her involuntarily. All I wanted to do was hold tight. “How about, just for tonight, we call a truce?”
Her gaze met mine for a moment, and she sighed, the tension finally leaving her shoulders.
"You okay?” I asked. “You look a bit... off." She hadn’t seemed so down when we’d danced earlier. What changed?
She smiled tearily at her sister. "I'm fine. It's just... watching Gwen and Atticus, they're so happy. I love seeing her like this."
"But?"
"But…" She sighed. "it's been just the two of us for so long. Now it's officially not just the two of us. It's a little sad."
My voice lowered. "Hey, it's okay to feel like that. It's a big change."
"I know. And I'm really happy for her, I am. It's just... different." She blinked rapidly.
My heart squeezed seeing the tears shimmering in her gaze. "Come with me."
“Where are we going?” She asked, her words laced with hesitation as I tugged her off the dance floor.
The city lights stretched out before us when we reached the balcony, twinkling like the stars above. The skyline was breathtaking, a perfect backdrop for such a glamorous night.
"I figured you could use a moment," I said as we stepped onto the balcony.
Morgan walked to the railing, her shoulders tight. "My mom would have loved this wedding. The flowers, the music..." Her voice cracked. She turned away quickly, swiping at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm being stupid."
My hands flexed at my sides, fighting the urge to reach for her. Every muscle in my body tensed with the effort of holding back. This was exactly why I kept my distance—she made my control slip through my fingers like water. "You don't have to hide from me."
"Right." She laughed bitterly. "Because the great Lance Lakewood won't judge me for being emotional?"
The sound of her pain felt like a physical blow, and I took an involuntary step forward, my carefully maintained restraint cracking. "I'd never judge you for being real, Spitfire." My voice came out low, serious.
She turned then, tears streaming freely now. "She should be here to see Gwen so happy. To know she's going to be a grandmother." A sob caught in her throat. "God, Gwen worked so hard after Mom died. Taking care of me, making sure I was okay."
My jaw clenched as I watched her try to compose herself, my control slipping with each tear that fell. To hell with it. I pulled her into my arms. "I've got you."
She pressed her face against my chest, fingers clutching my jacket. My careful control began to crack. This wasn't our usual dance—this was Morgan needing someone to hold her together.
When she lifted her tear-stained face to mine, something inside me broke. All my reasons for staying away crumbled. My thumb brushed away a tear.
She studied me closely, wiping her eyes. "You're being nice. It's confusing."
I laughed roughly. " You're confused? Hell, I'm confused." My thumb brushed away another stray tear, and the mood shifted. "Are we never going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what, Lance?"
" This . The thing between us," My voice came out like gravel.
Her eyes went wide, and I knew she was going to try and run from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The right thing to do would be to let her run. To let her pretend. But I was way past doing the right thing.
“You’re a liar,” I whispered, leaning in close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. “Want me to prove it?”
What the fuck was I doing?
I had a firm line with Morgan for so many reasons. Valid reasons. Her sister was my best friend. Her new brother-in-law was my boss. Most importantly, she was too young. Oh, and we hated each other.
No you don't.
It was easier to pretend to hate her.
Just like she was doing now.
She yanked her wrist free, eyes flashing defiance. "There's nothing to prove, Lance."
"You're wrong," I murmured. I pushed one of her braids behind her ear, a bold move that crossed our unspoken lines. Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn't retreat.
I tilted toward her slowly, giving her time to back away. The look in her eyes told me everything. She was scared, and so was I. But the more I ignored the pull to her the worst it got. Like a constantly ringing alarm in my head. Want, Take, Need. Claim.
"Screw this." I captured her lips with mine. For a moment she froze, then melted against me, clutching my tuxedo. I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, pouring everything I'd held back into it. The taste of her was heaven with a gin chaser.
Her lips were soft and warm, and when she opened to me, I groaned. It was everything I'd denied myself, everything I'd tried to forget. I kissed her like a man starved, and she matched my fervor, fingers threading through my hair.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. I saw the truth in her wide, vulnerable eyes. She wanted this as much as I did. But she was terrified.
"We shouldn't..." she started, but I silenced her with another kiss, softer this time.
My heart pounded like a wild beast. I knew this was reckless, but the rush of blood drowned out everything rational.
“I'm not...” she started again, but I cut her off.
“Shh." My voice was husky as I cupped her face gently, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "I know."
I needed to walk away, needed to stop the madness. And I almost made it. I almost locked my brain down into solid we’re-not-doing-this territory. I gave the command to pull back.
But then she mewled and pressed her hips against me, seeking more contact, making my dick pulse.
"Damn it," I groaned against her lips. My hands slipped down to her waist, pulling her so close her body molded against mine with no room left for secrets. Desire flared, the heat radiating off her like a beacon in the dark that I found impossible to steer away from.
I knew what we were risking, knew the consequences. But somehow, in that moment, none of it mattered. There was only Morgan, with her stormy eyes that had always held my gaze captive. Morgan, whose lips I'd fantasized about tasting and now couldn't get enough of.
I dragged my lips from hers. I was the one lying. I wasn’t walking away. “Tell me to stop, Morgan.”
Her eyes held mine, her breath hitching as she sucked in a deep gulp of air. She started to shake her head and I could see the internal struggle raging within her. “I... I can’t…”
Her hands snaked up around my neck, tangling themselves in my hair as she returned the kiss with an urgency that matched my own. The world around us ceased to exist at that moment, replaced by the intoxicating heat of our bodies pressed together.
This was a mistake. A big one. But if I was going to hell, I was taking her with me. Easing back, I took her hand. “Last chance. Am I taking you back to the ballroom? If not, I’m going to take you out of here and fuck you.”
She met my gaze levelly and whispered, “Let’s go.”