Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Gigi
Poppy turns the corner, taking my breath away. Her makeup is flawless, slightly heavier than usual, the red strands pulled away from her face in a delicate braid that tumbles down her back. She looks tasteful, refined. With each step matched to the fluid violin music, she walks closer.
A hand clasps the back of my dress.
Jamie leans in and whispers, “Don’t make a sound.”
His hand slips round my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I whip my head towards him.
“What are you playing at?”
He ignores me, drawing my hair over my shoulder and running his fingertips through the ends in a way that makes me cringe. My jaw clenches at the simple act, but I’m not about to cause a scene on Poppy’s special day.
I turn towards her as she comes into view behind the sea of guests, but my gaze is pulled like a magnet to the man at her side.
Harry.
He appears so striking, so familiar, I can’t help but to simply stare.
Since when did he and Poppy become so close?
Jealousy stabs me in the heart despite the bride walking towards her future with another man.
Harry stands tall, looking devastating in his black suit.
His strides are careful and confident, yet I swear a part of him falters as his heavy gaze sweeps over me.
And the moment it does, the world stops moving.
There’s a kind of hunger in his eyes that never dies.
With a roll of my shoulders, I try shrugging off Jamie’s touch. He tenses beside me, aggravated. His hand drops to my waist, and he presses his fingers possessively into my side, right where the wound is healing.
A warning to behave.
But even the threat of being impaled with another bullet isn’t enough for me to connect with him. I’m not sure if any threat would have me persevere with this behaviour. He digs his fingers deeper. My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten.
Voice hushed, I hiss, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Jamie’s eye meets mine in a menacing stare. By the time I’ve turned back towards Harry, he and Poppy are already at the front of the aisle.
The groom takes Poppy’s hand confidently.
The music dulls to a quiet hum, and the guests lower to their seats, with Harry taking the spare one in the front row. I hardly take an interest in the wedding, staring at the back of his head in a pathetic attempt to get him to turn round. But he’s rigid throughout the whole ceremony.
And as the crowd cheers after the vows are exchanged, celebrating love and life, a chill inside of me makes me feel like I’m experiencing something deadly.
Poppy begrudgingly accepts the invitation to the first dance as a newlywed, led to the centre of the ballroom by her husband and stopping directly underneath a crystal chandelier.
Her wedding dress, long, sleek, and draping by her feet, almost gets tangled in her shoes, and for perhaps the first time since I met her, she looks shy.
Which is a rarity. She never used to care what people thought of her.
She and Leo are the epitome of complicated, yet so are me and the man staring at me from across the room.
My gaze finds Harry’s, and as he catches my attention, he refuses to let me go.
For a heartbeat, everything round us slows.
The silence between the soft music thickens.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink. He just wears that raw, soul-finding look.
There’s not an ounce of subtlety in the way he pins me to the spot with his demanding stare. And while I try desperately to look away, I simply can’t.
Through my distraction, Jamie’s hand coils round my waist.
His fingers grip my hip with the kind of pressure that makes me want to vomit. A claim and a threat strung into a tight hold.
Harry’s expression changes. A flicker of something dark and primal cracks through the mask he wears. And then he looks away, straight ahead, his spine taut. But I can’t keep my eyes off him.
Jamie demands, “Dance with me.”
“No.”
I refuse to fight him further, although it seems that’s the game he wants to play.
His hand circles my wrist. “Come with me.”
“Not now—”
But he doesn’t care. Iron grip assertive, he pulls us out of the room, yanking me down a corridor. The laughter and the clinking of glasses fades as he guides us through the velvet-curtained hallway, past flower-strewn tables and locked doors. He shoves open a utility closet and pushes me inside.
He slams the door behind us.
“What the fuck was that?” Jamie growls.
“I beg your pardon?” A disbelieving laugh tumbles out of me. “I’m not your property.”
The fucking cheek of this man.
I shake my head, reaching my hand out for the doorknob. It opens for a split second. Jamie snaps his hand round my wrist again, dragging me back into the room.
“I’m not done with you,” he snarls, shoving the door closed with a loud thud.
I yank my arm. “Let. Go.”
His grasp falls from me. And before he can speak or even touch me again, the door flies open behind him.
Jamie doesn’t turn right away. He doesn’t have to. Harry’s voice is low, but it cuts through the room.
“Get out.”
Jamie turns slowly, his mouth curling with amusement. “Excuse me?”
Harry doesn’t repeat himself. The look in his eyes is enough. This isn’t the same calm, collected man from the ceremony. This one is dangerous if provoked.
“I need to talk to her,” Harry says, his gaze locked on mine. “Alone.”
Jamie scoffs, stepping between the two of us like he belongs there. He tilts his head, his smile sharpening. “What would Richard say with you sniffing round her? You remember him, right?”
“Five minutes.”
Jamie turns towards me at my demand, his expression livid.
“Let me speak to him for five minutes.”
He clenches his jaw, hands twitching at his side. “Richard won’t be happy.”
“I don’t give a fuck what Richard thinks!”
A war rages inside of him; he’s visibly annoyed, his jaw rigid. He stares at me with an intense glare that once would have scared me.
I throw my hand towards the door. “Go tell him, for all I care.”
“Five minutes,” he emphasises, his voice cold. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
Jamie lingers for a second and drops his head with a curse. The wrath festering within me has my heart pacing as he shoulders past Harry, opening the door and slamming it closed behind him.
As promised, his silhouette lingers outside. Fucking prick.
I turn back to Harry. He’s wearing that familiar flirtatious smile, pride practically oozing off him. Taking a slow, leisurely step closer, he asks, “Do you love him?”
“I don’t love anyone.”
Harry chuckles low, lips curling at the edges as his tongue slips out between them. “That’s not true.” He lowers his head, forcing me to look into those irresistible green pools. “You love me.”
“Maybe I still want to kill you.”
“That’s love if I ever heard it, princess.”
While his expression remains in that taunting smile, trying desperately to pull a reaction out of me, his eyes glimmer with amusement. I fight a smile, the pettiness in me eager to play along.
“Besides, we’re just friends.”
That’s clearly a step too far. Harry strides towards me, forcing me back against a wire rack. The cleaning products rattle with the sudden movement, a bottle of bleach slipping off the shelf and bouncing near my feet as it hits the floor.
“Gigi!” Jamie calls through the door. “What was that?”
“Tell him you’re fine,” Harry orders. Bringing his face lower, he balances his palm beside my head, the darkness in his eyes forcing a submissive streak to unfold within me.
My voice croaks. “I-I’m fine.”
“I’m coming in—”
“Five minutes!”
The door remains closed, but Jamie starts to pace behind it. Harry is so close I can smell the mint on his breath, the leather clinging to his skin. The scent makes my head swirl.
“Feisty,” he taunts. “Just as I remember.”
He presses himself against me, and my throat bobs with a difficult swallow as his hard cock presses into my stomach. His head lowers just slightly, fitting perfectly in the space between my neck and the shoulder I’ve subconsciously tilted to allow room for him.
“Tell me we’re just friends,” he whispers, breathless. “Tell me we’re friends, Gigi. I dare you.”
Through my fluttering eyelashes I see Jamie’s shadow hovering outside the door, a hairsbreadth away from storming in here. Yet on the borderline of being caught, the temptation and the risk dare me to play with fire, forcing the words out.
“W-we’re just friends.”
Harry chuckles, the shake of his head forcing that damn stray strand to fall into the centre of his forehead. “Now say it like you mean it.”
Lips ghosting my neck, he slips his hand underneath my dress. He’s pressing so close and so tight against me I don’t know where he starts and I begin. Everything feels too hot, too real, like he’s made his mark and he never intends to leave.
His finger traces the centre of my underwear, gentle and teasing. My gasp draws a smirk to his mouth.
“Mean. It.” His touch moves higher, and he circles his thumb round my clit. My head instinctively rolls forwards, but he nudges me back, his tongue slipping over the sensitive part of my throat. “Say we’re just friends as you drip all over my fucking fingers, Gigi.”
Pulling the fabric to the side, he slips two digits into my entrance. As if we never spent a moment apart, his fingers curl inside me, brushing against the sensitive part that has my knees bucking and my body submitting to him.
Oh fuck.
A whimper wobbles from my mouth, and I catch my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Tell me we’re just friends while you have the cheek to arrive here with another man,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
But I don’t. I can’t