Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
WILLA
Beau:
You can ignore my calls and keep dodging my texts, but I’m not going away. Hope you’re enjoying the quiet while you can, sis.
One Night Stan’s looked like a bachelorette party and the library had a baby. Glitter was everywhere, giant pink neon lips hung on a backdrop made up of loose book pages, and feather boas draped every available surface.
Chloe, Sutton, Penelope, and I sat in a corner booth, watching as Mabel packed the place to its limit.
It wasn’t hard to believe what had started as a tiny book event had turned into the kind of evening that required backup bartenders, a themed drink menu courtesy of my husband, and crowd control.
Especially when that unhinged woman was leading the party.
All four Steele brothers were behind the bar, pouring drinks at breakneck speed.
Lincoln had his head down and game face on, those dimples flashing as he mixed cocktails.
His forearms flexed with every subtle movement, his biceps looked illegal in that T-shirt, and the wife-guy energy while he kept shooting me winks was unmatched.
“You are not at all subtle,” Sutton murmured, earning laughs from Chloe and Penelope.
“What?” I asked, pretending like I wasn’t on the verge of drooling.
Sutton pursed her lips and raised a brow. “You’re eyefucking the shit out of your husband.”
“I hope I’ll be just plain old fucking the shit out of him later…” I said before I could stop myself.
Penelope choked on her drink, Sutton looked impressed, and Chloe leaned across the table, her eyes dancing.
“Someone’s in rare form tonight,” she said with a grin. “He teased you within an inch of your life and then dragged you here without, uh, getting you across the finish line, didn’t he?”
She wasn’t wrong. But before I could tell her as much, Mabel stepped onto the stage and the music cut off, drawing everyone’s attention in her hot-pink pants and shirt that proclaimed I like my books how I like my men: thick and filthy.
“Thank you for joining us at the first annual Spicy Book Showdown!” she said into her sparkly pink microphone.
“Here’s how this debauchery is going to work.
Pick your favorite naughty passage, read it like your next O depends on it, and outdo every other literary pervert in here for a chance to win a hand-curated basket from Wicked Little Things. ”
The crowd cheered, hoots and whistles going up from all around.
“Now, who’s our first heathen?” Mabel asked, scanning the crowd.
“Me!” Chloe stood immediately, a book clutched under her arm, and made her way to the stage.
She cleared her throat, cracked open a truly unhinged alien tentacle romance, and launched into a dramatic reading, complete with sound effects. By the end of her excerpt, I’d nearly snorted wine out my nose, Sutton was crying with laughter, and even Penelope couldn’t contain her grin.
Xander, however, stared at Chloe like he was three seconds from dragging her into a closet and having his way with her.
Shocking everyone, Declan strode onto the stage next, jaw tight and eyes narrowed at Lincoln as he muttered something about losing a bet. He cracked open a weathered historical romance, cleared his throat, and began to read.
He kept it together for the first couple paragraphs—at least until he hit one of those lines.
His tone shifted, voice going deep enough to vibrate against the microphone, and the tiniest, most dangerous smirk appeared on his face.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing. He glanced up, just once, locking eyes with Penelope, whose entire face flamed bright red.
Oh, this was just too damn good not to capture. I pulled out my phone and hit record, adjusting my angle so I got Declan reading in that deep tenor with Lincoln in the background, working the hell out of a cocktail shaker while looking like pure sex in a T-shirt and jeans.
Chloe leaned in, murmuring, “You post that, and this place will go viral, guaranteed.”
Sutton nodded. “One Night Stan’s—serving drinks and thirst traps. They’ll have a line around the block by next week.”
I hesitated, torn between wanting everyone to see Lincoln like this and wanting to keep him all for myself.
But then I thought of everything he’d done for me.
For the farm. How he backed me even when I didn’t believe in myself, supported me even when I probably didn’t deserve it, took care of me even when I resisted.
Maybe this could be a little something for him and for the bar—a way for me to give that support right back.
I posted it with the caption Sutton had suggested, and then I shoved my phone back in my purse without giving myself time to regret it.
“Who’s next?” Mabel called.
Chloe and Sutton both yelled out my name, the two of them jostling me to head to the stage, while Penelope just grinned and didn’t offer me a lifeline. The traitor.
“Willa?” Mabel asked with a grin. “Are you our next heathen?”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I make jam and harvest honey. I don’t do erotic performance art.”
A few boos went up around the bar—mostly from my so-called friends—before my husband’s voice drowned them out.
“Guess that means I’ll have to read for you, wife.”
Oh. Oh no.
Lincoln reached under the bar, pulled out a very familiar book—Bred in the Shadows. The one we’d been reading all week. The one he’d been texting me passages from just to torment me throughout the day before unraveling me at night.
He strode onto the stage, met my gaze with a smirk, and flipped the book open straight to a scene.
The scene.
He wasn’t doing this for laughs. It wasn’t a joke. That much was clear as soon as he opened his mouth and that gravel-edged tone I knew all too well poured out of him.
With his eyes locked on mine like he was already inside me, he read about primal urges, surrendering, and the heroine being bred by her alpha.
And I damn near melted into a puddle of need right there on the floor.
By the end, he had everyone in the bar rapt, the entire room silent as if we were all collectively holding our breath.
Shifting in my seat, I stared at my husband as he continued to read. Heat crawled up my body, licking at all my sensitive spots. So desperate for him it wasn’t even funny.
When he finished, ending his reading on a particularly indecent note, he took a bow, and the entire bar erupted in whistles and applause.
“Oh my god,” Penelope murmured.
Sutton nodded. “I mean…holy shit.”
“Seriously,” Chloe said. “I feel weird being turned on by Xander’s brother’s voice, but here we are.”
“Don’t tell Lincoln that,” I said as he strode across the bar, heading straight for our booth. “His ego’s already big enough.”
Sutton elbowed me in the side. “His ego definitely isn’t what you’re thinking about.”
Chloe and Penelope laughed, but I couldn’t say anything in response because my eyes were locked on my husband’s approach. And he looked good enough to eat.
“Evening, ladies,” he said, though his eyes never strayed from mine. “Need you to look at something in the office, wife.”
“Something in the office, or something in your pants?” Chloe asked, causing both Sutton and Penelope to snort.
Lincoln didn’t answer, just raised a brow, tilted his head, and gave me that slow, infuriating, wife-wrecking smirk.
The crowd was still cheering for my husband, and the noise only got louder when I took his hand and slid out from the booth.
Sutton wolf-whistled, Chloe yelled, “Get it, girl!” while Penelope—my sweet, quiet Penelope—murmured, “Try not to break the desk.”
And then my deviant of a husband looked me dead in the eye and said, “No promises.”