24. Mav
TWENTY-FOUR
MAV
Christian Carrington is a sniveling, pretentious little bitch.
His hand on Mckenna’s back made me want to pummel my fist into the center of his face. Her gazing up at him, sparkling blue eyes and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth makes me want to tear my hair out and pound my chest like a damn caveman.
What the hell is happening to me?
I don’t react like this. I don’t do jealous.
I’m never possessive.
I’ve never cared enough to be, either.
But fuck do I care for Mckenna.
I hate that Carrington hit on her. I loathe that she gave him the time of day. And then, freaking smiled at me about it.
My blood runs too hot for my body, gushing forward and spinning through my veins like it will shoot out of my fingertips. Pour out of my throat. Fury buzzes in my eardrums, and the back of my neck tingles.
A warning.
Danger.
Pull your shit together.
My fingertips tap out a beat against my thigh. The rhythm cuts through my mind for an instant. I inhale.
Keep it together.
It’s the goddamn label’s Christmas party, for fuck’s sake.
Mckenna looks worried. Horrified.
Did Carrington try something? Did he say something?
He thinks I don’t know about his fuckups. Or the brewing sexual assault scandal that will blow up in his face over the next year. I know the lies he tells himself and the secrets he thinks have been kept under wraps.
“Fuck,” Derek mutters.
Allegra and Mckenna are holding hands, staring at me like I’m the one about to fly off the handle.
Is Mckenna scared of me?
“Didn’t know she was yours,” Carrington replies coolly, like Mckenna is some object that can be purchased. A carnival prize I won.
Why the hell does it feel that way? Why do I want to announce to the entire fucking party that Mckenna Byrne is here with me. My girl. Mine .
It’s not all fucking fake, either.
Jesus. I drag a lungful of air through my nostrils and feel it sweep through my lungs.
“She is. Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I snap. The drumming on my thigh increases in tempo.
Carrington scoffs. He lifts his hands in the air, palms out like he’s surrendering. I hope he succumbs to the fucking cops soon. “Take it easy, Tate. We were just having a chat.” His gaze swings toward Mckenna. Softens. I want to shove bamboo sticks underneath his fingernails for the way he’s looking at her. I shuffle forward but Derek’s hand, heavy and purposeful, lands on my shoulder. “I meant what I said, Mckenna. Call me.”
Mckenna doesn’t meet his eyes. Why? Did he say something to her?
I growl, forfeiting the shred of calm I cling to.
Carrington ignores me. So does Mckenna.
“Let’s get some air,” Derek suggests.
I don’t move. But Allegra does. She tugs Mckenna toward the balcony, winter temperatures be damned. Derek’s grip on my shoulder tightens.
“Take it easy, mate.” His voice is low. “Don’t cause a scene here.”
“Right,” I mutter. I know he’s right, especially since my last scandal is finally dying down, but it irks me anyway.
What about all the stupid shit Derek’s pulled over the years? How about Levi’s stint in rehab and the crap that went down in Barcelona? But now, I’m the one about to cause a scene ?
I’m the one who has to hold it together. Not make a spectacle. Rein my shit in.
The balcony door swings open, and the cold air cools my skin and temper. I breathe in deeply and try to get a hold of my anger. Check my damn emotions.
“Mav,” Mckenna says.
I glance at her and note she’s shivering, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her hands gripping her opposite elbows.
“Are you attracted to him?” I blurt out. It’s the last thing I want to say. Firstly, I shouldn’t acknowledge that the stupid thought crossed my mind. Secondly, I should offer her my jacket. Or we should head inside where it’s warm. I should make sure Mckenna’s okay.
Instead, I glare at her and wait for her answer, which better be “hell no.”
But I’m too angry. Upset and erratic and spinning out of control. Fucking spiraling. Where is the fury supposed to go if I can’t shove my fist into Carrington’s face? How do I temper the adrenaline hopping through my limbs?
“Seriously, Maverick?” Allegra accuses.
“Please, Mav.” Mckenna shakes her head, her blue eyes arctic. Nearly pleading. “Don’t do this here. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Oh!” I laugh bitterly. My fingers clench the railing. “Embarrass you? No, sweetheart, you were doing that all on your own.”
Mckenna narrows her eyes. “He talked to us. What were we supposed to do—ignore him?”
“Really?” I pose the question thoughtfully. “You weren’t sniffing out a connection for your future career? Did Carrington forget to mention that he’s General Counsel, Mckenna? I can’t imagine him forgetting that detail since he loves a two-for-one deal. A hard fuck and an obedient assistant rolled into one.”
Her mouth drops open at my words.
Shit! I didn’t mean that toward her. I meant it as an insult to Carrington. And because it’s the fucking truth.
Allegra gasps. I feel her gaze on the back of my head. I don’t turn around because I’m too enamored with the emotions playing over Mckenna’s expression.
Two angry red blotches on her cheeks. Wide, shiny eyes. A slender neck. She’s gorgeous when she’s mad too.
“Jesus Christ, Mav,” Derek chides.
Mckenna shakes her head and starts to turn away. My ego deflates, and a morsel of regret drops into the pit of my stomach.
Mckenna turns, her expression stricken. I frown, noting her wild eyes. She glares at me like she doesn’t recognize me and then, her arm raises, her hand arcing toward me like a blow.
She catches me off guard yet I love the spunk she throws my way.
Grinning, I catch her wrist before she can slap me. Just like that, she flipped another switch. I’m hot, bothered, and wanting all over again.
I’m giving myself fucking whiplash.
“Screw you,” she hisses at me, seething.
I chuckle. “You’re under contract, babe,” I remind her, shaking her wrist. “Don’t hit me in public and blow our cover. You can hate me all you want, but you still have to kiss me.”
On those threatening words, I crowd her.
Her eyes flash, and her hand comes up. She grips my hip hard as if to stop me.
I thrust my hips forward and pin the gorgeous beauty against the balcony’s stone wall. Then, I kiss her hard. She bites down on my lip, nicking it enough to draw blood. I deepen our kiss, my hand coming up to frame her shoulder, my thumb pressing into her clavicle. I want to touch every inch of her body. Mark her with my mouth and claim her with my hands.
All that anger and hurt that had nowhere to go? I spill it into her mouth, let it roll over her tongue, and drip down her throat.
A flash goes off in my peripheral vision, but I don’t break my connection with Mckenna. I don’t care who is recording this moment right now. Let the world know that Mckenna Byrne is with me.
I don’t know how many seconds, or minutes, pass. I’m lost to my anger, her intoxicating allure, and this heady moment. Mckenna fists the material of my dinner jacket.
“Enough,” Derek says. His voice is even and controlled.
I tear my mouth from Mckenna’s.
She heaves a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her chest, the tops of her breasts, are colored pink from her emotions, from the cold, hell, from my rough touch.
She glares at me, and I reach forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Mckenna smacks my hand away. “Don’t ever fucking manhandle me again.” Her voice cracks and those wild eyes bleed out, looking haunted.
She turns away and stiffly strides back to the party.
“That was some show,” Allegra comments, hurrying behind her friend.
Derek slow claps behind me, and I hang my head in shame.
Fuck. I fucked this up big time.