lifted one sandy eyebrow in a silent but demanding What the hell is wrong with you?
Reame was pretty sure that Linc did not want to hear that he had just had the hottest video of the newbie Ballantyne playing in his head, her head tipped back, her tangerine-colored evening dress—sporting a low dipping neckline hinting at great breasts and a thigh split that made for easy access—up around her waist and the soft material flowing over his black suit as he stood between her legs, his mouth on hers, his...
Yeah, don’t go there, Jepsen, unless you want to embarrass yourself.
He was damn sure that Linc didn’t want to know any of that.
Reame ordered another whiskey from a passing waiter and glanced up to the Juliet balcony, spotting the swish of the orange dress, the flash of a pale neck. He frowned, noticing that the new Ballantyne had cut her hair, that her waist-length, platinum-blond hank of hair was gone. Dammit, he’d had fantasies about winding that hair a couple of times around his fist as he slid into her, those long strands sliding over his stomach, over his...
Reame aimed a mental roundhouse kick at his temple. Lachlyn was not a wild woman and she was not anyone he could tangle with. She was his oldest friend’s new sister and you didn’t fool around with your best bud’s baby sister. Lachlyn was also Connor’s daughter and he owed Connor so much—without him he wouldn’t have his business. And he definitely didn’t mess around with women with eyes that were a curious combination of lapis lazuli, vulnerability and sky-high intelligence.
Lachlyn Latimore was Trouble with a capital T and if he was as smart as they said he was, he’d stay far, far away from her. She wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t the here now, gone tomorrow woman he was looking for.
“Stop scowling,” Linc said. “You’re scaring my guests.”
“Wasn’t.”
Reame cursed silently as Linc gestured for Lachlyn to join them. Reame saw her send a quick look toward the exit, as if she were judging how quickly she could escape. Her shoulders slumped as she started to make her way toward them through the crowd, and Reame couldn’t decide whether to feel insulted or to sympathize.
Linc picked up Reame’s whiskey off a tray and appropriated the drink as his own. Reame tossed him a hot insult and considered wrestling the glass out of his hand. Deciding to be an adult, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and ordered another drink. Hopefully, it would arrive soon.
“Why the frown?” Linc asked.
Reame shrugged, deliberately not meeting Linc’s gaze. “You know how much I loathe these society events. I’d rather be in a firefight than here.”
Linc smiled. “I know and I appreciate your sacrifice.”
Reame narrowed his eyes at Linc’s gentle sarcasm. Turning his back to his approaching fantasy-come-to-life, he spread his legs wide and folded his arms across his chest. He studied Linc and saw the worry in his eyes, the tense muscle in his jaw. “What do you need, bro?”
Before he could reply, Lachlyn stepped up to Linc’s side and sent Reame a cool look. “Hello, Reame.”
“Lachlyn,” Reame replied with equal ice. Look at them, he thought, pretending that they hadn’t just imagined each other naked and writhing five minutes earlier. “You look nice.”
If nice meant sensationally and spectacularly sexy.
Those blues darkened to violet as a blush crossed her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Linc was just about to ask me something...” Reame turned back to Linc who tossed back the rest of his whiskey and then rolled the glass between the palms of his hands. Keeping his voice low so that he wasn’t overheard, Linc answered his question. “The reaction to the news that Lachlyn is a Ballantyne and that we have accepted her into the fold has been bigger and more intense than any of us, including Cady, expected. Lachlyn has moved into The Den, Reame, and for the last few days the press have camped on the sidewalk. None of us can get in and out of the house without being harassed. Lachlyn tried to go out yesterday and they nearly ripped her apart. She ran into the house looking like the hounds of hell were on her tail.”
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Lachlyn interjected.
“Shh.” Reame hushed her, wanting Linc to continue. Before he could, Linc was distracted by an old lady with diamonds the size of quail eggs and wrinkles as deep as the Mariana Trench.
Linc turned his attention to the Grand dame and Lachlyn took the opportunity to launch her small elbow into his side. “Don’t you shush me!” she hissed.
“I wanted to hear what Linc was saying and you were interrupting him,” Reame replied, willing her eyes to flash violet again. “Maybe kissing you to shut you up would’ve worked better. Far more enjoyable...”
Yep, violet, with sparks of silver. “Are you drunk?”
Drunk on... Do not even complete that thought, Jepsen. What the hell is wrong with you? Reame’s thumb found the pulse point on her inside wrist and, yep, there it was, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wing. His wasn’t far behind. He glanced at Linc, made sure he wasn’t listening before speaking. “I know that you were imagining us naked.”
Reame just managed to stop himself from lifting her hand to kiss the delicate skin under his fingers.
Lachlyn jerked her hand away. “Your illusions are insulting and annoying. And I need a drink.”
He could relate. “Bring me one? A double whiskey on the rocks?” Reame asked, his tone teasing. He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes and flounced away from him, her compact and curvy body radiating annoyance.
Reame sighed. Not the way to make friends with the new Ballantyne...
But, dammit, even before he’d met her, she’d bothered him. Bother was now too small a word to use to describe how she made him feel...
And why—when there were at least thirty women here whom he could hit on, if he excluded the married ones and he so did—was he wanting to get up close, very close and very naked, with her? With his best friend’s new sister?
Screwed, he decided. If he didn’t get a grip he would be so screwed.
Reame lifted his eyebrows when Linc turned back to him having given the Lady of the Big Diamonds sufficient attention. “You were saying...”
Linc pushed a hand through his blond hair. “Someone dug up Lachlyn’s phone number and her phone has been ringing off the hook. She’s being harassed on social media and it doesn’t look to be dying down anytime soon.”
Reame nodded his understanding. “I’ll get my cyber guy to bury her social security number, to take her off the Net as much as possible. He’ll change her address to your box number and get her a new phone number under one of my companies. We’ll put firewalls around her social media accounts. You know the drill.”
Linc should. He and his guys had done the same thing for Connor and all the Ballantynes after him. High-profile families attracted criminals and nutcases, and sometimes the nutcases were criminals, too.
Reame waited, knowing that there was more. Linc scratched his chin, his eyes flat with worry. “Tate has to film in the Rockies this coming week and I was planning on joining her there with the kids.”
Somehow, Linc and Tate managed to combine his hectic and pressurized job as Ballantyne CEO with Tate’s job as a travel presenter without neglecting Shaw or Ellie, their adopted daughter.
“I don’t want to leave Lachlyn in The Den by herself but she adamantly refuses to move in with Sage and Tyce or with Jaeger or Beck.”
Since she’d be the third wheel wherever she went—all the Ballantynes were still in the cooing and billing stage of their relationship—Reame didn’t blame her.
“What’s her apartment