Filthy English

He stared down at me. “When you slammed the door in my face at the Tau house, I knew I’d screwed up. When I heard you were engaged to Hartford, I was certain I’d screwed up.” He stopped. Closed his eyes. Opened them. “The night you kissed me at Masquerade and I instantly recognized your scent, the taste of your lips, and how you felt in my arms—I knew you were the only girl I wanted. I’m an idiot, and I just didn’t know how to do it right.”

“You’re doing it right, Sex Lord,” I murmured, running my fingers down his chest and down to the hard shaft in his jeans.

He groaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I can finish it. It’s your back that can’t take it.”

He laughed, grabbed my dress, and we took off for his Range Rover. At the last moment, he veered toward where a few of his brothers were standing by the fire. They appeared as if they’d just woken up, judging by the sleeping bags and cots strewn around the field.

Dax said hiya, sent some nods, and made his way to the low-burning fire.

I’d thought he was ready to go . . .

What was he doing?

He held my dress over the flames.

“Dax Winston Blay, if you drop that dress, there will be trouble,” I called loudly.

He lowered his eyes. “I can make you get over it soon enough.”

“Don’t do it,” I growled.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Give me one reason.”

I bit my lip. “I promise to only wear it for you. No one else.”

He pulled it back slowly, eyes on me. “Promise?”

“I promise,” I said and snatched the dress and dashed for his car, calling over my shoulder. “Unless you make me really mad and I have to teach you a lesson.”

I giggled and ran backward—scary for me—just to watch his face. He glowered at me, but in his favor, he gave me a few moments before he ran after me and chased me down. He scooped me up by my legs, making me yelp, and carried me the rest of the way to his Range Rover, kissing me the entire way.

I sighed, happiness exploding inside every atom.

Mr. Beautiful. He was mine and I was his.

The End

One Year Later

DAX WALKED IN the Masquerade around ten, his black domino mask conforming to the perfectly chiseled planes of his face. Declan was with him. They both wore low-slung designer jeans and an I am hot attitude. At first glance, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart, except one was a bit bulkier and they had different tattoos.

I sat at the bar watching them, and even with an entire dance floor separating us, I knew exactly which man was mine.

I smiled as I tipped back another shot of tequila.

He hadn’t seen me yet, his head turning to search the crowd.

Declan was eyeing everyone too, his arms crossed, an inscrutable expression on his handsome face. He was the tough guy. The protector.

I leaned over to Elizabeth who was sitting on a stool next to me. “Our guys are here. They haven’t seen us yet.”

She smiled, pink lips curving up as she followed my eyes to the foyer of the club. “And, look, the women are fawning over them already,” she said with a chuckle.

True. A pack of giggly girls were pointing them out to their other girlfriends.

We weren’t worried. Our guys only had eyes for us.

I turned around to ask for more limes, putting my back to the door. “Let’s give them a minute to find us. I still need another drink.”

Excitement ran over me, thinking about how hard it would be for them to find us, especially since we’d chosen the biggest masks we could find, fluffy with lots of feathers and fabric. We’d also both worn our hair up in loose knots, with soft tendrils hanging down. Mine had grown out enough to make it work.

Since we’d had a girls’ day today, we’d splurged and gotten new dresses. I wore a slinky black number that contrasted nicely with my red hair, and Elizabeth had gone for a white halter dress.

I’d even put heels on. I know. Amazing.

We flagged down a bartender.

The four of us had come to London a few days ago for three reasons. First, we were celebrating that Elizabeth’s attacker, Colby, had pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of one count of first degree attempted murder instead of facing the other two charges against him. His sentence had been life in prison with the possibility of parole later. That was fine. She’d gotten closure, and Declan was mostly satisfied. He liked to say that if Colby ever got out, he’d kill him, but mostly I think Elizabeth has tamed him.

Second, Dax and I had both graduated Whitman this past semester. He’d pulled out a 3.0 GPA with diligent studying and lots of alone time with me. We liked to study in bed mostly, although our focus wasn’t always a college class. His plan (yes, I’d helped him) was to get his real estate license this year as well.

The housing market had worked well for him. He’d sold his first home after living there for six months and had promptly bought two additional properties. I’d started a YouTube channel for him where he took people on virtual tours of the two houses and talked about the renovations. I popped in on the video to talk about birds, eighties trivia, tattoos—anything really to make people laugh. The fans, who were in the millions, ate it up. They loved us—mostly because he was gorgeous and had that sexy British accent. HGTV had even contacted us, inquiring if we’d be interested in filming a pilot in Raleigh about redoing older homes in the South.

As for me, I was taking it slow with graduate school. I was enrolled in online courses through Duke, and for now, that was perfect. I refused to rush my life and plan out every single detail. Malcolm still stayed with us some, and he and Dax were like tea and biscuits. They adored each other, and I sent up a prayer each day, thanking the heavens that put Dax and I together. My soulmate.