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Tipping his head back, he looks up at me from his position at my feet, with a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I have a few suggestions on how you can thank me.” A primal growl vibrates from his chest as he bends down and presses a hot kiss to the inside of my thigh, pushing the bottom of my shorts up with his nose.
My eyes flutter closed, and I curse my inability to hold my ground with him.
“It’s time to go, Ghost. Tonight, you can think about all the reasons why you don’t want to do this with me, then when we get back, I’ll show you all the reasons why we should.”
When I blink my eyes open, he’s standing in front of me, his eyes sparkling with determination. Grabbing me roughly, he slams a possessive, branding kiss against my mouth, then pulls away a second later, a shit-eating grin on his now-lipstick-marked lips.
32
GULLIVER
Watching my Ghost fight the things she’s feeling for me is fucking painful. I can see the longing in her eyes, but she’s denying herself, and I don’t know why.
Climbing out of the limo, I turn around and reach for her, offering her my hand to help her out. I’m expecting her to refuse, but she takes my hand without arguing, letting me steady her as she gracefully emerges from the car. The guys all climb out after her, and we move as a group. Izzy gripped possessively beneath my arm, with Kip and Thorn on her right and Davis on my left.
The line for the club is around the block, but we barely spare it a glance as we head straight for the entrance, pausing when we reach the roped-off doors so Kip can step forward to give the doorman our names.
“Miss Rhodes, gentleman, right this way, please,” he says, lifting the rope and stepping aside so we can walk past him.
Stepping forward, Davis takes the lead, and I guide Izzy in front of me with a hand at the base of her spine. “You ready for this?” I ask her.
“No,” she says quietly.
Laughing, I lift my hand from her back and palm her nape, rubbing my thumb back and forth reassuringly, enjoying the way her tense muscles relax beneath my touch.
When we reach the club-appointed greeter, she politely asks us to wait while the guests ahead of us traverse the red carpet.
“Are we all going in as a group?” Davis asks quietly enough that the greeter can’t hear.
I nod. “Izzy in the middle.” Looking at each of my friends in turn, I wait for them to nod their understanding, feeling my anxiety settle the moment I’m confident we’re all on the same page. When we agreed to help Izzy, we were all motivated by guilt, but it’s about so much more than that now. Izzy might not fully believe it yet, but she’s one of us. We want her to get her revenge, and we’ll do whatever we need to to help her.
“We’re ready for you now,” the greeter informs us.
Nodding, Davis steps forward, glancing over his shoulder and winking at Izzy as he steps onto the carpet. Bracing my hand on Izzy’s back, I urge her forward, but instead of moving, she reaches behind her and wraps her hand around mine, entwining our fingers together and squeezing tightly.
Fighting to hide my grin, I take the lead, and she follows behind me. When we step onto the carpet, pausing in front of the banner that’s plastered with the club’s logo, a sea of photographers shout for our attention.
These aren’t common celebrity paps; they’re the photographers who make their money taking pictures of the mega-rich playboys and wealthy socialites that call this town home. They know who we are, and I even recognize some of them from galas and events I’ve attended in the past.
“Penelope, Penelope, this way,” one of them shouts.
“Wrong twin,” Kip says loud enough to be heard over the roar of the paps calling our names.
“Twin?” another photographer shouts.
Opening my mouth, I prepare to tell them who she is, but she beats me to it. Pressing herself close to me, she rests her hand on my chest and stares up at me adoringly. A seductive grin curves across her lips before she turns and addresses the clambering hoard of cameras. “I’m sure you all know my twin sister, Penelope, but I don’t think you’ll have heard of me. My name is Izabella Rhodes, and although I’ve been out of the spotlight for a few years, recently something happened that’s persuaded me to step back into the limelight.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I call loudly enough to be heard. “Let me introduce you to my fiancée.” I spin her in my arms so her ring finger is visible to the cameras as I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it. Giggling like a fucking starlet, she throws her arms around my neck, rises up onto her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine.
The shouts of the photographers become a cacophony of noise, the voices melding together until they’re nothing more than one long scream. When Izzy pulls back, she curls herself around my body while the guys all crowd around us, and we take picture after picture, letting the world know that she might be mine but that the guys all have her back too.
The wealth, prosperity, and influence that our group will yield the moment we come of age is something no one who understands our world can ignore, and the fact that it’s Izabella in my arms, not Penelope, is going to set our world alight.
By the time the hostess leads us into the VIP area, the noise of the club feels quiet in comparison to the frenzy of the red carpet. Pulling out a chair at a high table, I help Izzy onto the seat, resting my hand on the back of her neck and massaging the tension from her muscles. “Champagne to celebrate, or cocktails to really celebrate?” I ask when a server arrives to take our drink order.
“Cocktails,” Davis says, listing off exactly how he’d like his Manhattan to be made.
“What do you want to drink, Ghostie?” I ask Izzy, making a show of tipping her chin so I can see her face.
