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But the devil woman is smirking cruelly and going on. “From a whole floor down, it definitely sounded like you both take yoga very seriously.”
“Mom!”
She blinks innocently. “What? There is nothing wrong with a healthy yoga session, Addie.”
“I swear to God, stop saying yoga.”
Mom shrugs innocently. “I don’t think either of you need a yoga teacher—”
“I’m walking away, you twisted woman.”
Her maniacal laughter follows me across the floor to the edge of the patio where I stand and watch as guests arrive in clusters. I recognize a few but no one I’m eager to meet beyond a brief greeting.
Still, the whole time, I get to witness women flock Rhys. He may as well have been the only fire source drawing all the moths to his flame. I don’t like it, but Rhys is keeping a polite distance and the conversation brief. I’m telling myself I’m not the jealous type. He’s mine and I don’t have to worry about anything.
But why do they keep insisting on touching him? Grown ass bitches running their manicured hands over his chest like consent isn’t a thing.
“Addie?”
My head snaps in the direction of the man standing at my elbow, concern painted over his handsome face.
I quickly smooth out the annoyed expression I’m sure I’m wearing and give Oz what I hope is not a psychotic smile.
“Hi.”
He looks away from me to where a stunning redhead old enough to be Rhys’s mother helpfully adjusts the perfectly straight row of buttons on his shirt with long, red tipped hands. Rhys offers her a kind smile and edges a step back, but the viper follows his retreat.
She raises her hand as if to touch him again and Rhys edges out of the line of her bony fingers.
Maybe I’ll break snap off each one and make her eat them.
“LuAnn is harmless,” Oz assures me with a hint of amusement.
I shoot him a frown. “I’m not worried.”
I don’t miss the tongue he rolls over his back molars at my grumble. “She has a son Rhys’s age.”
LuAnn laughs dramatically at something Rhys says and grabs his bicep. I don’t miss her squeezing the muscles.
Mymuscles.
“If you’re telling me she sees Rhys like her son, someone needs to check on her son.”
Oz laughs and offers me his elbow. I accept because if I stand there any longer watching Rhys get manhandled, I might need bail money. So, let Oz guide me down the steps to the makeshift dance floor where a few couples are already moving to the soft hum of violins and flutes. The majority linger around the refreshment table or cluster at their assigned seats. Oz stops on the outskirts of the dancers and tugs me into his chest.
“I don’t think there’s a woman on earth who has the power to lure Rhys away from you. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once since you arrived. Even now.”
I turn my head back over my shoulder when Oz gestures with the nod of his chin and I am immediately captured in Rhys’s beautiful, infinite pools of dark desire. The love and longing in them make my cheeks warm and my heart dip. But I turn back to the man moving me expertly around the other dancers.
“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” I tell Oz truthfully. “They’re touching things that I don’t like other people touching.”
Oz flashes me an amused grin. “You sound like your mother.”
I feel my own lips twitch. “We’re possessive.”
He hums softly. “It seems to be a common trait amongst. I don’t know how Brooke has managed to keep Michael from leaving after his many ... accidents this afternoon.”
I have to search the yard to find the man in question. He stood by the drink table, a vivid, purple bruise shadowing his rugged jaw, a cut across his bottom lip, and a disgruntle scowl darkening his handsome face.
