Page 28 of Dark Reunion

Then it happened. Yasmine should’ve been expecting it, but somehow it never crossed her mind that it would happen.

Two young women glided across the floor like predators scenting blood. They were beautiful in that cultivated way…hair glossy, dresses cut to draw every eye, lips painted crimson. And they didn’t look at Yasmine once.

Their gazes locked on Dean.

She’d been relegated to the wife, the one that spit out kids for her husband, but who he never touched otherwise. Why? Because that was common among this group. The wives, mistresses, one-time flings were all mashed into one room, and more than one type of deal was made.

Yasmine growled under her breath as one leaned close, her smile perfectly in place. She couldn’t make out every word, but could clearly see her say, Oh…Señor Ramírez. The girl’s hand ran down Dean’s arm, and Yasmine wanted to rush across the room, rip the girl’s arm off, and beat her with it.

The other girl laughed softly, tracing a finger down the lapel of his suit jacket.

Yasmine’s nails bit her palms. She felt Andrés stir against her chest, and she forced herself to relax even as her gaze remained locked on the two women. She’d never felt jealousy before. Not like this. It burned her gut and her throat and even though she trusted Dean she couldn’t stop the nagging little voice in the back of her head. Had they been here too long, would he start to view her like these other men did their wives?

She watched Dean carefully. He didn’t smile or welcome their attention. He looked down at the women, then turned to look straight at Carlos. Yasmine followed his stare. His father sat at the head of the table, watching, lips curled in a knowing smile.

Dean’s glare was answer enough. He removed the women’s hands as if brushing lint from his suit. Yasmine wished she could hear what Dean said that had them bowing their heads and scurrying away.

Carlos raised his glass toward Dean in mock salute.

Yasmine’s blood boiled. How dare he set this in motion. What the hell kind of game was this?

Dean caught her eye, and as soon as her gaze locked with his, his look softened. I love you, and only you, forever, he mouthed and her cheeks warmed as she melted in her seat. She never should’ve doubted him. Not even for a second.

A half hour later, she walked up behind the same two girls at the dessert table. The two women giggled over the dainty treats, whispering behind manicured nails.

She approached with Andrés in her arms and the sweetest smile on her lips. “Ladies,” she said warmly. “Enjoying yourselves?”

They startled, then offered nervous smiles. “Yes, of course. It’s a beautiful party.”

Yasmine leaned in slightly, lowering her voice, though her tone never lost its sugar. “Good. Because it will be the last time you ever lay a finger on my husband.”

Their eyes widened.

“If you do,” she continued, still smiling as if they were discussing recipes, “I will cut off the hand you used to touch what is not yours. Don’t test a wife or mother. We’re a very special breed of determined to protect what is ours.”

Silence stretched. The women gaped at her, horror dawning beneath their painted faces.

Yasmine patted one delicately on the wrist. “Enjoy your desserts.”

She turned, walking away with her head high, Andrés cradled close. Dean glanced at her, and she smirked at his silent inquiry, but didn’t offer anymore of an explanation.

That night, after the children were asleep, Dean stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie. Yasmine sat on the edge of the bed, nursing Andrés one last time before laying him gently in his cradle.

Dean leaned against the dresser, arms folded. “What did you say to them?”

Yasmine arched a brow. “Who are we talking about?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” he replied and Yasmine bit her lip.

“I’ll assume you mean the two skanks that were barely eighteen?”

Dean softly chuckled. “Yes, that’s who I mean. What did you say? You sent them scurrying away like rats.” His lips twitched.

She smiled, slow and satisfied. “Only that if they touched you again, I’d cut off their hands.”

Dean’s laugh rumbled low, softening the hard lines of his face. He crossed the room, cupped her cheek. “You weren’t jealous, were you?”

“And what if I was?”