Page 117 of Freeing Lark

She smiled. “Just incredible?”

His mouth curved. “I’m trying to behave.” Her cheeks warmed. Hoot leaned closer. “Trust me, little bird. You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now.”

She laughed softly. And Hoot knew he’d willingly walk into any Whitmore family disaster imaginable if it meant getting to stand beside her looking like this.

CHAPTER 37

Lark had been at the party for less than twenty minutes and already wanted to escape through the nearest window.

Her mother had managed to find fault with everything. The dress was “a little unexpected.” Meaning it wasn’t up to her standards. Her hair was “far too loose.” Adding in her usual passive aggressive tone, “You could have done something with your hair. You have such beautiful hair when you actually take the time with it.”

Her makeup was “rather heavy.” She expected better from an “artist.” Apparently, there was a precise Meadows-approved shade of lipstick, and naturally, Lark had chosen the wrong one.

Normally, she’d have spent the evening shrinking beneath the criticism. Tonight was different. Because Cormac was beside her.

Lark had been tongue-tied when he first appeared before her, dressed and ready for the party. He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, which somehow made him even more attractive. His dark charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly, the jacket tailored enough to emphasize his powerful build without looking like he was trying too hard. Beneath it, he’d worn a crisp white shirt with the top button left undone, no tie. Very Cormac.

His sleeves ended neatly at his wrists, but she knew the tattoos continued beneath the fabric. A simple dark belt and polished dress shoes completed the look.

His hair was freshly trimmed and neatly styled. His beard was closely groomed, emphasizing the strong line of his jaw.

Lark’s gaze had traveled slowly from his face to his shoulders, down the lean strength of his torso, and lower before she caught herself.

He’d raised an eyebrow. “See something you like?”

“Maybe.”

His mouth curved. “You’re staring.”

“I was appreciating the view.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Careful. We’re supposed to be going to an engagement party.”

Lark smiled up at him. “I know.”

“And you’re looking at me like you’re already planning our escape.”

“Maybe I am.”

His grin widened. “Good. Because I’ve been planning it since your mother opened the front door.”

Now, she caught him watching her from across the room while she spoke with one of the Meadows family friends. His expression held none of the judgment she’d grown accustomed to seeing from her family and the people who attended these gatherings.

He simply looked at her like she was beautiful. Like she was enough. And somehow, that mattered more than every criticism her mother could throw at her.

The difference between this party and every other Whitmore event she’d endured was astonishing. Usually, she’d spent the night calculating every word, every movement, every smile.

Tonight, she had Cormac. And Cormac stood beside her like a sentry. He didn’t hover. He didn’t need to. He simply occupied space. A very large amount of space.

People seemed to notice. A few had attempted to flirt with him already, apparently deciding that a man with broad shoulders, a military bearing, and that devastating blue-eyed stare was worth the risk.

Lark had watched with increasing amusement as Cormac politely shut down every attempt.

One woman had touched his arm. He’d removed her hand. Another had asked whether he was “always this serious.” His answer had been, “Usually.” She’d laughed awkwardly and retreated.

Lark had nearly choked on her champagne. She was beginning to understand why his teammates enjoyed tormenting him.

Unfortunately, not everyone was intimidated. Across the ballroom, Bradley stood beside Wren, speaking to a small group of guests. His gaze found Lark. Then Cormac. The smile that crossed his face didn’t reach his eyes.