If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(3)
At the last second, Sebastian pulls back and does some confounding sleight of hand that makes them disappear. A soft tsk shivers through the air as he peers up at me, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Not so fast.”
I glare down at him. “Give me my panties.”
Gaze holding mine, he flashes a dangerously slow, sensual grin. And in that moment, I understand exactly how Sebastian Gauthier has managed to get away with being such a despicable human: he is despicably handsome.
I stare into those rare quicksilver eyes, cold and sharp as they stare right back at me. His dark hair rustles in the sea breeze, a few loose waves caressing his temple before they’re blown back, revealing the full and unfair beauty of his face. Cool gray eyes framed by thick dark lashes. A long, strong nose. That unreasonably lush mouth, twin faint hollows in each cheek.
Slouching in his chair again, long legs sprawled out, he wears a booted air cast on his right foot that I can only imagine sucked to wear out on the sand, though I’m not inclined to feel much of anything in the way of sympathy for him right now. Inked fingers with their silver rings drum on the chair’s arms. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit so dark it’s nearly black, a white button-up undone way too many, revealing a deep wedge of golden skin and silver chains. From his collarbones down, every exposed inch of him is covered in tats.
In another world—in which he wasn’t an unapologetic jerk—I could mistake him for one of those morally gray villains who star in the fantasy romances I’ve been reading since adolescence. Dangerous and dark haired, inked and angry. Villains who ultimately redeem themselves, revealing their true natures when they prove themselves to be profoundly good, feminist, sacrificial heroes.
I know. It’s called fantasy romance for a reason.
As he inspects me with that cool, sharp gaze, I set my hands on my hips and glare at him, profoundly annoyed.
He is literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
But while he looks like he could spread some epic Faery King wings and whisk me off across the night sky to his palace, he is not one of my fantasy romance heroes. He is someone who—according to a lot of deeply damning and corroborated news headlines—breaks not just promises and property, but hopes and hearts. Which is why his devious charms have not and certainly will not be working on me.
And also why I continue to be baffled that my second oldest brother, Ren, the sweetest, most tenderhearted man, could be bonded to him so deeply.
Sebastian and Ren are teammates—both are star forwards for the LA Kings hockey team—but beyond that, what makes them so close is a mystery to me. Ren says there’s good in Sebastian, that he just struggles to demonstrate it in observable ways. Now that I’m experiencing firsthand what a jerk Sebastian can be, I’m wondering if Ren sees in Sebastian what he wants to more than what’s actually there.
“Sebastian Gauthier,” I say sternly, “give me my panties.”
His cold gray eyes turn arctic as he peers up at me. He raises an eyebrow. “What panties? I don’t see any panties, do you?”
I glare at him harder, my anger ratcheting up. “I don’t see them, but I know you have them. I watched you do…something with them.”
His smirk is wolfish and infuriating. “Better come find them, then.”
Again, on any other day, I would probably throw up my hands and walk off, enjoy bursting Ren’s idyllic bubble by telling him that I’d appreciate it if he asked his best friend to cough up my panties the next time he sees him. But today is not that day. Today I am past my limit, and my rare temper is a wild colt free of its reins.
Without preamble, I step between the bracket of Sebastian’s legs, wrap a hand around his wrist, and tug up his arm, slipping my other hand inside the sleeve of his suit coat. I fully expect the panties to be there, since that’s the hand that was holding them.
He laughs, and the sound is so self-satisfied, so arrogant, I barely resist the urge to scream in frustration. “Try again.”
Angry, I drop his wrist. “Where are they?”
If they’re not up his sleeve, I have no idea where else my underwear could be. At this point, the only way I could possibly find out is frisking him.
When I glance up again and find that sardonic grin lifting his mouth, I have one of my little delayed autistic epiphanies: that’s exactly what he wants me to do.
As if he’s watched the lightbulb ping to life over my head, Sebastian stretches out his impressive wingspan, grin widening. “I suppose you’ll just have to pat me down.”
I roll my eyes. But before I can come up with some witty retort, my brother Viggo’s voice carries from somewhere inside: “Ziggy! Get in here! The chocolate fountain’s running!”
Sebastian jerks in his seat like he’s been electrocuted and bolts upright, suddenly standing beside me.
Very close beside me.
He takes me by the shoulder and spins me a quarter turn, until light from inside spills across my face. His eyes widen. “Fucking hell. Ziggy?”
2
SEBASTIAN
Playlist: “Broken Boy,” Cage The Elephant
I have a long history of truly terrible sins, but mentally debauching my best friend’s baby sister while watching her strip off her panties just might take the cake.