Flock (The Ravenhood #1)(11)
“Never been accused of being polite.”
“It’s not an accusation,” I snap, as Sean curses and starts to drag me off. “It’s common decency, arsehole.” Clearly, cider gives me a drunken British pirate accent when I’ve had too much of it, or I’ve been watching too much BBC. I giggle with the rush of a buzz as Sean lifts me into a fireman’s hold.
“And what a pretty arsehole you are,” I drawl.
Laughter comes from all sides as Dominic’s full lips twitch in something close to a smile, and I struggle against Sean to let me down. “I am trouble, you know,” I smart, as a catcall sounds from my left. “Just ask your brother.” Sean’s chest bounces against my thigh as I’m carted through the living room and out the front door.
Once he’s carried me to the driveway, he sets me on my feet, an apologetic smile already in place as he glances over his shoulder.
“What the hell is his problem?”
“I warned you,” Sean says with a grin. “He’s mostly bite, no warning bark.”
“He didn’t have to embarrass me.”
“He gets off on it, I have to admit, that went a lot better than I thought it would.”
“I thought it went pretty shitty.” I slur, realizing just how hard the cider has hit me.
He frowns, studying me carefully. “I’m going to drive you home, okay? I’ll pick you up to get your car in the morning.”
“Fine,” I huff as he opens the door for me. Sitting in his seat, I cross my arms, furious. “I feel like I just got put in timeout.” I turn to him. “I’m not a confrontational person, like at all. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Dominic could bring the claws out of a nun.”
“You don’t say.”
Sean chuckles, shutting his heavy door before looking over to me with sympathy.
I sink in my seat. “It’s my dad, isn’t it?”
He nods. “He employs nearly half the people at that party.”
“It’s not like he deals with the day-to-day at the plant.”
“He’s got a long reach.”
“Yeah, well, I make it a point not to tell him a damn thing. You can trust me. And I am an adult.”
He taps the lip I hadn’t realized I’d pushed out. “You’re fucking adorable. And beautiful. But let’s be honest, a little too young and good of a girl to be hanging out with us assholes.”
“I’ve been to plenty of parties, I just never really partake. And I like you assholes. Just not that arsehole.”
“Sure about that?”
“Not a fan.” That’s not entirely true, I appreciated the hell out of him until he’d opened his mouth.
“No?”
I slowly shake my head as he brushes the hair away from my shoulder. Sean’s effect on me is potent, and I feel the draw to lean into his touch as he gazes at me. I know my guard is down because of the booze, but I can’t blame it all on the alcohol. He’s disarming, and the attraction is definitely there.
“Then you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice dropping as he cups my jaw and brushes his thumb over the small divot in my chin.
“Fine with me.” When he slowly withdraws his hand, I feel the loss of his warmth and busy myself buckling my seatbelt, my head spinning from the turn of events. “Thank you for today. I had fun.”
He turns the engine over, and the feel of the vibration against my bare legs sparks a fire inside me. Sean reads my excitement.
“Like that?”
“Hell yes.” I bob my head. “Never been in one of these.”
He studies me, the air in the car growing dense.
“Tell me, what were you just thinking?” I ask, stealing the earlier question from Tyler, my voice a little hoarse from the inhalation of all the smoke and this sun god’s rapt attention.
“Some other time.”
He tears out of the driveway as I giggle in my seat—the ride home as exhilarating as the last few hours. Windows down, the wind whips my hair around my face as Sean speeds down the deserted roads that lead to my father’s palace. Heavy bass thuds throughout the cabin, old southern rock wafting out of the speakers. I stick my hand out my window and air surf, my chest bubbling with possibilities as I steal a glance at Sean and see a promising gleam in his eyes while a subtle smile graces his lips.
It’s the start of a great summer.
“GOOD MORNING, CECELIA,” ROMAN SAYS as I join him in the dining room. He sits at the polished table in a high-backed chair. The rest of the room is empty, save robin’s egg and cream draperies that I know are worth a fortune. He’s dressed in some designer or another as he skillfully plucks some grapefruit onto his fork.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“I heard you arrive last night. Is there something wrong with your car?” He’s displeased.
Tough shit.
“I’m having it serviced, and I’ll be picking it up this afternoon.” It’s the only lie I can manage as I fight the urge to press my hands to my temples.
I had no idea that cider could be so potent. Passing on the small breakfast display, I duck into the kitchen—a Michelin star chef’s dream—pull a bottled water from the fridge, gather some of the yogurt I requested his housekeeper buy, and snatch a few grapes. Back in the dining room, I peek out the window to see the front of the property lit up with the new day’s sun. The house would be perfect for a family that enjoyed each other’s company. It saddens me that it’s wasted on a man who doesn’t appreciate it.