Page 16 of Theirs to Treasure
CHAPTERFIVE
Harper
Skeptically I swingmy glance between the two men.
Forrest is stoic, his expression unreadable, though his eyes are dark with something that makes me shiver. Desire, maybe?
Zev is a little more readable and tempting because—right or wrong—he makes me feel safer.
“Why don’t we start with dinner,” he suggests.
Forrest grins wickedly as he adds a disclaimer. “Later this evening, you’ll ask for more.”
Damn you. I shiver, fearing I might do exactly that.
“Dinner,” Zev repeats.
There’s no doubt I need food. The whiskey was sour in my stomach, and my head feels as if someone has dropped a pile of bricks on it. “I need to change first.” Suddenly I can’t wait to get out of this gown.
“We’ll wait.” As if he has infinite patience, Zev sits back in his seat.
Naturally Forrest shakes his head. “We’ll walk you to your room.”
How could he have guessed that I might have changed my mind and ordered room service?
That’s still a smarter option. And if Forrest were alone, I’d probably do exactly that. But Zev… He undoes me. And a rogue part of me wonders what it might be like to surrender to the brothers.
Having two men at one time would be a hell of a way to spend what was supposed to be my wedding night.
Am I that brave?
“Shall we say eight o’clock?” I suggest. “I need to shop for something suitable to wear.” Fortunately the resort has several stores, even if they’re pricier than I should consider.
“You escaped with just the clothes on your back,” Zev guesses.
I shrug. Clearly dashing away was not the smartest decision I’ve ever made. I should have at least grabbed my purse with my passport and wallet. But shock dulled my ability to think straight.
“Now I’m certain your future husband fucked up bad,” Forrest says, as if he’s the all-seeing, all-knowing oracle.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “You are not a coward. If he had chickened out and decided he couldn’t go through with it, you would have at least insisted on having a reception. No need for all the money to go to waste. You’d have held your head high.”
We’ve only just met. How is it possible he knows me so well?
“You’ve no doubt been taught to put up with a lot.”
Wide-eyed, I stare at him.
He shrugs. In answer to my unasked question, he says, “You didn’t want to shake my hand, yet you hesitated, searching for a polite way to refuse me.”
Beneath the table, I knit my nervous hands together to keep them still.
“Etiquette classes starting when you were eight or nine?”
“Five.”Why did I admit that?
“Which means something unspeakable happened in order for you to feel as if your best —or only option was to run.”
Which would be a good idea in this situation also, but I can’t bring myself to do that.