Chapter 12

TWELVE

Mina

I just met Collin and Harlow West. I'm in their house. I'm drinking their booze and holding hands with their son. And I just stood in front of them and had the most awkward conversation of my life like it was no big deal.

Me in my red dress and heels and them in jeans.

How is this real?

Nathan and I each down a drink at the bar while side-eyeing each other, order another, then find our way back to the clump of cousins he never actually introduced me to. I hold out my hand to a pretty redhead with a smile that lights up the room. She wears a loose-fitting, sleeveless linen blouse in a soothing pastel pink. Paired with high-waisted shorts in a light floral pattern, the outfit exudes both style and comfort—and makes me look downright slutty in comparison.

"I'm sorry," I say, with a pointed glance Nathan's way. "I didn't catch your name."

"Angela Cooper, at your service. I'm Nathan's oldest cousin."

"But only by a day!" A tall man with a military-straight spine bumps her shoulder. Strength and confidence emanate from him and a head of dark, neatly cropped hair complements his chiseled features. His piercing gaze and well-defined jawline speak to a determined and disciplined spirit.

"I'm Nick Hutton, Nathan's second oldest cousin," he says to me. "But only by a day," he reiterates, giving Angela a playful grin.

With a physique that belongs on a fitness inspiration video, Nick carries himself with authority. Despite his rugged exterior, his friendly demeanor and warm smile make me feel like we've known each other for years. How is it that Nathan's entire family feels like sunshine while he's…him?

"Nick's always felt like being born second meant he had something to prove. Hence his dedication to the Marine Corps and all that protecting freedom nonsense. Micah Hutton, by the way." A tall man with dark, tousled hair offers his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Says the firefighter." Nick scoffs then rolls his eyes, leaning close to whisper conspiratorially, "If you ask me, he's the one trying to prove something."

"My dad's a Marine," I blurt, before I remember Dad's not a story for strangers. "Or, he was…"

Nick crosses beefy arms over a proud chest. "I wouldn't say that around him. They say ‘once a Marine, always a Marine' for a reason."

"My dad is the exception that proves the rule. He was injured in the line of duty?—"

"So was my dad!" Angela grins like we just discovered we're long-lost sisters, then points to a striking man across the room. Broad shoulders. Imposing presence. The man has military written all over him. "He still has shrapnel in his hip," continues Angela. "The airports love him! He was clinically dead for a couple minutes, but then he met my mom, and she brought him back to life."

"I think the doctors had more to do with that part," quips Nick.

"There's a difference between surviving and living, thank you very much." Angela rolls her eyes and takes a long drink. "Mom is the one who actually brought him back to life."

"My dad never really recovered. I mean, his body healed, but his mind…" I shrug, wondering how to bring the conversation back to safer ground. "He was medically discharged then made it two more years before he hit the skids and left me and my mom to fend for ourselves."

I try to present the information like it has no weight. Like it's a piece of data and nothing more. But I still hear my parents fighting in those awful years leading up to his disappearance.

"My mother raised me alone," I continue, going for nonchalant and failing, "working crazy hours to make sure I had the life she thought I deserved. I mean, right up until I was old enough to get a job, then I insisted she let me contribute, much to her dismay." I swallow a lump in my throat and force a smile. "And now I'm doing everything I can to return the favor."

Everyone bobs their heads in that way that means I've wandered out of comfortable small talk and fallen into too much detail. I wonder how they'd react if they knew that when I said I'd do everything I can for Mom, that includes pretending to date their cousin.

Nathan stares for a long moment, his dark eyes bouncing across my face like he's seeing something he didn't expect. Hopefully, he'll take the conversational ball and give me time to remove these stupid feet from my mouth.

Alas. I should know better than to expect help from a villain. All he seems capable of doing is glaring. At me. His cousins. His drink. Just a ray of sunshine, that one.

"But that's enough of that," I say, giving Nathan a withering look. "I didn't embarrass myself too badly with your parents, did I? I mean, considering I can sing every one of their songs…"

"Do you sing?" asks Angela.

"Badly." I chuckle. "I've heard babies who sound better than me. And cats."

"Speaking of kids and music," Micah says, swatting Nathan on the arm. "Nell said she saw you at the talent show this afternoon."

Wait…

This afternoon? That was the super important meeting he couldn't miss? A talent show?

Nathan glares at the spot his cousin hit and arches an annoyed eyebrow. "One of my kids was performing."

Micah pulls his lips into an exaggerated frown. "I didn't know you got that involved with your students."

Across the room, someone laughs loudly, then turns up the music. I want to hush them because I don't want to miss one word of this explanation. Nathan West, The Prince of Darkness, has students? There are people who actually let him near their children?

"I usually don't," Nathan says. "But this guy is incredibly talented and has the worst self-esteem. He started to panic and was going to pull out of the show. He texted me for help. What was I gonna do? Leave him high and dry?"

"That's so you." Angela beams with nothing short of adoration. "You're always the one who drops everything to take care of the world."

That's so him?

We know very different versions of Nathan West.

"You were at a talent show this afternoon?" I ask, incredulously.

"Yeah." Nathan frowns, eyeing me like he wants to beam information into my brain. "You know. I told you about Ricky. He's in my guitar class at the foundation?"

So much to digest.

Nathan plays the guitar…

He shares his knowledge with underprivileged kids…

He makes house calls when they're nervous…

And here I pegged him as one of those guys who hates all things creative and growls at passing children. I stare at the man across from me, trying to fit this new puzzle piece into the image I've built. He's rude. He exploits small infractions like an accidental text message for big financial gains. He's willing to fake a relationship and lie to his family rather than make better choices.

And he's a role model?

I guess even villains have a tender side.

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Ricky." I clear my throat and search for words that might form an actual sentence. "Of course I know all about Ricky. How could I have forgotten Ricky?"

"Nell said he was really good." Micah gives me a funny look, probably because he's wondering how many more times I'll say the name Ricky. "You must be doing something right."

Nathan holds out his hands and feigns shock. "You all heard it, right? Someone mark the calendar. Micah actually gave someone else credit for doing a good job."

"Uncle Nator Tot!" A little girl with golden blond hair bounds up to the group and leaps onto Nathan's back. He grunts, then twists back and forth, waving his arms like he's trying to brush her off.

"What the…?" He spins wildly, then stops, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "Is there something on my back?" he asks me, his eyes gleaming, his smile wide and toothy and absolutely stunning.

Look at me, breathless again.

Wow. I mean, just, wow.

The little girl giggles, burying her face in his neck. "There's no kids here and I'm bored. Will you play with me? Grandma says there's strawberry ice cream, just for us."

"Strawberry ice cream just for us?" Nathan asks excitedly, pivoting back and forth like he's looking for something. "Where? Point me to it!"

The girl digs her heels into his side, pointing to a table set up on the other side of the room. "That way, Cap'n!"

Dear God. Ovaries have exploded. Cuteness overload disabling common sense. Stop me before I do something stupid. Desperately, Mina Blake.

"That's enough, Nell," says Micah. "Hop off Uncle Nathan and let him say hi to everyone before you commandeer him for the evening."

"Nell Bell?" Nathan cranes his neck to meet the giggling girl's eyes. "Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" She slides off his back, then stands in front of him, her little chin lifted. "You knowed it was me the whole time."

"Maybe," he says with a grin, then shakes his head as Nell skips away and disappears in the crowd.

"So that's my daughter," Micah says to me before turning to his cousins. "She's desperate for a cousin or seven, if any of you would like to get on that it would be very helpful."

The group chuckles and cracks a few more jokes while I acclimate to a Nathan who doesn't feel like The Prince of Darkness.

"I'm gonna finish saying hello to everyone," he says, during a lull in conversation. "So Mina can meet the whole crew."

We say our goodbyes and make our way around the room. He introduces me to so many people I'm dizzy with names and faces. Dinner is delicious, the cake is huge, and damn if the smile on Nathan's face when he blows out the candles feels like sunshine. We sing. We eat. We help ourselves to cocktails from the bar.

And then, we dance.

Nathan's arms are draped around my waist, his eyes locked on mine. I'd almost buy that he adored me if I didn't know the truth. And if I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind being adored by the man I met tonight. I don't know which version of him is real. The grumpy rich asshole who charges obscene amounts of money for a favor? Or the man giving piggyback rides to his niece and making house calls to nervous students because he's the guy who drops everything to save the world?

"You are uncomfortably good at this," I say with a sigh.

"At what?"

"Pretending to like me."

He cocks his head and grins like I said something to melt his heart. "I'll admit, it's taking more energy than I thought it would."

Of course, then he says things like that and I remember everything about tonight is an illusion. Grumpy rich assholes can be good with kids and awful with everyone else.

Nathan's hands slip lower on my back, almost brushing my ass for the third time since this song started playing.

"Touch my butt one more time. Go ahead. I dare you," I say, pressing my cheek to his chest.

"It's a great ass."

"It's an off-limits ass."

"You didn't have to wear a thong."

I pull back, my brows lifted into twin stop signs. "I see. You're one of those men."

Nathan slides his hands a few inches towards safety. "And what kind of man do you think I am?"

"One who blames a woman's clothing for his lack of self-control. A proud member of the ‘she asked for it' crew."

He stops in his tracks. "A man is responsible for his actions. Always." His eyes are intense as they hold mine and there's a flicker of something dancing in my belly.

Something that feels like we're having a moment.

And I'm not interested in having moments with Nathan West.

So, I do the only reasonable thing. I slide myself back into his arms, press my body against his, then take both his butt cheeks in my hands and squeeze.

He jumps. Yelps. Then pulls back and now it's his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just in case what you said was bullshit, I thought you'd like a turn at feeling objectified."

Nathan shakes his head and laughs lightly.

"What was that?" I ask, dropping my jaw in astonishment.

"What was what?"

"That sound you just made."

"I didn't make a sound."

"You did. From anyone else, I'd say it was laughter, but I didn't know The Prince of Darkness knew how to do that."

"Very funny," Nathan replies in a voice lacking the sarcastic edge I've come to know and hate.

"You should do that more. It's, uh, well it's very appealing." A blush burns across my cheeks. Did I really say that? Out loud?

"I'll take that under advisement." His gaze slips over my shoulder, and when his eyes meet mine, there's a spark of something I don't have a name for. "My cousins are staring."

"Good?"

"Just warning you what's about to happen." Nathan reaches for me, lightly drawing his finger down the side of my face and along my neckline. His touch is gentle yet electric, sending shockwaves through every inch of my body. His fingers whisper across my skin, lower, lower, until they rest just above the swell of my breasts.

I'm shocked.

I'm speechless.

I should be outraged, no, I am outraged but I'm hypnotized as he moves closer, then closer still. Our lips are almost touching. My senses captured. I'm surrounded by the scent of sandalwood and whisky and the musk of his skin. Surprisingly, I don't hate it. I don't hate it at all.

Eyes on my mouth, he tilts his head and thank God for small miracles, I snap out of whatever spell he's cast on me before I allow him to do something we'll both regret. I am so not ready to be kissed by The Prince of Darkness.

I turn my face and press my cheek to his chest, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and holding him close while I catch my breath…

Only I can't.

Not with his dick thickening, lengthening, and pressing against me, a long line of warmth neither of us can ignore.

No matter how much we might want to.

Nathan dances us into a dark corner, out of the middle of the room, then steps back. We stare for several long moments, my chest heaving, his eyes heavy and hooded and filled with something that sets my heart racing.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I had a lot to drink."

"Me too." I swallow hard. "I mean, obviously that's the only way something…like that…would happen." I glance pointedly at his crotch, which sends my libido into a happy dance of expectation, then drag my focus back to his face. I thought that would be safer ground, but it's not. The heat in his gaze threatens to light me ablaze.

Nathan frowns. His jaw tightens. Brows furrow. "Obviously," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen, I?—"

"Wilhelmina!" booms a familiar voice. "You are the last person I expected to see in Nathan's arms. After our conversation this morning?" I turn to see Mason Channing, drink in hand, sunshine engaged.

It might be the first time I'm not happy to see him.

"You know I'm just plain Mina," I say, hoping I don't sound as discombobulated as I feel.

"Not in that dress." Mason flares his hands like the statement is obvious. "So, which is it? My cousin's an asshole? Or you're dating?"

"Both," I say with a shaky laugh and a glance at Nathan, whose face is maddeningly unreadable.

After tonight, I know one thing for sure:

I don't know the real Nathan West.