Shiloh slumps back against the door and blinks those big eyes at me. “Whoa.”

“Told you so.” I press a quick kiss to her lips, but I can read the doubt clouding her face well enough to know not to press the situation now. I smooth my thumb over her skin, but my lipstick is everywhere. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But—” She closes her eyes and exhales slowly. “Right. You’re right. Our ride will be here soon.”

I grab some paper towels and stick them beneath the faucet. Shiloh starts to reach for them, but I shake my head. “Let me.” Though I expect her to argue, she holds perfectly still as I clean up the worst of it. Without some soap or makeup remover, I can’t fully get rid of the red staining her mouth and neck, but I’m good with that. I like seeing my mark on her, even one so temporary as this. My mouth is just as much a loss cause. No one looking at us will have any doubt about what we’ve been up to.

Good.

Except it doesn’t really feel like a plot coming together as we stare at each other. I wasn’t thinking about anything but making her come…and now I want to do it again as soon as humanly possible.

Patience. I can exhibit some patience. In theory.

So, instead, of kissing Shiloh again, I reach around her body and pull the door open. “Let’s go.”

I wasn’t thinking beyond getting into her pants after that second shot. I really wasn’t. But when we walk out of the bathroom, the first thing I see is Broderick fucking Paine standing at the bar. His gaze swings to us, jumping from my mouth to Shiloh’s and then to her neck. The control in his expression flickers, and the true fury he directs my way makes my pussy clench.

“Oh fuck,” Shiloh whispers.

Chapter 6

Broderick

I’m going to kill her.

I still can barely believe my eyes, but the signs don’t lie. That’s Monroe’s lipstick on Shiloh’s mouth, hastily cleaned up. And her neck. Their clothes might not be out of place, but from their tangled hair and flushed skin, they were just fucking in the bathroom.

Jealousy, hot and scalding, nearly takes me out. Easier to focus on the anger. Easier to let rage flow through me than to examine the fact that I’m not entirely jealous of just Monroe. Did Shiloh take off Monroe’s ridiculous pants and eat her pussy? Did Monroe slip her hand into Shiloh’s jeans and finger her clit?

No. Damn it. No.