Caprice, however, remained unruffled by Damon’s displeasure. She merely took a sip of her drink before offering her brother a lazy smirk. “You wouldn’t, would you? Not since you’ve stopped taking my calls.” She gestured at the woman beside her. “Renata invited me.”

Which brought Micah to the people he didn’t recognize.

“Hello, love,” the woman said, taking the free seat on the other side of Damon, but not before pressing a kiss to the man’s cheek, leaving a little red smudge of lipstick behind.

Micah’s eye did not twitch at the action.

And he didn’t care at all when the tall, leggy woman with loose, black curls cascading down her back, mysterious dark eyes, and a pair of tits so perky Micah was pretty sure he would have popped a boner if he wasn’t as gay as gay can be – this “Renata” person – offered Damon a tumbler full of amber liquor. “I got you a whiskey. They had your favorite.”

It wasn’t any of Micah’s business how this gorgeous woman knew Damon… even if she apparently knew him well enough to know his favorite brand of whiskey – something Micah had no clue about.

“Well, don’t be rude,” Caprice demanded when Damon didn’t immediately drag his glare away from his sister to greet the other woman. “Thank Renata for the drink.”

Micah didn’t know how Caprice withstood the heat of Damon’s glare – lots of practice, probably.

After a moment, he turned to Renata, his gaze immediately softening. “Thanks, Renata. That was considerate of you.” He took the proffered whiskey.

Micah’s stomach did not twist with something akin to jealousy at all.

So why did his insides untangle when Damon returned his eyes to Micah. “Would you like anything from the bar?”

It was a complicated question. As tempted as Micah was to guzzle whatever alcohol he could get his hands on to ease the tension he could feel building in his shoulders, he didn’t want Damon fetching him a drink and leaving him with these people.

Sure, the middle-aged couple that took the last of the table’s seats didn’t seem so bad – they appeared content to let whatever drama was unfolding before their eyes finish before introducing themselves – but besides them (and Damon, obviously), Micah didn’t think a single other person wanted him there.

Luckily, a waitress strode past just in time to solve his dilemma. “Excuse me, Miss, but do you have any-” Micah cut himself off, glancing around at what everyone else was drinking. “Do you have any wine?”

“What kind of wine would you like?” the woman asked.

“Red is fine.”

The woman frowned, a confused wrinkle appearing on her forehead. “Yes,” she said, making sure to keep her voice carefully neutral, “but what kind of red, sir?”