Page 78 of Finding Peace
Chapter twenty-three
Jasper
Abbielaughedwhenthefive of us walked outside and she spotted the limo in the driveway.
“This is ridiculous,” she’d said, shaking her head as she smiled wide.
“Damn right it is,” I told her. “We’re riding to Billings in style.”
And maybe… maybe I had ulterior motives.
Maybe I wanted privacy.
Maybe, if I were lucky, I’d be able to see her stretched out across the leather seats in that dress.
And lucky me… none of the guys fought me on it when I suggested it a week ago. Well, I knew Beau wouldn’t have—I’m more referring to grumpy one and two.
Fifteen minutes into our drive I see the nerves start to take hold of Abigail.
She’s sitting between Beau and me, with Lincoln across from us, and Lawson beside him. Lawson and Lincoln are nursing another glass of whiskey, while Beau and I opted for a glass of bourbon, and Abigail’s glass of white wine sits untouched in her fingers.
She hasn’t taken a single sip.
Instead, she keeps smoothing her hand down the slit of her dress.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Fingertips tracing the edge of the green silk, like she’s trying to make sure it’s lying just right.
As if there could be anything wrong with it, because,fuck… that dress.
It shouldn’t be legal how good she looks in that dress.
The deep emerald fabric hugs her chest in a way that makes me fucking ache. And the slit along the side runs high enough that every time she shifts I catch a glimpse of her smooth thigh—since the second I saw her I’ve had the unyielding urge to bend down and bite it.
She looks like something out of a goddamn fantasy.
I have never—and I mean not once in my entire life—been prouder to have a woman on my arm than I will be tonight walking into that gala with her.
Which is exactly why I know she’s scared.
Because she’s asked us at least a dozen times if we were sure. If we werecomfortable. If we understand what it’ll look like when we show up together.
All five of us.
This isn’t the life my sister leads. We’re not in New York City. We’re not billionaires, we’re not—well, I’m still not exactly sure what they do besides that but that’s neither here nor there. And we’re not like her friend Harper and her mafia boyfriends either.Yeah, you heard me… mafia.
My point is, we’re just four well-off cowboys, running a ranch, in the middle of Montana. This isn’t something you see every day. And around here, it probably won’t be wildly accepted.
And yet… none of us give a fuck.
But we know she does.
Which is exactly why the four of us discussed how we would handle this before tonight.
We agreed on one thing… she sets the pace when we’re in public.
