Chapter 4 4

Eyes drifted over her face, and when he had had enough, they dropped lower. The dress she was wearing was one that she was particularly proud of, the way it made her breasts look, and she was certain that Jason was enjoying the view. India wasn't a prude by any means, but his gaze felt different than most men. The skin exposed by the dress felt hot, like this was her first time being the center of attention of a handsome man.

"I guess you'll do." He continued after a few seconds of silence.

Leaning back in her chair, India narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't spoken to your father?" He asked in a bored tone, finally taking his eyes off her to scan the room.

A deep, heavy sense of dread dropped into the pit of her stomach. Keeping her face neutral, she feigned the same boredom as Jason presented. "I don't care to speak to my father." At this, his eyes darted back to hers. "Now, if you don't mind, I was trying to enjoy my dinner, but the longer you sit here, the less I can stomach."

One side of his mouth tipped up. A smirk. Amusement dripping off his face. "Cute."

Annoyance flooded her system. With a sigh, she said, "Is there a point to this?"

The smirk turned into a full-blown grin, and her heart stuttered. She despised the thing.

"Just thought we should meet." He ended up saying, "Though how our paths never strayed to one another, baffles me."

They both knew exactly why they stayed away from each other. The eyes of their spectators grew hot, and she hated it. There was no way for her to control this narrative. Rumors would fly around the city tomorrow, articles would be written, and India would have little to no say over it. It had been a long time since that had happened.

"Of course," he drawled on, "why would the innocent, saint-like, Whiskey Heiress spend her days with-"

"The playboy billionaire of Kingstown?"

His eyes flashed at the moniker India used. That's what the tabloids called him in all their headlines. They seemed right. Jason was usually out every week or so with a different woman. Now, there was nothing wrong with that; India'd had her fair share of both men and women - some even publicly. But she did note the way he disliked the nickname.

A corner of her lips tipped upwards, "You know, I'm not sure I've ever heard innocent or saint-like before..." His intense gaze sent a wave of warmth up her chest and neck. "Maybe beautiful, outspoken, graceful-"

"Bitchy." He suggested.

"Occasionally." She shrugged, "When you've got last names like ours, you get called much worse." Elbows on the table, India leaned forward, "But you know that... You also know exactly why we've never bothered with each other."

His left hand came up, wiping at the edge of his bottom lip with his thumb, her eyes glued to the act, "I think it's too bad. We could've had our fun."

She snorted in response, sipping at her wine, "I am no man's conquest."

A spark of anger flashed in those green irises, "For someone who knows how the gossip mill works, you sure have developed quite the opinion of me based on absolutely nothing but what they print in the papers."

"So, you don't fuck all those women you flaunt around like show ponies?" He didn't answer, but India noticed how his jaw flexed. "But you're mistaken. I don't bother reading about your affairs. All I have to do is listen. People love to talk about you, you know."

He hummed, low and gravelly, reaching his hand out to feel the stem of her wine glass. India's eyes followed the slow movements of his index finger and thumb, gliding up and down. His fingers were long and delicious, and once again, she hated her mind for going to the filthy places that flittered through her thoughts.

Her eyes caught on his knuckles, jolting her out of lustful dreams. Bruised, red, with small cuts littering his skin. A reminder of what his family was. And hers.

"Some of us aren't lucky enough to curate our images to the public or feed fake stories to the press to distract from the bad." Jason picked up her wine, holding it in front of his face, swirling the contents.

"It's nothing to do with luck." She told him, "Maybe I'm just smarter than you."

At this, he breathed out a laugh, a shadow of a dimple on his cheek, "Maybe."

"Or maybe," India leaned forward, holding his heavy gaze, "Your little act of playboy is the distraction. Why would anyone bother looking too deep for a scandal when you're a walking rumor mill?"

Electricity charged between them. She was certain that she had it right. His reputation was nothing more than a ploy to distract everyone from the real scandals the Glover clan had. A sense of triumph flooded her, a small, knowing smile developing on her lips.

And then he brought the rim of the glass to his lips. Directly on top of the lipstick stain she had left on it. Deep berry-red met his bottom lip, and flashes of the real thing entered her mind. Her eyebrow twitched, and her smile dropped.

When he was done, he placed the glass back on the table near her. Their eyes connected as he wiped off the remnants of her lipstick. His lips were a dark shade of pink, full and soft-looking.

Leaning back in Wren's former chair, a faint smile appeared on his lips. She wondered what he would look like with a real smile. His voice brought her back to reality, "Well, it was lovely meeting the famous India Mendez."

"I'm sure it was."

An eyebrow raised in her direction, "Maybe next time you won't give me so much attitude."

She held her chin higher, "Don't count on it, Glover."

"There she is." He muttered under his breath, amusement clear in his eyes. With a shake of his head, he finally stood up, straightening his suit jacket. Gold cuff-links gleamed in the light, bringing her attention back to those hands. She kept her face forward, reaching for the wine, as he moved.

Just as the glass touched her lips, she felt his fingertips graze over her neck and watched as his large hand landed on the table beside her. She froze, spine stiffening. He was behind her, tucking her hair behind her ear. A puff of hot air fanned down her neck and chest, and she fought the need to close her eyes. A cross tattoo in the soft spot of his hand between his thumb and index finger mocked her.

Then he was right there, whispering in her ear, "You should speak with your father. We'll be seeing each other very soon, Miss Mendez."