Chapter 4 4

Jason's eyes dragged slowly over her face, then dropped to her body-lingering. India knew this dress looked good on her. The cut, the way it hugged her chest-it was one of her favourites. But the way he looked at her? It was different. It wasn't sleazy or shy-it was intense, almost too much. Her skin prickled under his gaze, heat rushing to the surface like this was the first time a man had really seen her.

Then he said it-flat, careless:

"I guess you'll do."

India leaned back, eyes narrowing.

"Excuse me?"

He didn't look at her. Just scanned the room like she bored him.

"You haven't spoken to your father?"

Something cold settled in her gut. She kept her face unreadable.

"I don't make a habit of talking to people I don't respect."

That made him look at her again. Their eyes locked.

"Now," she added coolly, "if you're done staring, I'd like to finish my dinner. But the longer you're here, the more my appetite dies."

His lip curled into a smirk, eyes gleaming.

"Cute."

Her jaw tightened.

"Is there a reason you're here, or just here to be annoying?"

That smirk turned into a grin-sharp, knowing, infuriating.

And damn it, her heart skipped anyway.

She hated that grin.

"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. Rumours 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 Whisky 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 and 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 rumour 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 cufflinks 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."