Desire Collection: August 2017 Books 1 - 4. Rachel Bailey

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       Ten

      Linc stood in front of the glass case holding Connor’s alexandrite ring, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Around him, the rich and elite of Manhattan, and a few dozen other cities, drank French champagne and popped dainty canapés into mouths filled with perfect teeth.

      Sage’s edgy, interesting, modern collection was a roaring success, and the Ballantyne collection of rare precious gemstones was going to be talked about for a long time to come. Amy had volunteered to babysit Shaw and Ellie, and when he’d checked in with her ten minutes ago, both kids were asleep.

      For the first time in, well, ages, he was having fun, and that was only because Tate was with him, sharing her pithy observations about his guests. She looked exquisite in a deep red lace dress. The high-waisted bodice was accented with a rose-printed lace, velvet strips and crystals. She’d found the dress in a vintage shop in SoHo, she’d told him, but Linc was more interested in the slight swell of her breasts peeking out from the neckline, her creamy shoulders and the smooth leg the thigh-high slit in the dress occasionally revealed.

      She was beautiful, Linc thought, looking across the room to where Tate stood, talking to a tall, black-haired man who had his back to him. The man turned, and Linc saw his distinctive profile... Tyce Latimore, Sage’s ex. Linc looked around the room to find his sister and saw her by the bar, talking to Reame. He’d once hoped that something would spark between Reame and Sage, but it never had; Reame treated Sage like a sister.

      Linc turned his attention back to Tate and narrowed his eyes when Latimore placed his hand on Tate’s back to guide her to the bar. His protective instincts revving in the red zone—there was vibe to Latimore that made Linc think that there was something unbridled and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth veneer—Linc pushed his way through the crowd to reach the bar. Sage, seeing Latimore’s approach, slid off her seat and sauntered away, her ex’s gaze following her, his expression benign but his eyes blazing. When he reached the bar, Linc pulled Tate to his side and gave Latimore a hands-off-or-I’ll-beat-the-crap-out-of-you look.

      Latimore just lifted a dark eyebrow and smiled sardonically before holding out his hand for Linc to shake.

      Linc shook his hand but deliberately kept a frown on his face. “Are you messing with my sister, Latimore?”

      “Since she’s currently not talking to me, and hasn’t for a couple of months, that’s not a feasible assumption,” Tyce replied, his voice deep and dark. Linc thought he saw sadness flash in his eyes but dismissed the thought; the Korean French American was far too much of a player to be fazed that his sister was ignoring him.

      “My warning still stands. You hurt Sage again and the three of us will take you apart.” Linc pushed the words out through gritted teeth.

      Linc heard and ignored Tate’s surprised gasp. Tyce held his stare but banged his whiskey glass on the counter of the bar, and when he spoke, his words were bitter. “Yeah, you Ballantynes are such freakin’ paragons. Have you ever considered that she might have hurt me, that one of yours might have hurt one of mine? You don’t have the monopoly on family and loyalty, Ballantyne.”

      Latimore released a muttered curse and held his hand up. “Forget I said that.” He fixed a smile onto his face, but Linc noticed that it didn’t reach his deep brown, almost-black eyes. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Tate. I hope we do so again.”

      “Not damn likely,” Linc muttered.

      Latimore flashed him a disparaging smile before Tyce’s attention was caught by movement at the door. Linc followed his gaze and saw his sister, in a midnight blue ball gown, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. As if she knew that Tyce was looking at her, she lifted her head, and their eyes clashed and held. Linc’s eyes bounced from his sister to Latimore and back again, slightly uncomfortable at seeing the blazing attraction and undisguised lust on Sage’s face.

      Oh, God, she looked at Latimore like he did at Tate, like the thrill of riding the lightning bolt was worth ending up as a charred crisp.

      “Holy smokes,” Tate breathed, lifting her hand to fan her face. “That’s some intense sexual attraction.”

      Linc signaled to the bartender for another glass of whiskey before frowning down at Tate. “Please do not mention sexual attraction and my sister in the same sentence,” he growled.

      “She’s all grown-up.” Tate pointed out the obvious, and his frown deepened.

      “Not helping, honey.” Linc nodded his thanks at the bartender and took a fortifying sip of his drink. Staring down into the liquid that was the same color as Tate’s eyes, he shook his head. “God, that’s going to end badly.”

      “Tyce and Sage?” Tate clarified.