Romantically Entangled

Chapter 31

Bey

If looks could kill, I would have died right there at Virginia Cooke's Thanksgiving table.

I thought my old man was good at freezing people out. But he had nothing on Nicki's grandma.

It felt like the blood in my veins turned to ice the moment she realized who I was.

"You're Matthew Knowles' daughter?" she snarled. "Matthew Knowles of Bootstrap Enterprises?"

I'd just shoved a forkful of turkey and stuffing into my mouth, and I almost choked as she glared at me like I was a rodent scurrying across the floor.

When I managed to nod in response to her question, I half-expected her to throw me out right then and there.

I think Nicki did, too.

Nicki's face turned red, and she glared at her grandmother so ferociously I almost laughed. I've never seen her that angry.

The irony is that the two are almost mirror images of each other. They have the same features, the same coloring. Even some of their mannerisms are the same.

Truth is, Nicki looks like a softer, younger version of Virginia Cooke.

Much softer and much younger. But still. The resemblance is remarkable.

I plan to keep that particular observation to myself, though. Nicki would probably kill me if I said that to her.

I'm sneaking up to her room from the downstairs guest room, trying to find spots where the old wooden stairs don't creak loud enough to wake the dead.

I didn't have the guts to just brazenly share a room with Nicki at the ranch.

Not with her grandmother, father, and brother all staring after us when we said good night a couple of hours ago.

So here I am, sneaking around like a horny teenager.

A cranky meow startles me, and I have to grab the railing to keep from tumbling over.

It's Virginia's standoffish Siamese. The cat's eerie blue eyes flash at me as he rushes through my legs and down the hall.

Virginia's room is the closest to the top of the stairs. It would be my luck to wake her while I'm trying to slip into her granddaughter's bed.

The woman's probably got a hit man on speed dial. If I was smart, I'd be running for my life right now.

But I'm not smart. I'm in love.

And not even Virginia Cooke is going to chase me away.

Munchie—no doubt hearing the cat—starts barking from Nicki's room.

"Shit!" I mutter, scrambling the rest of the way to her door.

"Munchie!" I whisper as I ease the door closed. "Be qu—"

But the words die on my lips.

Because all my mind—and my suddenly raging cock—can focus on is the gloriously naked girl sitting on the canopy bed in front of me, the flames from the room's fireplace throwing flickering shadows on her skin.

She's smiling. She's obviously been waiting for me.

She shakes her hair, and it cascades over her shoulder, over one breast.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Every once in a while, I seem to step out of myself, like those near-death experiences you hear about where somebody's spirit rises up out of their body and lingers, watching what's going on.