Rille (Tribes, Book 2)

Chapter 8

"Are you rich? Like, for real?" Brielle asked the question of Preston, but her eyes never left the grandeur in front of her.

Located on the top floor, this restaurant sported crystal on all tables, chandeliers for light, and a spacious layout that said they weren't hurting for customers. Lou would have scoffed at the mention of such a place. Whereas, Preston seemed at ease.

She could chalk it up to Preston's self-confidence—which was, in fact, through the roof—but that didn't seem like the whole story.

Preston's lips turned up in that amused grin that Brielle was coming to hate. Mischief makers had never been her cup of tea.

"What if I am?" Preston threw back at her.

Brielle sniffed, her chin lifting higher in defiance. "Then I hate you even more."

Preston's brows lifted, then settled back where they belonged. "What's the logic for that one?"

"Maybe there is no logic. Haven't you heard? Women are unreasonable."

"Ah, so you're jealous."

How did he manage to pinpoint the heart of the matter—on everything—before Brielle had even gathered her thoughts? What kind of sick intuition did he possess? He couldn't read minds, right?

Thinking she should test that, Brielle scoffed at him. "Why would I be jealous of you?"

"It's perfectly normal. After all, everyone seeks to be rich. I have good news, though." Preston leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Brielle's hair and caressing her cheek. "My wealth is yours."

Brielle planted a hand against his shoulder and gave a shove. Of course, it didn't move him an inch. So she shoved harder.

A sharp pain on her shoulder forced her to stop. Brielle winced, realizing she had probably overdone it. She had forgotten about the healing mating mark. Her fingers reached up to touch it.

Preston caught her hand, his smile falling into an expression much more serious. "What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

"It wouldn't if you would just move when I push you."

"I can't do anything about how strong I am."

Brielle twisted her wrist until he let her go. "Show off."

"Is it hurting? What kind of pain?" Preston shook his head as if berating himself, but his hand still lifted toward Brielle's shoulder. "Let me see."

Brielle swatted at his hand, taking a step back as she did so. "We are in a restaurant, my good sir. Can you keep your hands to yourself?"

"This isn't a come-on, it's medical attentiveness. Let me see."

"It's fine. It only hurt because I pushed you too hard." Brielle swatted at his hand again. "Stop it."

Preston caught her wrist and gave the slightest tug. Brielle came stumbling two steps toward him, her eyes going wide and her lips opening to say something scathing.

"Your condition is my top priority right now." Preston glared down at her, not in a threatening way but rather in an I'm-done-with-your-crap kind of way. "I will incapacitate you if I have to."

Brielle arched her brows. "Oh, really? How?"

"There are so many ways."

"All of which will make a scene."

"I don't care." The grin came back, this time a little more evil than before. "The question is, do you care?"

Brielle knew he had won the fight. Heck, he knew that Brielle knew that he had won.