The Nymph King Read Online Free

(she was guessing) found her too abrupt and quickly retreated.
    When will this end? I just want to go home. But the line had stopped moving, prolonging her torment. Grrr. She glanced up. A man had claimed his dessert, but hadn’t stepped out of the way. Instead he watched her, studied her.
    â€œCan I help you?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll take a little slice of you if you’re serving it,” he replied, balancing the plate in one hand and swirling his champagne with the other. His green eyes twinkled with merriment.
    He wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a loosened black bow tie, and formfitting black slacks. His sandy hair was perfectly cut, not a strand out of place. A groomsman, she recalled.
    â€œSir, you’re holding up the line.” She forced a hard tone and severe expression as she returned to slicing cake and scooping it onto plates. She’d learned at an early age that it was best to keep people at a distance from the very first. And if she had to make them hate her to do so, so be it, because she could not allow herself the slightest inkling of softer emotion, the very thing that led to disappointment, rejection and heartbreak. “Move. Now.”
    The man didn’t walk away as she’d hoped. “I think perhaps I need to—”
    â€œShaye, darling,” her mother called airily. The expensive scent of her perfume wafted from her, blending with the aroma of sugar and spice as she floated to Shaye’s side. “I’m so glad you’ve met your new stepbrother, Preston.”
    Stepbrother? Not another one. Showed exactly how much contact Shaye had had with her mom these past few years. She hadn’t known that groom number six had children. Actually, she hadn’t even met her newest daddy until an hour before the wedding.
    Shaye glanced at Preston. “I’ve never played well with others,” she said to smooth the edge of her earlier rudeness. But that was it, nothing more.
    â€œSo I hear,” he said, chuckling.
    He was even more handsome when he laughed like that. Looking away, she gathered two plates and passed them to the people behind him. “It was nice meeting you, Preston, but I really need to finish serving the guests.”
    The band chose that moment to break into a soft, romantic ballad. Preston still didn’t take the hint and move away. “I never thought I’d say this, but would you like to dance with me, little sister? After you’re finished here, of course.”
    She opened her mouth to say no, but no sound emerged. She wanted to say yes, Shaye realized. Even though her stepbrothers and sisters changed more frequently than her clothing and she’d most likely never see this man again, she wanted to say yes. Not because she was attracted to Preston or anything like that, but because he represented everything she’d always denied herself. And need to keep denying yourself. Safer that way.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Just…no.” Once again she turned her attention to the cake.
    Her mother uttered a strained laugh. “There’s no reason to be rude, Shaye. One dance won’t kill you.”
    â€œI said no, Mother.”
    There was a heavy pause, then, “You,” her mom said, voice suddenly hard. She pointed to one of the other horrendously clad bridesmaids. “Take over the cake. Shaye, come with me.”
    Strong fingers curled around Shaye’s wrist. A second later she was being dragged out of the reception tent to the edge of the beach. Here we go again. … She sighed. This always happened. Whenever she and her mom were forced to share the same space, Tamara alwayserupted, and Shaye always left reminded of what a disappointment she was.
    God, I don’t need this. Sand squished between her sandaled toes as a warm, salty breeze wrapped itself around her, swishing her grass skirt over her knees. Slivers of ethereal moonlight illuminated their path. Waves