glared.
"Uh-oh," Ashlin murmured. "Miranda's got this thing for your brother and it’s making her a little crazy."
"Gotcha. We'll make our escape now," he said. "Steele, let's hit the road—"
"What's your problem?" Miranda eyeballed Steele, almost standing toe to toe with him. "You don't want to stick around and party so don't judge those of us who do."
"Hey, I didn't say a word." Steele held up his hands in surrender, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
"You didn't have to." Miranda pointed at his face. "That smug expression says it all."
Wyatt glanced at Ashlin, who was smiling, enjoying the show as much as him.
Steele shrugged. "Maybe I've got something to be smug about?"
"Like what?" Miranda frowned; it did little to detract from the brunette's beauty. She might be small and feisty, but Wyatt guessed she'd have guys falling at her feet.
By his brother's mutinous expression, Steele wouldn’t be one of them.
Steele leaned in close. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
To Wyatt's surprise, Miranda blushed. With her fieriness, he didn't expect her to embarrass easily.
"I think you're all talk." Miranda folded her arms, giving her cleavage a nice boost in the process. And by Steele's sharp intake of breath, he'd noticed.
"And I think you're full of it, but hey, I'm not going to hold that against you," Steele said, doffing an imaginary cap. "Now if you'll excuse me, my lady, I've got more important things to do than trade meaningless banter."
Miranda puffed up like an outraged bullfrog. "You rude assho—"
"Come on, Miranda, there's a cocktail over there with our name on it," Ashlin said, dragging Miranda away, mouthing 'sorry' to Steele and Wyatt over her shoulder.
"See you soon, sweetheart ," Steele called out to Miranda's retreating back.
Miranda flipped him the bird without looking back.
"What is it with you two?" Wyatt pointed at Miranda. "You barely know each other yet you carry on like an old married couple."
"She’s got the hots for me." A bashful grin stole across Steele's face. "What's a guy to do?"
Wyatt laughed. "Come on. Let's go get a beer."
They'd made it as far as the door when Christopher stepped in front of them, effectively barring their exit.
"Hey, Son."
Wyatt felt his jaw almost hit the floor. Christopher never called him ‘Son’. Ever. The fact he did it for the first time in front of Steele, his firstborn? Huge gaff. Massive.
"Christopher." Wyatt managed a curt nod, not daring to glance at Steele, considering he could feel the tension radiating off him. "Kurt said you weren't invited so what are you doing here?"
"I came to see my sons. All of them." Christopher wasn't looking at him, his somber gaze fixed on Steele. "Good to see you, Son."
"Don't you dare call me that," Steele said, his tone a low hiss as he stepped forward, in Christopher's face. "Don't you fucking dare."
Taken aback, Christopher glanced at Wyatt for help. Yeah, like that would happen.
Christopher refocused on Steele and cleared his throat. "Look, Son, I'm sorry—"
"Stick your lousy apology up your arse." Steele leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching Christopher's. "You've had years to apologize to me and Zane. Yet you choose our first meeting to be at a fucking party?" He sneered, tension making his body vibrate. "You have no right to call me your son and you never will. So don't come near me again. Got it?"
Steele shoved passed a gaping Christopher and half jogged down the hall leading to the ballroom's foyer.
"You shouldn't have come," Wyatt said, almost feeling sorry for his father. Almost. "Steele's right. This wasn't the time or place."
"I needed to see him." Christopher blinked rapidly, his voice a husky croak. "It's been so long…"
"Why is that?" Wyatt quashed his momentary sympathy. Christopher was a master manipulator and his current show of emotion could be just that: a show.
"I made a mistake." Christopher gazed at Steele, a blip in the distance as he pushed through the building's front
"Uh-oh," Ashlin murmured. "Miranda's got this thing for your brother and it’s making her a little crazy."
"Gotcha. We'll make our escape now," he said. "Steele, let's hit the road—"
"What's your problem?" Miranda eyeballed Steele, almost standing toe to toe with him. "You don't want to stick around and party so don't judge those of us who do."
"Hey, I didn't say a word." Steele held up his hands in surrender, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
"You didn't have to." Miranda pointed at his face. "That smug expression says it all."
Wyatt glanced at Ashlin, who was smiling, enjoying the show as much as him.
Steele shrugged. "Maybe I've got something to be smug about?"
"Like what?" Miranda frowned; it did little to detract from the brunette's beauty. She might be small and feisty, but Wyatt guessed she'd have guys falling at her feet.
By his brother's mutinous expression, Steele wouldn’t be one of them.
Steele leaned in close. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
To Wyatt's surprise, Miranda blushed. With her fieriness, he didn't expect her to embarrass easily.
"I think you're all talk." Miranda folded her arms, giving her cleavage a nice boost in the process. And by Steele's sharp intake of breath, he'd noticed.
"And I think you're full of it, but hey, I'm not going to hold that against you," Steele said, doffing an imaginary cap. "Now if you'll excuse me, my lady, I've got more important things to do than trade meaningless banter."
Miranda puffed up like an outraged bullfrog. "You rude assho—"
"Come on, Miranda, there's a cocktail over there with our name on it," Ashlin said, dragging Miranda away, mouthing 'sorry' to Steele and Wyatt over her shoulder.
"See you soon, sweetheart ," Steele called out to Miranda's retreating back.
Miranda flipped him the bird without looking back.
"What is it with you two?" Wyatt pointed at Miranda. "You barely know each other yet you carry on like an old married couple."
"She’s got the hots for me." A bashful grin stole across Steele's face. "What's a guy to do?"
Wyatt laughed. "Come on. Let's go get a beer."
They'd made it as far as the door when Christopher stepped in front of them, effectively barring their exit.
"Hey, Son."
Wyatt felt his jaw almost hit the floor. Christopher never called him ‘Son’. Ever. The fact he did it for the first time in front of Steele, his firstborn? Huge gaff. Massive.
"Christopher." Wyatt managed a curt nod, not daring to glance at Steele, considering he could feel the tension radiating off him. "Kurt said you weren't invited so what are you doing here?"
"I came to see my sons. All of them." Christopher wasn't looking at him, his somber gaze fixed on Steele. "Good to see you, Son."
"Don't you dare call me that," Steele said, his tone a low hiss as he stepped forward, in Christopher's face. "Don't you fucking dare."
Taken aback, Christopher glanced at Wyatt for help. Yeah, like that would happen.
Christopher refocused on Steele and cleared his throat. "Look, Son, I'm sorry—"
"Stick your lousy apology up your arse." Steele leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching Christopher's. "You've had years to apologize to me and Zane. Yet you choose our first meeting to be at a fucking party?" He sneered, tension making his body vibrate. "You have no right to call me your son and you never will. So don't come near me again. Got it?"
Steele shoved passed a gaping Christopher and half jogged down the hall leading to the ballroom's foyer.
"You shouldn't have come," Wyatt said, almost feeling sorry for his father. Almost. "Steele's right. This wasn't the time or place."
"I needed to see him." Christopher blinked rapidly, his voice a husky croak. "It's been so long…"
"Why is that?" Wyatt quashed his momentary sympathy. Christopher was a master manipulator and his current show of emotion could be just that: a show.
"I made a mistake." Christopher gazed at Steele, a blip in the distance as he pushed through the building's front
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