Will I be able to simply stand by when she decides to walk away?
Twenty-Four
Alexander
The North Industries charity event is our company’s yearly attempt to prove that we’re not just rich assholes, we’re charitable rich assholes.
All of the wealthiest people in New York will be there, and I’ll be forced to do more socializing in one night than I do during the entire year combined. Usually, I’d have a paid escort on my arm. She’d hold a college degree in a field related to civil engineering or design, and I would bank on her carrying the bulk of the conversations as well as dazzling the room with her beauty.
Jordan will have no problem turning every head in the room. But I fear that the majority of the conversations will fall on my shoulders, and with my track record, this could end up disastrous.
I’ve just slipped on my dress shoes when I get an incoming text from Murphy, saying he’s downstairs whenever we’re ready. I knock on the bathroom door.
“I’m almost ready,” Jordan calls from the other side.
I slip on my coat and tug at the collar of my shirt in an attempt to loosen my bowtie. I manage to loosen it a millimeter when the bathroom door opens. I lift my eyes to the mirror to see her reflection as she steps into the bedroom behind me.
Her ice-blue gown is held to her body by two thin straps and pours like liquid silk over her curves.
I turn around, staring unabashedly at the gentle dip of her neckline, which exposes just enough cleavage to drive a man crazy with lust. She turns around, and those thin little strips crisscross at her back, which looks soft and gloriously bare. Her long hair is wavy and wrapped in a loose bundle at the base of her neck, leaving some pieces free to fall against her neck and frame her face.
“You’re so pretty,” I say, mostly to myself, but her cheeks turn pink as if she heard me.
Her high heels click against the marble floor, calling my attention to feet that look nearly barefoot except for the tiny silver strap across her toes and ankle. She stops in front of me, and I watch her gray eyes as they study me. I resist the urge to squirm under her intense appraisal.
“You look pretty, too,” she says and leans in to press a soft kiss to my lips.
I hardly have the wherewithal to kiss her back, stunned by her beauty.
She cups my jaw and swipes at my lips. “Lipstick.”
I open my mouth to speak but slam my teeth closed, afraid it might be inappropriate to say what’s on my mind. That I wouldn’t mind wearing her lipstick on my skin—my jaw, neck, and collar. If I tell her I’d walk around proudly with the evidence of her lips on me, would she think that’s weird? The visual of her lipstick stains on my skin sends a surge of lust through me. I clear my throat. “We should get going.”
She puts her hand into the crook of my arm. “Lead the way.”
I watch her the entire ride down the elevator and can’t take my eyes off her as we walk through the lobby. The staff greet her with enthusiasm and compliment her on how lovely she looks. If I weren’t so enraptured myself, I’d tell them all to keep their damn eyes to themselves, but the spell she’s cast over us all is undeniable.
“Ms. Wilder,” Murphy says as he opens the back door of the Land Rover. “You look stunning.” He bows his head respectfully as if to keep from staring.
“Thank you.” She takes his offered hand and slides into the car.
“You do too, sir,” he says to me with a playful smirk.
I slide into the backseat and make sure I’m close enough to Jordan that we’re touching. If I don’t touch her, I feel like I might explode. I put my hand on her thigh, and she covers my hand with hers and squeezes reassuringly.
“What do I need to know for tonight?”
“That there is a very good chance we won’t make it to dinner because I’m dying to fuck you in that dress.”
The shock in her eyes makes me want to punch myself for saying the first thing that came to my mind. I’m about to apologize when she leans closer and presses a kiss on my neck just behind my ear. “You keep talking like that,” she whispers hotly against my skin, “and we’ll never make it out of this car.” She nips at my earlobe, sending a full-body shiver up my spine.
With a feral growl, I take her lips in a long, hot kiss. The sound of Murphy clearing his throat breaks the kiss, but we stay close, blood pumping and breathing hard.
“What is it, Murphy,” I bite out harshly.
“There’s a red carpet entrance, sir.”
I understand what he’s saying without actually saying it. There will be press the moment we pull up to the venue and photos in the paper tomorrow. So maybe we shouldn’t rip each other’s clothes off quite yet. “Thank you.”
“Unless you’d rather me drop you in the back.” He’s right to assume that as an option. For most events, I prefer a less public entrance. Fewer rumors and assumptions.
“No.” I want to be seen with Jordan. She’s not a dirty secret I need to hide.
She swipes lipstick from my mouth and then reapplies her own. “Is there anything I need to know before I walk into this place tonight?”
“It’s all schmoozing and hero worship. You can get through any situation by kissing ass. Big egos love a good stroke.”
She sucks air through her teeth. “I’m not very good at that.”
“No, you’re not. Which I anticipate will be very entertaining.”
“Hey!” She rocks into my side. “Don’t let me piss off someone important.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” When she doesn’t come back with some smartass comment, I look to her and find her grinning warmly. “What?”
“I like it when you smile.”
I take stock of my expression and force myself to frown. “I didn’t realize I was.”
“I know. That’s what I like the most.”
Hudson was right, I’m a lucky son of a bitch. Jordan sees the good in me and hardly notices the bad. I’ve lost my temper and said hurtful things, and yet she still looks at me as if I’m the only man she sees. She doesn’t care about my money or take advantage of my status. She really is the perfect woman. But I’m far from the perfect man.
My pulse speeds, and I turn away from her to look out the window while trying to calm down. Thankfully, minutes later, we pull up to the grand staircase at The Met.
A red carpet is roped off and held to both the right and left of the carpet are swarms of photographers.
“Holy shit,” Jordan breathes. “It’s like the Oscars.”
I cringe as I watch the couple in the vehicle in front of us get blinded by a million flashbulbs. I really hate this shit.
Our door opens, and I take Jordan’s hand and pull her from the car. With my eyes forward, I walk quickly on the carpet to the stairs—
“Grizzly, hold on,” she says softly.
I stop, and she pulls her wrist from my grip to squeeze in beside me. “Let them get a few shots,” she says through a toothy smile.
“Why?”
She leans in so close I can feel her breath against my ear. “Because they have bills to pay.” Her hand slides into the crook of my arm, and she turns us both toward the flashing lights.