“Good.”
Awareness flushed through me at the hint of possessiveness in his voice.
A stray strand of hair slipped from my updo and wisped around my face. I’d been so thrown off by Christian’s early arrival I’d forgotten to set it with more hairspray.
Luckily, it was one of those styles that looked better the messier it was, but a strange current kept my lips sealed and my body taut when Christian lifted his hand to tuck the stray hair behind my ear.
The movement was languorous, his touch whisper-light, but my nipples peaked at the soft graze of his skin against my cheek. Hard, sensitive, begging for an ounce of the same attention.
I wasn’t wearing a bra.
Christian stilled. His attention honed in on my body’s reaction to his simple touch, and I would’ve been horrified had I not been so distracted by the ache blooming in my core.
Whiskey and flames ignited in those striking eyes.
His hand remained by my cheek, but his attention touched me everywhere—my face, my breasts, my stomach and achingly sensitive clit. It left a trail of fire so scorching I half expected my dress to disintegrate.
“Careful, Stella.” His low warning pulsed between my legs. “I’m not the gentleman you think I am.”
Images of crumpled silk and discarded suits, rough words and rougher touches, flashed through my mind. The products of instinct, not experience.
My reply fought its way past my dry throat. “I don’t think you’re a gentleman at all.”
A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “Smart girl.”
He leaned back and lowered his hand at the same time he turned his head to look out the window. The streets of D.C. whizzed by, but all I could focus on was the warm, possessive weight on my leg.
Christian’s hand rested on my thigh almost carelessly, like it was the natural home for his touch and not something he’d planned.
My dress’s slit bared most of my right leg, and the sight of his strong, tanned hand against my exposed skin did nothing to alleviate the liquid pressure coiled in my stomach.
But the longer I stared, the more my lustful haze faded, replaced by aesthetic instinct.
Emerald silk. Black suit. Cufflinks and an expensive watch that glinted in the dying rays of sunlight.
The perfect, effortless photo of a couple’s night out.
Before I could second guess myself, I raised my phone and snapped the picture.
I snuck a peek at Christian. He stared out the window, his profile flawless against the glass. If he knew I’d taken the photo, he didn’t show it.
Then again, I hadn’t captured his face, so it wasn’t against our terms.
I finally summoned the courage to post when the car stopped in front of the Smithsonian.
Date night with my love <3
I hesitated at the my love part of the caption before I pressed the share button.
If I was doing this, I might as well go all in. My boyfriend didn’t have the same ring as my love.
“You ready?” Christian asked as the driver opened the back door.
I tucked my phone into my purse. Ten seconds and my notifications were already blowing up, but I would deal with them later.
I had a gala to attend.
I took his hand and pasted on a smile.
Cool, calm, collected.
“Absolutely.”
It was show time.
8
CHRISTIAN
Black had always been my favorite color.
Silent. Deadly. Impenetrable.
I felt at home in it, like shadows merging with the inky wells of night.
Yet in the span of a second, she’d upended that as she had every other thing in my life.
Heat poured through my blood as Stella walked in front of me and slowly turned, taking in the lavish decor. The museum’s long-running elephant display served as a thirteen-foot-tall centerpiece while projections of marine life danced on the walls, giving the illusion that we were underwater. Black-clad servers circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a stage sat at the far side of the room, waiting for the host to climb on and congratulate everyone on how much money they’d raised at the end of the night.
The seats for this event were eight thousand dollars a pop.
I’d spent more than that on her dress, and it’d been worth every cent.
“This is beautiful,” Stella breathed, her attention resting on something behind me.
Green eyes. Green dress. Symbolic of life and nature.
Green.
Apparently, it was my new favorite fucking color.
“Yes, it is.” I didn’t turn to see what she was so enraptured by, nor did I pay attention to the curious stares people sent our way.
I hadn’t been spotted with a woman on my arm in over a year. By tomorrow morning, the city would be abuzz about the date I’d brought, but I couldn’t care less.
From the moment Stella had stepped into her living room wearing that damn dress, every other thought had crumbled into dust.
A soft flame of resentment burned in my chest. I hated the hold she had on me, but still, I couldn’t stop looking at her.
A turn of my head in the car ride over.
A last-minute flight to a far-flung country to keep myself away.
Scattered weeks and months when I’d thrown myself into work to forget her.
No matter what I did, something always drew me back—the gentle lilt of her voice, the scent of fresh florals and greenery. A turquoise ring that burned a hole in my pocket long after I’d vowed to toss it in the trash.
It wasn’t love. But it was maddening.
Stella’s gaze slid over to meet mine. A soft exhale parted her lips at whatever she saw on my face, and the urge to push her against the wall, fist her hair, and coax her mouth open until I claimed it completely ignited in my chest.
Tension twisted between us like an invisible rope, so tangible I felt its abrasive scrape as it snaked around my chest.
The moment stretched a second into eternity before Stella averted her gaze.
Her knuckles turned white around her clutch, but her voice was calm and even when she spoke again.
“You never told me what the event is for.” She avoided my eyes as she looked around the room again. “Ocean conservation?”
The stranglehold around my chest had loosened, but the release left me oddly dissatisfied.
“Close. Baby turtles.”
My mouth tipped up when her head whipped around.
My answer eroded some of the earlier tension, and Stella’s grip on her purse visibly loosened.
“I didn’t figure you for a turtle lover, Mr. Harper. What’s next? Feeding ducks? Adopting puppies?”
Her playful questions coaxed a wider smile from me. “Don’t hold your breath. I watched a lot of Franklin growing up.”
Her face glowed with laughter. “Ah, that explains it. I was an Arthur girl myself.”
I filed that away for future reference. There were no unimportant details when it came to Stella.
“Aardvarks are underappreciated, but sadly, they’re not a pet cause for Richard Wyatt’s wife. No pun intended,” I added.
A knowing gleam entered her eyes. “I assume Richard Wyatt is important to your business. Potential client?”
I hid another smile at how quickly she pieced it together. “Yes. Big private equity guy, big money, looking for a new security team. His wife is his weakness.”