by HELEN HARDT
After dessert—chocolate mousse cake—is served and the auction winners are announced, the lights dim, a disco ball descends, and neon illuminates the dance floor. A live band takes the stage.
“Selfie!” Tessa yells.
The new lighting makes our complexions glow. I’m not a huge fan of the night life, but this is a nice little perk. Everyone looks gorgeous now. I pull out my phone and take a quick photo of us.
I smile. We do look hot. I post to Instagram, tagging Tessa and our location. My few followers may as well think I have a life. It’s all a mirage, but they don’t need to know that.
We amble to the bar and order drinks. I’m not driving, so I allow myself two more for the evening. I order another Wild Turkey while Tessa, lover of all froufrou drinks, chooses a banana daiquiri.
We turn away from the bar to face the dance floor.
“Now what?” I say.
“We drink, of course. Maybe do some dancing. Lighten up, Skye. It’s not like this is your first time at a club.”
“We’re not at a club,” I remind her. “We’re at the Ames Hotel for a charity event. A black-tie charity event.”
Tessa shakes her head. “Semantics, dahling.” She looks gorgeous, her black hair and tan skin perfect with the red dress she’s wearing. Her mother is Mexican, and the band is playing a lot of Latin music, which Tessa loves.
Someone else notices her already. A handsome dark-haired man approaches us, zeroing in on her.
“Care to dance?” he asks.
“Sure.” Her face lights up into a dazzling smile. “Watch my drink, Skye.”
I nod.
This is my usual job at clubs and, apparently, charity events—watching Tessa’s drink while she dances the night away. I can’t leave the table or someone might take her drink. Fun time. I sip my bourbon, take out my phone again, and delete several questionable comments from Addie’s post. Then I look at my own post. I look good tonight. My hair is curled and falls around my shoulders in loose waves. Tessa’s black dress hugs my body, showing off my boobs. My brown eyes seem to sparkle in this fabulous lighting. I’m not gorgeous in the same way Tessa is, but I’m pretty, and I have a damned good body. As usual, Tessa’s getting more attention. She always does, and I’m happy for her, but why aren’t men flocking to me, too? Probably because, as Tessa’s told me many times, my attitude is akin to having “I’m the boss” tattooed on my forehead.
While I’m staring at the post, I get a like from Tessa’s sister, Eva. One so far. If I were Addison, I’d have about a thousand by now.
I put the phone away and take another sip of my drink. To my astonishment, it’s gone. I need to pace myself a little better. I take a quick sip of Tessa’s daiquiri. Ugh! Way too sweet. I turn toward the bar and motion to the bartender. “Another Wild Turkey, please.”
I’ll drink it slowly. Very slowly. But I need to have something to do. I can’t just stand here staring blankly at the dance floor. I have to do something with my hands. Hence, the drink.
He delivers the drink, and I take a sip. Then another.
Tessa finally returns, wiping her brow. “Garrett can really move!” She picks up her daiquiri and downs quite a bit of it. It’s probably mostly sugar and juice anyway.
“Ready to go?” I say.
She laughs. “Good one, Skye.”
Yeah, I’m not kidding.
“Finish your drink,” she says. “We need to get out there. This music is great.”
“But I—”
“No excuses, babe. Just down it.”
I down it like a shot. Not my usual MO, but I can handle two drinks after a big dinner. No big deal. We head to the dance floor. I’m not the world’s best dancer, but I can hold my own. I’m feeling pretty confident at the moment, having two Wild Turkeys under my belt.
Garrett and a friend join us, and we dance as a foursome through the next four numbers.
“Sorry, I need a break,” I say.
“Need a drink?” Garrett’s friend asks.
Before I can tell him no, he grabs my hand and leads me to the bar.
“I need a Guinness Draft and…” He lifts his eyebrows at me.
“Wild Turkey, right?” the bartender says.
“I don’t—”
“Right,” the friend says, throwing some bills in the tip jar.
So I’m on my third drink after dinner. Not a big deal. “What’s your name?” I ask my companion.
“What?”
Exactly why I don’t like the night life. The band is loud, and I can’t hear myself think. “What’s your name?” I ask again, louder.
“Peter. You?”
“Skye.”
“Nice to meet you.” He hands me my drink.
Peter is brown-haired with hazel eyes. He’s very handsome in an almost pretty way, muscled, but a slighter build than Braden.
And why am I thinking about Braden? I have a good-looking guy who seems nice right in front of me, and he just got me a drink.
Screw Braden. I take a sip of my third Wild Turkey, still determined to go slowly.
“What do you do, Peter?”
“What?”
This is getting old. “What do you do?” Louder.
“I’m an architect. I work for my father, also an architect. You?”
“I work for Addison Ames.”
“The heiress?”
“Yeah. I’m her personal assistant, but I’m really a photographer at heart. That’s what I want to do full-time eventually.”
“What?”
I repeat myself. Loudly.
“Cool,” he says.
Okay, we’ve effectively run out of things to talk about.
“You want to dance again?” I ask.
“Sure.” He grabs my hand and then appears to change his mind. “I’m sweating. You want to get some fresh air first?”
I’m about to respond when someone else answers.
“No, she does not.”
Chapter Seventeen
Braden fucking Black.
He’s here. At this event. Wearing a black tux and looking like he stepped right off the runway and into GQ.
All the other men here are wearing tuxedos, but I feel like I never saw a tux in my life until this moment.
Braden Black in a tux is something to behold. Something unique and one of a kind, like the Mona Lisa or Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Keeping you from getting yourself into trouble.”
I want to be angry with him. I am, in fact. Except all I can think of is how amazing he looks standing next to Peter. Peter’s a nice-looking guy, but no contest.
Peter goes rigid next to me. Is that a spark of recognition in his eye? “Nice meeting you, Skye,” he says, turning.
“Wait! Aren’t we going to dance?”
“Another time.” He disappears onto the dance floor.
“Come with me.” Braden pulls me out of the ballroom, through the hallway, to the hotel lobby. My heels clack on the marble floor as I run to keep up with his long strides.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from sneaking into someone else’s bed.”
“Seriously?” I huff.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I’m not drunk. I never get drunk. And I can sleep with whomever I want. How did you find me anyway?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Instagram.”
Right. My selfie with Tessa, and Braden now is following me because I confirmed his request.
“I’m going back in,” I say.
“Not without me.”
“Do you even have a ticket to this event?”
“Do you think I need a ticket?”
/> I shake my head. Pointless question. He probably made a six-figure donation at the door. “Fine, come along, then. I can’t leave Tessa in there alone.”
“Tessa’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“Interesting take. Tessa’s my age, Braden, and you obviously don’t think I can take care of myself.”
“Not true. I didn’t show up because you can’t take care of yourself. I showed up to keep you out of someone else’s bed.”
I shake my head, even though my body responds to his attempt to control me. “You’re unbelievable. What makes you think I’d end up in someone’s bed?”
“Look at you. You’re beautiful with a killer body. Damn, that dress…”
I tap my foot and scoff. “Please…”
“Do you really not see yourself the way I see you?” He cups my cheek. “Your hair is the color of roasted chestnuts, your eyes the warmest brown I’ve ever seen. Your skin is like the richest cream, and God, Skye, your mouth…” He inhales. “Your lips are pink and plump and heart-shaped, and fuck, I can’t leave them alone. I’ve never seen a mouth like yours. The way your lips are always slightly parted drives me wild.”
His description catches me off guard. Does he truly see me like that? I’m attractive, yes, but he makes me sound like something truly special. Electricity darts between my legs. I want to melt into him, but I hold my ground.
“You’re acting like I was in there gyrating for ten-dollar bills in my panties. It’s a hotel charity event for MADD, Braden, not a strip club.”
“That dress—”
“Isn’t even mine. It’s my friend’s.”
“It can’t look anywhere near as good on her as it does on you.” His voice cracks a little.
Wow. Braden’s voice cracks. Actually cracks. What can he be thinking? Maybe that he shouldn’t have kicked me out of his bed? That’s what he should be thinking.
I swallow. “I need to go back in.”
“Why? Dancing? You want to go dancing? I’ll take you dancing. Be sure to wear that amazing dress.”
“I told you, it’s not—”
“Your dress,” he finishes for me. “It should be. It was made for you.”
My nipples tighten and push against my bra while heat pulses through me. I want to be angry at Braden. Really.
“What are you doing here anyway?” he asks.
“Addie gave me the tickets.”
“Of course,” he says. “Addie. I should have seen her fingerprints all over this.”
“So what? I got the tickets, and I wanted to go out with my friend.”
“Like I said, I’ll take you dancing.”
“I don’t want to go dancing,” I say.
“What do you want, then?”
To go to your place. Back to your bed. Back to the most heavenly experience of my life.
Control.
“I want to go back inside. My friend will be worried.”
“If I take you back inside, the men will be all over you.”
“Braden, one guy was paying attention to me. One. And you scared him off.”
“He’s not good enough for you.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Neither do you.”
“Of course I do. He’s an architect.” My knowledge ends there, but Braden doesn’t need to know that.
“You’re wrong, Skye. I do know him. That’s Peter Reardon, and his father is Beau Reardon of Reardon Brothers Architecture. His friend is Garrett Ramirez, also an architect with the company. Beau is trying to get the contract on my new building.”
I wrench my arm out of his grasp—it takes all my mental strength because I really want him touching me. “What are you saying? That the two of them are paying attention to us because of you?”
“I’m not saying that at all.”
“Sounds like it from where I’m standing.”
“Not at all. They didn’t know you were with me before—but now they do. They’re playboys. I guarantee you they both have two things on their minds tonight. That contract—which probably means a huge bonus from Daddy—and getting laid. I’ll let you guess which one is foremost in their minds on a Saturday night.”
“Interesting. What do you have on your mind tonight, Braden?”
His lips turn slightly upward, but his gaze remains shadowy. “Not a contract.”
I stifle a tremble. I’m wet. So wet. I can feel it almost pooling in my panties. But I hold my ground. “I’m going back in.”
“Fine. I’m going with you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Braden follows me back to the ballroom. I strut in and head for our table.
Tessa runs toward me, nearly knocking over a server and her tray full of drinks. “Skye, are you all right? Peter said—” Her eyes morph to circles when she realizes who’s standing behind me. “It is you.”
I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
Tessa regains her composure and lifts her lips in a dazzling smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Braden holds out his hand. “Braden Black.”
“Braden, this is Tessa Logan, my best friend.”
“It’s an honor, Mr. Black.” Tessa flutters her ridiculously long eyelashes as she shakes his hand.
Tessa’s a huge flirt. She’ll never go after a guy I’m interested in, but her flirting has a mind of its own. She can’t turn it off.
“Call me Braden. Any friend of Skye’s.” He turns to me as if he’s not at all affected by Tessa’s beauty or by the beauty of all the other women at the event. “Drink?”
“I’ve had enough, thanks.”
“You?” He nods to Tessa.
“I’d love another banana daiquiri,” she says coyly.
“Done. I’ll be back.” He heads to the bar.
“Okay, let me have it,” I say to Tessa.
“Have what?”
“The grand inquisition.”
“What’s wrong with you? He’s fabulous. He’s even better-looking in person than in professional photos. You’re one lucky woman, Skye.”
“I can’t believe he showed up here.”
“Maybe he’s just late,” she says.
I shake my head. “He saw my Instagram post.”
Her eyes widen back into circles. “No way. He saw that post and came here because you’re here? That’s great!”
“Is it? It’s not a little… I don’t know. Creepy? Like in a stalkerish way?”
She laughs. “He can stalk me anytime.”
“For God’s sake, I’m serious, Tess.”
“So am I. Until he boils a rabbit in your kitchen, I say go for it.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You know I’m kidding. Besides, he doesn’t strike me as the stalker type. Plus, the tabloids follow his every move. If he had stalker tendencies, we’d know by now.”
Braden pushes through the crowd carrying three drinks and not spilling a drop.
“One banana daiquiri.” He hands the canary-yellow drink to Tessa.
“Thanks so much.” A grin splits her face.
“I took the liberty of getting you Wild Turkey in case you changed your mind.” He hands me a glass.
“I didn’t.”
“Great. Then two for me. Follow me. I’ve got a much better table.”
“I’m sure being Braden Black has its perks,” I say dryly.
Braden lowers his head and softly blows my hair out of the way, his hot breath making me shiver. “Being with Braden Black also has its perks.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tessa takes a long sip of her banana daquiri and then heads back to the dance floor, much to my chagrin. I both do and don’t want to be alone with Braden. This Push Me Pull You game is getting exhausting.
&nb
sp; Braden takes a drink and then slides his tongue across his bottom lip. Does he have any idea how sexy that is? How much it makes me want him?
“Did you notice how Peter Reardon made a quick getaway when I showed up?”
“Yeah. I’d have to be blind to have missed it.”
“You said I thought he was hanging around you because of me,” Braden said, “but that’s not what I thought, and that’s not why.”
“Oh?”
“He was pursuing you because you’re sexy as hell, Skye.”
I gulped, warming.
“He made a quick getaway because when he saw me stake my claim—”
I cross my legs slowly. “Excuse me? Stake your claim?”
“You think that was a bad choice of words?”
“I do. I’m not something you can plant your flag on. I’m a person, Braden.”
“A very intriguing person,” he says. “At any rate, when he saw that I was interested—are those words better?”
I nod.
“He put the contract ahead of bedding you. Which is fine by me.”
It’s fine by me as well, but I’m not about to admit that to Braden. I have no interest in Peter Reardon. He seems nice enough and he’s attractive, but only one man holds my interest at the moment—the man sitting next to me.
“I see,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Sure you don’t want a drink?” He nods to the second Wild Turkey sitting on the table.
“I’m good. Thanks.” Though another drink would relax me. I long for relaxation, but I long just as much for control.
Control wins.
This time.
Tessa comes back to the table and sits down. Though she still looks great, perspiration is emerging at her brow line. “This band is fantastic, but I need a break. Care to accompany me to the little girls’ room, Skye?”