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Ronan turns away from the event planner he’s liaising with and shoots his packmate a loaded look. “Declan, we talked about this.”
It doesn’t surprise me that our pack alpha has laid out individual expectations for all of us. He spent all of breakfast holding me in his lap and going over every last detail with me, wanting me to feel prepared.
And I should.
I know this is the annual gala for the Ash Trust, which funds all the philanthropies the guys’ support. Each has their own cause within the umbrella of Ronan’s inherited wealth, and this event is their best opportunity to get pledges from other donors.
I wasn’t shocked to hear that Declan routinely wins the most funding. Of course, everyone wants to back the most famous player on the team. And, of course, he would have a shitty attitude about the whole thing despite the undeserved generosity.
Ass.
His cause is probably some stupid bullshit like research on erectile dysfunction. Or surgical enhancements for cheerleaders.
I channel my frustration into forced confidence, standing up straight and flashing a smile. “I’m ready.”
The asshole extraordinaire rolls his shoulders back, jaw ticking. “Then let’s get this over with.”
He offers his arm without glancing at me. I sigh and loop mine though it, resisting the urge to pinch him.
This was my idea, too, I remind myself. If the guys really want to make a statement about courting me, I know there’s only one way to get all the thirsty women to take me seriously; I have to walk in on the arm of the group’s best-known, most-unobtainable member.
I smooth my black-gloved hand down the wispy fabric of my gown, wishing I’d let Ronan call in professional hair and make-up for me. Then, maybe, I’d look like I belong next to this man.
The others crowd around us, each making final adjustments to their own appearances. For a second, I have to swallow down the urge to whine. I know this is polite society and all, but I hate that I can’t scent them properly here, with a truckload of neutralizers in the air and each of us carefully covered in de-scenter.
“You have to look like you like me, remember?”
Declan’s mutter refocuses me. I tilt my head and offer him a blinding, fake smile, hissing through my teeth. “Better?”
His nostrils flare as his eyes slide over my front, from the deep-V of my gown to the black pearls fastened at my blank throat. They land on my painted red lips. “You’ll do,” he grumbles.
Ronan thwacks the back of Declan’s skull. Theo chortles while Archer reaches for my free hand and weaves our fingers together. I offer him a much more genuine smile that he returns with pure warmth.
“You look perfect, Meg.”
I try to replay those words in my head as we move down the ballroom staircase and step onto the polished floor. The room seems to turn on its axis, reorienting around us. There’s a short hush before the guests break into uproarious applause.
I truly do smile, then. Seeing these amazing guys get credit for all their brilliance and hard work gives me a giddy rush. Archer’s lips graze my cheekbone while Theo steps up behind me, snaking his hand around my side.
Camera flashes erupt on three sides. One second, I’m trying to decide where to look—and the next I’m spinning, falling into a dip as fluid as every other move Declan Howard makes.
He catches me in his opposite arm, his magazine-worthy grin more blinding than the flashes filling the air. I only get half a breath into my lungs before he bends to take my lips, completely stealing the rest of my air when I gasp.
His mouth moves against mine, insistent.
Dare I say… desperate?
He kisses me like he’s been waiting a hundred years to do it, and he’ll only get this one opportunity.
Is it possible he… wants to kiss me? That seems impossible, given the way he acts, but heat trickles into my core either way. My silk-covered fingers slide against his lapels, looking for purchase. Wanting to pull him closer for some insane reason I’d rather not examine too closely.
The crowd goes wild. And I realize—oh.
This isn’t about me. He wants their money. Their approval.
I’m nothing more than a prop for him right now.
Our first kiss—gone. Lost to this room of strangers, rabid for gossip.
