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I’m proud of myself. I only stuck my hand up her skirt once in the car. When I felt satin, I knew I needed to stop before I reached the point of no return. And end up back at my place.
I tried to pick a smaller restaurant, one where the paparazzi rarely hang out waiting for their next victim. Except, as soon as we arrive, there’s a gathering of people. I drop my head when I notice the flickers in the glass coming off their cameras.
“Shit.”
She leans over me to look out the window. “What’s wrong?”
If she thought random people taking pictures of us at the airport or on the streets when shopping was awkward, she’s in for a rude awakening.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Pete asks.
The people all wait, their fingers on the shutter-release button of their cameras, to see who exits the car.
“It’s okay, Ryker. I know this is part of your world. I can handle it.”
She thinks she can. But she has no idea.
These people are soul suckers.
Demanding something that will push you until you see red. They crave reaction. And will spin it however it meets their needs.
“Say nothing,” I command. “Just hold on to me. Tight.”
She nods in understanding. Opening the door, the minute of silence, where the vultures assess their prey, gives me just enough time to pull her out and lead her to the entrance. Her hand tight in mine, squeezes tighter as a camera is shoved in our personal space.
“What’s her name?”
“Did you find her on vacation?”
“Is your head going to be in the game this weekend?”
They toss question after question at me as I usher her toward the door. Glancing over at Aspen to make sure she’s okay, I'm relieved when her smile grows and she winks. She’s a rock star taking this in stride, not at all rattled.
I can’t help but answer the last question. “I’ll be ready to win,” I say to the guy, pulling Aspen into my side. Hell, if they’re going to make up shit, I might as well give them something. Bree will love this.
When I lean in, Aspen’s expression flashes with confusion until I press my lips against hers. Lips still warm from the heat of the car, I kiss her hard. Possessive. Devouring her taste like I’ve been deprived of her. My need pours fire into the kiss and I finish with both of us gasping for air.
I hadn’t planned on that kiss.
“Damn, you’ve got me so wound up,” I murmur as we walk in. Cheers fade with the closing of the door.
“You have a habit of doing the same to me,” she says, touching her swollen lips.
The maître’d takes our coats and his eyes skim over Aspen’s body. The tinge of jealousy in my chest builds and I weave my fingers in with hers, pulling her in closer to my side. She knowingly glances up with a smirk.
“What?” I shrug a shoulder. She’s mine and if any asshole needs to be checked, I’ll be glad to remind him.
“Your jealousy is cute.”
No, it’s surprising.
Beautiful women have stood by my side before, but I’ve wanted people to look at them with envy and lust. They were a prop more than an emotional attachment. I’m an asshole.
But Aspen’s different.
I don’t want anyone to imagine themselves with her by their side. It’s not happening. Ever.
“Ryker Dallas.” A voice bellows from a table as we’re being shown to ours. I stop and glance over.
