AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Fabulous. Bring it on,’ she said, trying to sound confident and bold, despite the knots in her stomach.
At least the low-grade nausea of the last few days had faded after her catatonic-like sleep on his plane. She’d had a solid six hours to add to the ten hours in Italy the night before. She still didn’t feel entirely herself, but she felt better than she had when she’d agreed to this charade—give or take the odd heart bump and the hot pulse in her abdomen every time she was near her fake date.
Although this arrangement didn’t feel particularly fake any more.
Especially after she had woken up on the plane to find him carrying her to bed with that watchful expression on his face.
He had been staring at her the same way ever since his car had picked her up at the stylist’s ten minutes ago—as if he were assessing her well-being.
‘We don’t have to stay long. I’ve booked you a suite at the hotel the event is at for tonight,’ he added. ‘Then we fly to the West Coast tomorrow.’
‘Thanks,’ she managed.
She hadn’t seen him since they’d landed at JFK four hours ago. After disembarking, she’d been whisked off to a private beauty therapist’s—where she had been primped to within an inch of her life—and then the stylist’s, where a selection of her designs had been waiting for her.
‘And thanks for getting my wardrobe shipped over in time for tonight,’ she added.
‘It was part of our deal,’ he said simply.
True, so why did it feel like more?
Cade Landry was a take-charge, demanding guy who got things done—and his competence was as sexy as the way he filled out a tuxedo. But why did this situation suddenly feel so overwhelming?
He’d thought of everything in preparation to present her as his date at this event—and establish their status as a couple.
It’s about the bet, Charley. Remember that.
She smoothed her palms down her gown. The sky-blue tulle and chiffon creation was a prototype she had been working on for months. The exposure it would get Trouble Maker at a statement party like this one was going to be invaluable.
Surely that was why she was nervous? After all, she had once revelled in showing off for the media—back in her bad old days. The nerves couldn’t have anything to do with the scent of his woodsy, spicy cologne, which brought back a host of other disturbing memories.
The car pulled to the kerb in front of a huge brutalist building which towered over this entrance to the High Line, the camera flashes visible through the tinted windows.
He stepped out of the car and leaned back in—blocking her from the chaos outside—to offer her his arm.
‘Let’s do this, Charlotte,’ he murmured, the low Southern accent rippling over her skin as his eyes deepened with encouragement, and that disturbing approval.
Her unruly heartbeat and the knots in her stomach went haywire.
‘Sure thing, Sir Galahad,’ she quipped back, trying to even her breathing as she climbed out. He shielded her from the cameras, and the shouts of the photographers and celebrity journalists. But as the muscles in his forearm tensed beneath her fingers, her sex clenched in unison.
When was she going to stop feeling so attuned to this man?
They ran the gauntlet together with his arm around her the whole way. As if she were special to him, when she knew she wasn’t. They were ushered into one of the private lifts, alone.
She let out a relieved breath. ‘Well, that was hideous.’
‘It should keep them happy for a while,’ he murmured, still watching her with eagle-sharp eyes.
‘I’m just hoping they got a good shot of my dress, and they remember to mention Trouble Maker,’ she managed.
How did he do that? Suck all the oxygen out of the lift? Because he’d done the exact same thing four years ago in that lobby in Vegas... And why would she rather suffocate than step away from him?
A smile curved his lips, as if he knew the war she was waging with herself.
Good grief, was she still so transparent?
‘I’ll have my press people make sure they mention the dress,’ he said. His gaze travelled over her figure, sparking apredictable endorphin rush. ‘It’s striking,’ he murmured. ‘But not as striking as the woman wearing it.’
