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“Er, yeah. Right.” He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it slide. “Anyway, as I was saying about the ‘82?—”
I tune him out entirely.
My underwear is clenched in my sweaty palm. My dress suddenly feels shamefully thin and the air-conditioned breezeis finding places it has no business finding. Every nerve ending below my waist is screaming.
And somewhere at the other end of this table, Lukas Lazarev is waiting.
I don’t dare look at him. If I look at him right now, I’ll either burst into flames or climb over this table and do something that’ll get us both arrested.
So I keep my eyes fixed on Preston’s moving lips and wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
The answer arrives moments later.
Lukas rises from his chair and buttons his jacket. “If you’ll pardon me,” he says to no one in particular.
He walks the length of the table. As he passes my chair, his hand extends toward me at his side, palm up. Nothing about him says he’s even aware of my existence—except for that huge hand,waiting.
My heartbeat quadruples. Without looking, I place my underwear in Lukas’s palm.
His fingers close around mine for the briefest moment. A single squeeze, and then he releases me.
He slips the underwear into his pocket without breaking stride and disappears around the corner toward the restrooms.
I’m left sitting there, bare beneath my dress, feeling more alive than I ever have before.
For the rest of the after-dinner drinks, I feel the air on my bare skin and the leather seat cool against my thighs. When I move, I’m reminded that Lukas owns a part of me now.
At long last, somewhere after midnight, the dinner winds down. Preston catches my elbow as the group begins to disperse. “It was a pleasure meeting you properly, Rae.” He produces a business card and passes it to me. “I’d love to continue our conversation sometime. Maybe over that wine I mentioned?”
He’s looking at me expectantly, no doubt waiting for me to pull out my phone, punch in his number, and seal whatever deal he thinks we’ve been negotiating all evening.
I open my mouth to respond—I’m not even sure what I’m going to say, honestly; something polite and noncommittal—when a hand lands on my lower back.
“She’s with me,” Lukas says.
He doesn’t raise his voice or puff up his chest or do any of the typical alpha-male posturing I’ve come to expect from men marking territory. He just says it. The sky is blue and water is wet and Rae Everett belongs tohim.
Preston’s smile freezes. “I didn’t realize you two were actually involved.”
“Now, you do.”
His gaze flicks to me, then back to Lukas. Whatever he sees in the older man’s face makes him take a small step backward.
“Well.” He tucks his business card back into his pocket with a rueful smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I can, actually,” Lukas says. “And I do.”
Preston laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Message received, loud and clear. Rae, it was lovely meeting you. Lukas, always a pleasure.”
He retreats toward the exit, joining the stream of departing guests.
The moment he’s gone, Lukas’s hand slides from my lower back to my hip. His grip tightens, fingers digging into the thin fabric of my dress.
“Time to go,” he says.
“Where?”
He doesn’t answer.
