Page 52 of Heartless As Puck

I searched her face, but she certainly didn’t seem like she’d just been conferring with one of our team’s greatest detractors. “Nothing. I just don’t like those guys.”

If I asked her about Rebecca and nothing had happened, all that would do was draw attention to the reporter’s presence and stress her, potentially making her emotional enough to struggle speaking. That would upset her further and accomplish nothing.

The charity’s owner tapped a microphone up on the second level, drawing my attention away from the Rebecca problem. She announced the first speaker—a retired NHL player who’d come on board as one of their coaches—and handed him the microphone.

We listened to the speeches, including one by Joseph Trent, the Chaos’s new owner. I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t come over to talk to us. Perhaps he was too busy glad-handing the other rich folks.

After the speeches ended, the catering staff brought out a selection of tiny pastries and desserts, and the center of the floor was cleared as a dance area. When the musicians began to play instrumental covers of pop music, I had to admit to enjoying it. I’d never been one for classical music, but this was cool.

“Want to dance?” I asked Jane, dipping my head down beside her ear. She looked slightly pale, and I was always eager for a bit of space. “It’ll give us a few minutes away from everyone else.”

“Yes, please.”

My arm around her back, I escorted her onto the dance floor just as an instrumental version of a Taylor Swift song began.

She swayed in my arms, moving with a grace that surprised me. Jane had never struck me as clumsy, but she danced like someone with years of lessons behind her. I supposed, for all I knew, she could have. Perhaps she’d learned ballroom dancing growing up or ballet.

All I knew was that she moved like a dream, and her subtle lilac scent wrapped around me as we turned in circles, easily avoiding the less skillful dancers nearby.

I, for one, hadn’t had dance lessons, but I’d practiced before prom. I hadn’t expected Dad to allow me to attend, so when he had—because I’d been approached by a particular college scout and he was feeling magnanimous—I’d wanted to make the most of it.

Jane smiled up at me, and my breath hitched. Her eyes sparkled with green and gold, and something unfurled in my gut.

Christ, I’d been a fool not to realize exactly how extraordinary she was.

She looked away, her cheeks coloring, and I drew her slightly closer. The warmth of her body radiated toward me, and I was mesmerized by the way her teeth worried her lower lip.

Without thinking, I smoothed my thumb across it. “Be gentle.”

Her eyes flew to mine, her pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath.

She pulled me in like a magnet.

My lips touched hers and my eyes closed. The kiss was as soft as our first one, that night at the pier, the contact almost nonexistent, but somehow, it was more intense than any other kiss I’d shared.

My senses were alight, my pulse going crazy.

When I snapped out of it and drew back, she blinked up at me, dazed.

The song ended and we separated. I wet my lips, feeling like I needed to say something desperately, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Before I had the opportunity to work it out, her expression cleared and turned distant and polite again.

I’d missed the moment.

We didn’t dance again for the rest of the night. Instead, we mingled, doing our best to represent our team positively.

When we finally called a taxi to take us home, I waited until we were in the back and raised the divider between us before bringing up the thing we’d both been careful not to acknowledge.

“About that kiss…”

“It’s all just part of the act,” she said, fussing with her skirt. “Don’t think anything of it.”

My heart sank. To my utter shock, I wanted the kiss to mean more than that. Despite the fact I hadn’t exactly been acing my fake boyfriend duties, and despite the ever-present concern that getting involved with someone would inevitably mean letting them down, I was disappointed that she’d brushed the kiss off.

What the hell was wrong with me?

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