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What if I can keep her? Have her forever. Have this forever?
“Jesse?”
She blinks up at me, those gloss-covered lips parted. Temptation.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s get him. We’ll grab more champagne and a tray of snacks.”
We start moving across the room together, past folks in their suits and gowns, but Davis steps in front of me, his arm around his wife’s waist.
“Taylor,” he says.
“Davis.”
I nod.
“You’ve met my wife,” Davis says. “Helen, you remember Deputy Taylor, right? He’s the guy I told you about. The one who always let his drunk dad off the hook.”
Helen, to her credit, colors at the description and smooths a hand over her glittery black dress.
“Nate, that’s?—”
“It’s the truth,” he says.
Helen rests a hand on his chest.
“Honey, there’s no need to get this angry. Your blood pressure.”
Next to me, Marci is stiff and stares off in another direction. I’m tempted to pull her into another kiss in front of these people, but the priority is to get her away from this moment.
“Excuse me,” I say. “We were in the middle of a conversation. Nice to meet you, Helen. This is my wife, Marci, since your dickhead of a fucking husband forgot to introduce her.”
I say it low so no one else except the four of us can hear.
Davis goes red as a fucking beet.
I sweep Marci away from him, walking her toward the server. She loops her arm around my waist and squeezes lightly.
“Here’s the plan,” I say. “You distract him with your feminine wiles. I steal the platter. Meet me in the hall with two glasses of champagne in like five minutes. Got it?”
“Got it,” she whispers.
I kiss her on the temple, enjoying how real it feels, even though we’re doing it for show. Marci taps the guy on the arm and starts asking him questions, and she’s got his full attention within seconds. I don’t like how fucking jealous it makes me.
I grab the platter from where he set it down on the side table, then make a beeline for the thick wooden door that leads into the hall, checking that nobody’s noticed our subterfuge. Thankfully, they’re entranced with the mayor’s wife, who’s taken a seat at a piano and is about to start playing.
The five-minute wait for Marci is painful. I place the platter on a side table and tuck my hands into the pockets of my suit pants. I’m not used to dressing up, but if it means I get to see Marci in a barely there cocktail dress, I’m all for it.
She slips into the hall, shutting the door behind her, and spots me waiting. A smile parts her lips.
“That was fun,” she says. “A covert operation.”
“You like that?” I take the champagne glasses and her glittery purse and set them on the table. “You should see what else I have planned for you.”
I press her up against the door.
“Jesse,” she whispers. “We can’t. What if someone sees us?”
“Then they’ll think that we’re husband and wife,” I say, my lips against her throat. She’s wearing that delicious coconut scent again, and it’s driving me fucking wild. “And that’s what we’re trying to achieve, remember?”
