The best way to do that was for people to stop and stare. The paparazzi and the media may not have known who I was… but there were several politicians who did. Seeing me open the door for a woman, especially Senator Collins’s daughter, would get people talking.
That was the only reason I did, not because I wanted to be the one whose hand she held as she stepped out.
I walked around the car and opened the door on Anna's side. She didn’t take the hand I held out for hers.
"Anna," I warned. I may have preferred not making a scene, but that didn't mean I would let her get away with not followingorders. She had a part to play, and she was going to play it one way or another.
"No, I can't do this. I won't do this, and you can't make me." She sounded like a petulant child. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her bottom lip stuck out just a little.
The urge to pull that lip between my teeth hit me so hard I had to curl my fingers into my palm.
The palm that was itching, wanting to take her back over my knee.
Irritation prickled just under my skin as I took a deep breath. I could handle her being annoying, but I couldn't handle her being so damn cute.
I leaned my forearm on top of the car and peered into the dark interior. "Anna, you have a choice. You can step out of this car willingly and walk down that red carpet on my arm with your head held high, or I can reach in and drag you out by your fucking hair."
"That isn't an actual choice, and you know it," she spat back.
"You're right, it's not. But they are still the only options you have. Make your choice."
She glared daggers at me, her lips pressed into a thin line, and when I reached in again to offer her a hand, she put her hand in mine.
My larger fingers easily engulfed hers as I helped her out of the car. Her skin was ice-cold despite the cashmere, and I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles once—just once—before I could stop myself.
The strangest urge came over me to warm her up. I dismissed the unwelcome desire and tucked her hand through my arm, ready to lead her down the red carpet.
Irritation tingled at the back of my throat for even questioning why I was being an ass to her. I was an ass to everyone. It had never bothered me before, but something abouther made me want to reassure her, to comfort her, to care for her.
It was an entirely foreign and unwelcome feeling…but it wouldn't go away.
"Look, we are just here to make a statement. You are also here as a reminder to your mother of what is on the line."
"Are you threatening my life or her reputation?" she asked in a very pointed question.
The irritation in the back of my throat gave way to warmth. She had surprised me, but not in a bad way. It was another hint of the strength she had just underneath the surface, the one that I wanted to pry out of her and explore, even if it was against my better judgment.
"Both," I answered honestly. "Let's hope this reminder is enough to get your mother to do what she's told."
"Why me?" she asked, and I shouldn't have answered. I should have ignored her question entirely, but the way she looked at me, I felt like she deserved to know.
"Because you are the most convenient weakness of your mother's to exploit."
Something passed over her face, but it was gone before I could name it.
She just nodded, tightened her hand on my arm, and started walking. It was like a mask slid over her face. Gone was the confused, angry girl, and in her place was this sultry woman. She moved with elegance and grace, a polite, almost mysterious smile on her dark-red painted lips.
She embodied exactly what that dress was intended for. A woman of confidence, with her head held high, showing off the glittering stones around her neck, and an almost devious look in her eye, like she had a sexy secret.
As we walked across the large, paved entrance area, nearing the brightly lit Kennedy Center, she tripped, just a quick stumble.
I caught her before she could fall, pulling her close, pressing her side against mine. With my arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her, my hand splayed possessively over the curve of her hip. The silk of her dress was warm from her body heat, and beneath it, she was trembling.
"Easy," I murmured against her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "I've got you."
Her breath hitched. Just a small sound, but I heard it. Felt it.
I enjoyed touching her, holding her, even if it was so she wouldn't fall on her face. That was what I told myself over and over: I wasn't touching her because I liked it, because I wanted to feel her pressed against me. It was only to steady her so she didn't draw unwanted attention.
