He cocks an eyebrow. “And you?”
I shrug, trying to hide my discomfort. I’m not particularly pretty or feminine. I’m too tall, and I give off too cold an image. Some people even say I look downright bitchy. I doubt makeup would be able to soften me up much. “I’ll do my best to be presentable.”
He regards me like he’s trying to peel back layers. “These ceremonies and parties are really about the bride. You should shine.”
I give him a small smile to hide the uncomfortable, squirmy feeling in my stomach. He seems sincere, but I rarely “shine,” even when the event is about me. For whatever reason, something always goes wrong, and I’m thrust into the center of some controversy or scandal. I hope that having Sebastian by my side changes my luck. I just can’t picture anything going wrong when he’s around. The confidence he exudes says everything happens the way he wants.
“Anyway,” Sebastian says finally. “We can have your party.”
“Thank you. I’ll send you a few possible dates.”
“A week or so after our ceremony should be good.”
“Okay.” I make a mental note. “And since you’re being so agreeable, I’ll let you ask me for a favor later.”
“I didn’t agree to get a favor out of you.” He sounds mildly annoyed—even insulted.
“I know, but I want to be fair. I know this has been an imposition.”
He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, then waves his hand dismissively. “I’m never calling it in, so don’t think this is how you can placate me.”
It’s a little sad that he can’t accept what I’m offering at face value. On the other hand, nothing about what’s happening between us is normal. “All right, but if you change your mind…” I shrug. “Just ask.”
We finish our lunch. He picks up the leather folio our server brings.
“Here.” I slide my credit card toward him. “For lunch. I figure I should take care of it, especially since you didn’t want to come.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t let my fiancée pay for lunch.” He pushes my card back and sticks his card into the folio instead.
I curl my hands around the hot green tea the server brought out with our bill, warming my fingers. I try not to put any meaning behind him calling me “my fiancée” even though my stomach is fluttering. He mightcallme his fiancée, but his attitude says he’d do anything to change that.
However, he plays the part, escorting me like a gentleman through the restaurant as we exit, his hand at the small of my back. The warmth from the touch seeps through the thin silk of my dress. Little electricfrissonsrush down my spine. His presence wraps around me like a shield, like his coat did in Paris. I feel warm and protected for some inexplicable reason, even though it can’t be real.
I spot a sandy head following us in my peripheral vision. It’s a paparazzo who’s been after me ever since I graduated from college. I call him That Stalker because he’s everywhere. And when he shows up, others do too, like sharks scenting blood.
“I’m sorry, but the paparazzi are ready to snap some photos.” I lean toward Sebastian and whisper it with a small smile for the benefit of any onlookers.
He curses under his breath, but he doesn’t give away his annoyance. “How many?” he says, tilting his head in my direction.
“Too many to evade. It happens.”
“It happens?You put up with them?” Disapproval and disbelief crackle in his voice.
“What can you do? These days they all have those superpowered lenses and can get a shot no matter how far away they are. I prefer to know when I’m being watched.” I paste on a warm smile, since I have no idea how many of them are busy snapping away. “Why? Do you want to give them something to post?”
His eyes narrow. “Maybe we should.”
I tilt my head up. It’s nice—and kind of novel. I’m too tall to look up at most men. Even Preston complained about my height, saying I should only wear flats. Apparently, it isn’t “cool” for a woman to be so tall. Probably because he’s half an inch shorter than me in heels.
Sebastian tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me closer and making me gasp. Little fireworks go off along my back where he’s touching, and his mouth slants over mine.
His tongue pushes in between my lips, strokes mine. He plunders me like he has the right—like I’m his property. I should be alarmed, even offended, at the blatant display of ownership, but the hot rush from the kiss makes it seem unimportant. Every inch of my body heats and shivers with a potent thrill. I grip his shoulder, feeling like the ground is shifting.
He flexes his long fingers along my side, digging in a little, like he wants more than a kiss.
Yes, yes…
A loud honk pierces the sensual fog clouding my head. I jerk back, breathing hard. My lips throb, and his mouth is red and wet. Absurdly enough, I want to kiss him again.
