“Youdohave a boyfriend.” Her smile widened. “I told Dani you probably did.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I borrowed a page from her playbook and just smiled without saying anything. I’d figure out something in the next twenty-four hours.
“It’s an art show,”I told Rafe the following morning. “At that gallery up the block.”
He looked down at me from behind his sunglasses. “What time?”
“Eight o’clock.” My toes squirmed inside my shoes. “You’re my plus one.”
One brow lifted slightly. “I’m your date?”
My cheeks went hot. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I can’t go without you, obviously, and I can’t tell her what you really are, so…”
“Okay.” He turned on his heel and was gone.
Seriously?I’d never known such a nontalkative brute in my life. “I’m looking forward to it, too!” I called after him, just to be obnoxious, but he didn’t respond.
I spent the rest of the day trying to decide what to wear. Was this a black tie event? Casual chic? I would’ve texted Angela and asked, but I realized I didn’t have her phone number. Some mistress dispeller I was turning out to be. I finally decided on a dark blue sweater dress, sleeveless and sort of clingy, but only in the good places, like my boobs and my ass, and not the bad ones, like my stomach.Charlie’s right. I should cut down on the carbs and eat more fruits and vegetables.
Maybe tomorrow.
Bruno meowed, and I dumped some food in his dish while shooing him away from rubbing against me. A black and white long-haired cat wasn’t a good match for a dark blue dress. I spent a solid half-hour on my hair and makeup, tucked my phone and some cash into a clutch purse, then pulled on a pair of sleek suede booties. I grabbed a wrap and knocked twice on Penny’s door to let her know I was leaving. Then I headed outside.
And almost tripped over my own feet when I saw Rafe standing at the curb.
He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, no sunglasses, dressed all in black – suit, tie, shirt, shoes. He looked like a fully clothed Greek devil. Without the glasses I could see his eyes, searingly dark, drinking me in as I walked toward him. His square, stubbled jaw framed the hint of a smile. I bit my lip and forced myself to breathe.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thanks. You too.”
When we reached the gallery, it was already buzzing with guests. A red velvet rope looped through stanchions outside, and a “Private Event” sign gave me a shiver of superiority. It was the first time I’d ever been on A List. Was this where mistress dispelling might take me? Rafe offered me his arm and I took it, drawing strength from him as I fought to appear cool and composed. The space inside was classy and warm, with high ceilings and perfect lighting. Three rooms connected to each other in a large circle; two were filled with artwork, and tables of appetizers and alcohol took up residence in the last.
“Tori!” Angela appeared from nowhere, looking gorgeous in a black dress that clung to every last curve. “I’m so glad you could make it!” Her gaze raked Rafe from head to toe. “This is your plus one? Iknewit. I knew this guy was more than a bouncer in your bar. Hi,” she said as she offered him her hand. “I’m Angela.”
He obliged her handshake, then slipped one arm around my waist. “Glad to be here,” he said as his palm settled just above my ass. “Tori keeps telling me I need more culture in my life.” His gaze slid to me, then through me, and I felt like I’d been set on fire. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. His hand cupped my curves, possessive and powerful, and I became liquid and sizzling under his touch.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she said. “Most of the guest artists are over there.” She fluttered her fingers toward the back corner of the room, at a knot of tall, pale men in suits. “If you want an introduction, let me know.”
“Sure. Will do.” I didn’t need an introduction. I just needed to find a chance to take her picture with one of them.
Of course, doing that would require extricating myself from Rafe’s arm, which I didn’t feel like doing. My eyelids drifted shut, and for a second I let myself enjoy being half of a couple, being held, imagining I’d go home and let him do things to me I’d never done with anyone else.
“Oh, hey, let’s get some food,” Rafe said, and the moment was gone. He walked into the back room, leaving me there alone.
Ah. There’s the bodyguard I know.
I shook off my fantasy and followed him, keeping a careful distance. I didn’t need to be distracted tonight, and if I touched him again I would be. I’d been on this job for almost two weeks and had little to show for it. I had to end Angela’s affair if I wanted to eat on a regular basis or ever get out of debt.
I circled the room, a glass of champagne in one hand and some crackers in the other. I wasn’t an art critic, but most of the paintings seemed to be nice, if boring, country scenes. One room had sculptures of what looked like giant flowers until I realized they were supposed to be vaginas at the moment of orgasm. My face went hot, and I spent a good five minutes in front of an abstract sketch of George Washington until I regained my composure.
We’d been there almost an hour, and I was beginning to feel the buzz from two glasses of champagne and a handful of crackers when I saw my chance.
Dani was busy refilling the refreshments and snapping pics of the crowd. Angela stood in one corner, her back pressed against the wall, laughing up at a guest. I didn’t recognize him, but it didn’t matter. He was tall and impeccably dressed, and he leaned against the wall in such a way that made me think they knew each other. Intimate. Cozy. As if the rest of the people there didn’t matter.
Hell, maybe shewassleeping with someone other than the Congressman. With sweaty hands I pulled my phone from my purse and slunk closer. They didn’t move, lost in conversation. I needed to get a shot that left nothing to the imagination. Clearly the Congressman knew what Angela did for a living, so a regular photo of her smiling at an art patron wouldn’t ruffle his feathers. But as I watched them, I got the feeling this guy was more than just an art patron. Being a bartender had taught me a thing or two about body language. These two were overly comfortable in each other’s personal space. As I stood there analyzing my options, the man moved closer. Now his arm rested just above her shoulder, and she turned into him, slanting her body so it matched up with his. When he bent even closer to hear something she’d said, I clicked.
Again, and then again, with my phone low at my waist so that no one could see. I hoped no one could see, anyway. Grace hadn’t included undercover photography in my training, though she probably should have. I got a half-dozen pictures, maybe more, before the crowd moved and they broke apart and Angela saw me standing there. The man followed her gaze, pinning me in place. Examining me.
