“He’s asked me out a couple of times.”
“And you said no?”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
I swallow thickly, averting my gaze. “Because I’m still not over my ex.”
He stops moving altogether, his chest moving up and down rapidly. “You haven’t been with anyone since me?”
I shake my head.
“Fuck me,” he growls, holding me tighter.
I had tried on more than one occasion, but the truth was, he ruined me for anyone else. No one would ever come close to giving me what I needed physically, much less emotionally.
A storm of emotions crosses his face at my confession—shock, disbelief, and something darker—but it’s the possessive glint in his eyes that sets my body ablaze.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, breaking our tension-filled moment. Benson shifts me to his side; his arm still wrapped protectively around my waist.
Inhaling a deep breath, I brace myself.
“Mother,” I greet as she surveys us, a glass of champagne clutched in her delicate hand that does nothing more than carry around a three-carat diamond all day.
“Hello, darling. I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”
“Benson Cunningham. Pleasure to meet you,” Benson says, extending his hand, but she looks at it as if touching him would be beneath her social status.
She gives him a saccharine smile, placing her hand in his. That fake smile disappears the moment her attention swiftly swings back to mine. “You’re needed for the family photo.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Of course it’s necessary. Hurry along now. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
I exhale deeply. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” Benson assures me, his arm reluctantly dropping from around my waist.
I follow my mother to the edge of the stage where my fatheris waiting.
He greets me with a kiss to the cheek before he whispers, “Don’t embarrass me.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I put on my plastic smile. The one I’ve perfected over the years. Several photographers snap photos, and his charming smile doesn’t falter until the final flash fades. Then his hand closes tightly around my upper arm, not hard enough to bruise but enough to remind me that he holds all the power in this room. He guides me off the ballroom floor to an alcove behind the stage, then releases me.
“How dare you bring that criminal to my event?” he says in a low tone edged with warning.
My muscles tense. “He’s not a criminal.”
“I would bet the next election that he is,” he says with the practiced tone of a man who’s shredded his opponents in public debates and Senate hearings without even raising his voice. “He’s under investigation and suspended from the department, and you’re parading him around as yourdate. Congratulations—you’ve just made yourself an accomplice.”
His voice drops even lower, more menacing.
“Not to mention you resigned from your job because ofhim. What the hell are you thinking?”
My pulse hammers in my veins. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand the definition of loyalty or trust.”
He steps into me, nostrils flaring. “Your loyalty belongs to me. You showing up with him is like a slap in the fucking face.”
