“We’re still on for meeting up at the house tomorrow, right?” After their first choice venue had fallen through, Nicholas and Livvy had opted to have their wedding at a large estate they’d rented a few hours away. They’d planned on the wedding party—him, Eve, Jackson, Livvy’s best friend Sadia, and Sadia’s son, Kareem—going up a week early to relax and unwind before the festivities.
Of course, that was before everyone had gotten sick. Since they were paying for the place, Livvy and Nicholas had insisted the rest of them go up, and they would join once Livvy felt better.
“Yes.” Her smile was faint. “A little unconventional, a bridal party celebrating without the bride and groom.”
As Livvy had said,the whole wedding was unconventional. “It’ll only be for a few days. I’m looking forward to it.” A week with Eve within easy reach.
Surrounded by others, though, including her big brother eventually.
Yes, it was safe. He would be able to control himself. Even if he did happen to catch a glimpse of something as scandalous and sexy as, like, her knees.
“Me too,” she said. “There’s an indoor pool.”
It took a gargantuan force of will not to think of her in a swimsuit. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there anything else you need me for?”
“Um, no. I’m... I guess I should get going.”
“Got a hot date tonight?” His tone was light, but the emotion that drove him to fish for info wasn’t.
Mars.
“No. I have to attend the annual foundation gala.” She lifted a shoulder. “I planned it before I left my job.”
“Ah.” Eve had worked for the Maria Chandler Foundation, a nonprofit established by her late mother, until she’d quit in the fall.
She hit the unlock button on her keys, and her car chirped. “What about you?”
Was she asking if he had a hot date?Calm yourself. She’s being polite.“Might go to O’Killians. Have a beer or two.” He forced himself to smile. Not too long ago, smiling had been easy for him, especially in front of pretty women. Maybe, if he drank enough tonight, he could recapture the cheerful veneer that had always masked every other emotion. Masked them so well he barely had to think about them. “Have a good time at the gala.”
“You as well. I mean, not at the gala, but...” She cleared her throat. “Have a good night.”
He reached past her to open the door for her, and his palm brushed her arm. Even though it was covered in fabric, an electric thrill ran through him. He jerked away, unable to temper the motion. She didn’t appear to notice, thank God, slipping into the car and waving goodbye.
His hand lifted belatedly, after she had already driven out of the parking lot. He looked at his palm, which still tingled. Soft. Warm. Like the sunlight inside her skin had touched him.
He got inside his car and pulled his tablet and a digital pen out of his bag. Some tattoo artists carried sketchbooks, but he’d grown tired of having multiple scraps of paper cluttering up his life.
He was known for his fine line designs, and this one was no different. A sun interlocked with the moon took shape under his fingers, deceptively simple but so detailed and intricate it would jump off luminous skin.
When he glanced up, he realized he’d been sitting in the empty parking lot for almost an hour, lost in his own head. He shook out his fingers and put the tablet back in his bag.
It was fine—better he channel his desire for Eve into other things, like drawing. Maintaining a happy facade would be difficult enough next week, without adding in his desire for a woman who was way out of his league. No more bad omens could befall this wedding, and definitely not from his corner.
He started his car. Tonight, he’d go to the bar. Maybe he’d find some pretty girl. Someone actually attainable for him who wanted a good time.
He couldn’t prevent the surge of distaste the thought of fucking someone else brought. He made a face. Okay, he wouldn’t do that. But he could drink his desire away.
He just had to keep reminding himself, Eve was a fairy tale. And right now? He needed to deal in reality.
Chapter 2
The clock was about to strike midnight and Evangeline Chandler was wearing far too many clothes.
Or rather, the wrong clothes. Silk and satin and gold and diamonds were fine for the heiress to an empire, but they weren’t right for her night job.
In a move practiced from years of wearing ball gowns, Eve discreetly lifted the hem of her skirt as she walked. Not too much, lest people think her gown wasn’t couture and tailored to her body, but enough so she could take more than mincing steps. Ladies didn’t run, though, especially in a ballroom.
In the nonprofit world, the more a charity gala looked like a party where a supervillain might take the guests hostage, the more of a success it was. This would be considered one of the finest parties in the county tomorrow, and she felt a spurt of satisfaction, though she’d never much enjoyed her position as event director at the foundation.
