His face breaks into a grin that makes my stomach do a little flip. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”
He leans down to kiss me, and I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His lips are soft and warm, tasting of coffee and everything unmistakably Ro.
My body responds immediately, heat pooling low in my belly as his hands slide from my face down to my waist.
When he finally pulls away, his eyes are dark, hooded with desire. “If we don’t stop now, I’m going to drag you back upstairs, and I’ll definitely be late for my meeting.”
“What a tragedy,” I tease, running my fingers through his hair.
“Fucking catastrophic,” he agrees, stepping back with a reluctant grin. “Come on. Let’s get ready. We need to leave in about twenty minutes.”
I hop off the stool and head upstairs to change. After a quick shower, I throw on a pair of high-waisted jeans, cropped black tank top, and a light blue flannel. Casual but cute—perfect for exploring LA.
When I come back downstairs, Rowan is waiting by the door in a pair of navy slacks and a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms.
How in the ever-loving hell is it possible for someone to look this effing good?
“Ready?” he asks, eyes roaming over me in appreciation.
“Yup.”
When we step outside into the bright California sunshine, Rowan’s black SUV is already waiting. Evo, looking as intimidating as ever in his black suit and sunglasses, is waiting for us, ready to open the back door.
“Morning, Miss Cade,” he says, opening the back door for us. “Mr. Cole.”
“Just Lizzy is fine, Evo,” I reply with a smile as I climb in.
Rowan slides in close, pressing his thigh against mine like he always does.
As we pull away from the house, I grab my phone from my purse to check my messages and see several texts from Sasha lighting up my screen.
SASHA
Girl, you need to check your Instagram RIGHT NOW.
Also, are you okay? Call me when you get a chance.
Holy shit, the pictures from that gallery thing are EVERYWHERE!
You look fucking amazing, by the way.
“Everything okay?” Rowan asks, peering over my shoulder.
“Not sure,” I mutter, opening my Instagram.
Holy crap! My notifications have exploded.
Heart pounding, I tap on the first one. It’s a tag from a celebrity gossip account. The photo shows Rowan and me at the airport, his hand firmly gripping mine as we walk through the terminal behind Evo.
“Oh shit,” I gasp, scrolling further.
The next post is a series of photos from the gala. The first shows Rowan and Carrie, her hand on his chest as she leans in close.
The second is of me and Rowan, hand splayed firmly against my lower back as we walk the red carpet.
As I scroll down even further, my stomach sinks when I see the next two pictures displayed side by side. One is of Walker Prince with his arm draped over my shoulders, both of us laughing as we talk in front of my painting. And the other? Rowan with his arm around my waist, glowering at an amused Walker after he’d yanked me away.
The caption makes me cringe.
