“Stunning. Look how well we match.”
He gestures for me to stand before the mirror with him. I have to get right next to his body to do so, but I’m curious…I want to seeus. Tossing back my hair, I position myself beside him and temper my urge to lean into his touch as his hand skates across my lower back and comes to rest at the curve of my waist. He pulls me closer against his side until we’re touching hip to hip. I hold my breath for a fraction of a second and look at our reflection.
Luka’s tall muscular body, dark tousled hair, and intense green eyes do nothing but complement my sleek stature and Mediterranean coloring. We match, but not in a sticky-sweet way—more like an elegant couple on the cover of some elite European magazine.
He catches my gaze in the glass and a pulse of sexual electricity sparks between us. He begins to turn toward me, and I watch him like he’s in slow motion. I’m caught in the push and pull of desperately needing him to touch me, and just as desperately needing to prevent it.
“Luka, I—”
His phone goes off, startling us both. He works his jaw and then steps away to pick up the call with a low growl. After he says a few tight words, he hangs up.
“The limo is downstairs,” he informs me.
“Better not keep it waiting,” I say, relieved that we’re out of time to fool around.
I rearrange my clutch in my other hand so I’m free to take the arm he offers. My eyes work back up to his after taking another sweep of his exquisite body in that tux, and then I’m leaning against him as we head down in the elevator.
Every moment with him is charged. My heels make a determined clip across the lobby floor, the steady sound reminding me that I’m doing this for show. My fiancé looks incredible, and I know the attraction is mutual, but giving in to temptation would only muddy the waters.
He sits close in the limo and makes small talk about the event, but I’m too busy watching his lips move and daydreaming about his talented tongue to pay much attention. By the time we reach the swanky hotel venue, I’m so aroused that it takes all my will not to crawl into his lap.
Clinging to Luka, I walk into the Art Deco-style bar that’s been rented out for the night and into a roomful of people I’ve never met. Heads turn to watch us, and the female whispers start immediately, some not bothering to temper their volume as gossip gets tossed around.
A chill goes down my spine as I realize the sheer volume of eyes on us. I’m sure our engagement has brought out a mix of jealousy and shock in more than a few people who’d hoped to gain something from Luka in the near future. For instance, the stable of attractive women he’s left behind—many of them circling us like sharks in this room right now.
“Everyone’s staring,” I tell Luka through a clenched smile.
“That’s because you’re the belle of the ball,” he says, his voice low and smooth. But it does nothing to calm my anxiety.
I’m the centerpiece in a room full of gorgeous, sophisticated models who have no qualms about eyeing my fiancé with lusty knowing in their expressions. For the past hour, I’ve been trying to remind myself why I shouldn’t jump into bed with Luka, but now the reason hits me full force as we stroll through the glittering crowd.
I hear what they’re whispering behind our backs. I see how they look at him. At me. Their looks are smug, or pitying, or amused.
I’m surrounded by women that have all slept with my fiancé.
It’s a sickening feeling to realize there probably isn’t a pussy in this room that he hasn’t been inside. He glances down at me with an encouraging smile that I might find endearing if I wasn’t suddenly so uncomfortable…and so angry. Everyone here thinks I’m a joke.
“Don’t be nervous.” He squeezes my arm encouragingly. “Our job is to tell people how glad we are to see them, smile for the cameras, and duck out as soon as possible. Sound okay?”
“Sure.” I lift my chin and don’t return his gaze. “Let’s just get it over with.”
“Ah, so you are nervous,” he says, misinterpreting the edge in my voice. “Let’s get you a glass of wine, then. It’ll help you loosen up.”
A snappy retort goes down my throat as I hold it in, hyperaware of every female here. I can’t ignore the way they look at Luka like they’re hungry, how they tilt their heads together to whisper and laugh. I’ve never been one to let gossip get to me, but this feels different. Heat tingles along my hairline and my body feels like it’s slowly pressurizing.
Glancing around, I tighten my grip on Luka’s arm as we head to the bar. Music thumps and vibrates through the room. I catch a glimpse of a redhead in the corner with an incredible, curvy body and a vampy, 1940s vixen vibe to match. Her bright blue eyes home in on my fiancé, her painted lips arching in a cocky smile.
“Do you…know her?” I ask Luka, inclining my head in the woman’s direction.
He glances over and shrugs. “Cassandra Ronan? We signed her a few months back. Do you want me to make an introduction?”
Cassandra looks at me and then makes a show of sipping from the straw in her cocktail while dropping her gaze to Luka’s crotch. Then she licks her lips before turning away.
“Um no, that’s okay,” I say. “I’d rather find that drink first.”
I clear my throat and swallow hard, but the lump there is only growing.
Then I see a blonde dancing in a corner, her body wrapped in a black mini that shows off long, tan thighs. She’s doing some sort of belly-dancing thing, swiveling her hips in smooth, suggestive motions that has a small group of male observers very, very interested. I press my lips into a hard line. Why did I think a modeling agency party would be anything other than this?
