Page 80 of Broken Blades

And when he reached for my coat—when his fingers brushed my shoulders helping me into it—I felt the tremor in his hands.

I sat in the passenger seat, hyperaware of every inch of space between us. Hyperaware of the way the leather seatbelt crossed between my breasts. Hyperaware of how the dress had ridden up slightly when I sat down, exposing more thigh than I'd intended.

Wyatt drove with the same controlled precision he did everything else. Jaw set. Hands confident on the wheel. Eyes forward.

Composed.

Except—

His gaze flickered to my legs.

Just once.

Then to my hands folded in my lap.

Then to the curve of my profile when he thought I wasn't looking.

I was.

He broke the silence first, voice steady and businesslike.

"Here's how today works. The Serpents run a winter charity skate for kids with chronic illnesses. Cameras everywhere. Press everywhere. I'll skate with the kids—sign sticks, take photos."

I nodded, grateful for the shift to logistics. "What do I do?"

"Smile. Be present. Don't wander off with anyone you don't know." He glanced at me briefly. "If I'm not next to you, you'll get questions."

My stomach tightened. "Questions about…?"

"Us. So we need our story straight."

No sugarcoating. No gentle easing into it. Just facts.

"We met at the summer gala. You spilled champagne on me."

I rolled my eyes despite myself. "I did not."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You would."

Heat crept up my neck. I glowered at him. "Anyway."

"Anyway," he echoed, that almost-smirk still playing at his lips. "I asked for your number. We got coffee once during the off-season. Then again. Then again. It escalated."

The word escalated landed heavier than it should have.

My pulse jumped. "And my father?"

"Didn't know. Wasn't involved. It's private. We wanted to see where it went before telling anyone."

Private.

Intimate.

Real-sounding.

Too real.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "And your… wife?"