wearing some perfume that throttles me with every whiff, and she’s so close I could devour her.
My head inches forward, magnetically drawn.
She doesn’t pull away.
Does she want it too, or is she just faking? I lean a little closer and raise the screen between us. If this happens, it’s private. For our eyes and wandering mouths only.
Our lips are practically touching.
She hasn’t moved away.
If she isn’t backing out, I’m not either.
Before I can flog myself back into denial, my lips claim their target. She leans in, a flutter slipping out of her. I lick her lips for the faintest second, but pull away before it goes further than a wet peck.
“I probably should have asked,” I rumble.
“I’m wearing your ring.” Her cheeks go rosy pink.
She reminds me of our words from the night we agreed to this.
The rules are different.
They are, and right now, they’re turning me into a raging bull.
My arm around her tightens and I’m about to lay it on thick when the car jolts. I look up, annoyed.
Reese pulls up to the curb at the museum and glances back at us. “Here. Party hard, guys!”
Paige laughs. “Yeah, right. This Winthrope guy’s the only person I’ve ever met with a slower pulse than the Warden.”
“Way to ruin our moment,” I whisper to Paige. “Knock it off, you two. I’ll lose a client with your big mouths.”
Reese giggles in the front seat.
I step out of the car and hold the door for Paige.
She steps out and laces her fingers through mine. “I’m a little nervous. Your friends live in a different world than me.”
“It’s an art fundraiser. You’ll have plenty to talk about. Your depth of knowledge impressed me from the moment we met.” I chuckle. “Actually, it more than impressed me then, because I thought you were drunk. I’d never had a drunk girl talk architecture before.”
“One glass, dick. And had I known my art talk gets you all hot and bothered, I would’ve—”
“I know that now,” I say, not giving her a chance to finish that sentence. “I didn’t think anyone could be so clumsy after a single glass of wine.”
“I don’t need wine to be clumsy, Ward.”
“I know. You’re lucky I agreed to one-inch heels today,” I say.
The smile falls off her face. “Are you worried I’ll embarrass you today? I’ll try to sit out most of the night. Less of a chance I’ll plow something over.”
I hate the deflated look on her face enough to wonder who put it there. What kind of losers does this girl hang out with?
“I’m walking in with the most stunning woman in Chicago on my arm. Nothing embarrassing about that, even if I do sometimes worry you’ll break a bone in shoes taller than a centimeter.”
Her grin wrecks me.
“Who are you? That’s such a sweet thing for a fiancé to say. Almost like you’ve done this before.”
My throat tightens.
I don’t answer.
“And for your information, I’ve only ever broken one bone, so I don’t think you have to worry about that, darling.”
“How?” I can’t hide my curiosity.
“I slipped on water, slid across a tile department store floor, and landed on my elbow hard enough to black out for a second. Um, it was just a second.” She shifts her weight awkwardly.
A chuckle rolls out of me.
“And this is what I worry about.”
By now, we’re up the stairs, and I open the glass door for Paige. “FYI, everything’s way overpriced to support the art endowment. Not a bad thing. The more money we spend, the better it looks. Anything you want, take it. Just tell them to add it to Ward Brandt’s account.”
“You’re paying me enough that I can support the arts on my own.”
“Use my account,” I demand, wishing she’d listen.
I spot Mrs. Winthrope sipping champagne next to a Rembrandt exhibit. The better half of the Winthrope couple looks decent, mostly because she doesn’t share her husband’s eccentric style. She takes a champagne flute.
“There. We need to go talk to her.” I lead Paige over.
“Mr. Brandt, it’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Winthrope squeezes my cheek between her thumb and finger like I’m still seven years old.
So maybe I forgot her attitude makes up for her lack of flash.
She looks at Paige. “You must be the fiancée I’ve heard so much about. Ward was practically raised at these events, so he’s like everyone’s grandson.”
Maybe she thinks so, but her husband doesn’t.
“How do you like working at Brandt Ideas? Oh, it can’t be that bad, right? You’re engaged to the