Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,60

unison. A valet hurried toward us.

Exposure therapy. This was the first, maybe the biggest step I’d take, and I had no idea what to expect, only that I was nervous as all hell. Maybe I’d trip and fall. Maybe my shoe would break. Costume malfunction. Walking malfunction. Heart malfunction.

Acknowledge. Breathe. Connect.

I turned my hand in Tommy’s and clutched his palm to ground me, my eyes out the window and heart fluttering.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he said quietly, squeezing once before popping open his door.

He ran around the car, heading off the valet, who smiled broadly and shook his hand.

The camera guys were already shooting, cameras pointed at Tommy like AKs, moving toward him like a front line in a battle.

He opened the door, putting his gigantic body between me and the paparazzi. They were calling his name, asking him questions.

Tommy offered his hand. His eyes offered comfort, protection. Trust.

So I slipped my fingers into his palm and braced myself to exit the vehicle and step onto the sidewalk.

Onto the stage.

The second they saw me, their voices rose, the flashes firing so fast, I was momentarily blinded.

And on the wind was my name in a chorus.

We were a blur of motion and consciousness as Tommy pulled me into his side, wrapped an iron arm around me, and steered us toward the door. His legs were so long, his stride covering the ground I would make in two, but he swept me with him, my thoughts too obscure and fast to catch a single one.

“Amelia! Mrs. Bane! Amelia Hall! How was Vegas? Show us your ring!”

My breath was shallow, my fingers tingling.

He looked down at me as we hurried. “Imagine me naked, if it helps.”

“You mean, imagine them naked?” I muttered, dragging my eyes from the flashing cameras to glance up at him.

His smile tilted. “Oh, no. Me. Elbows and all.”

I kicked my head back and laughed, the din and crush of people that had come out of nowhere, all yelling our names, almost disappeared. It was just me and Tommy and his arms and his smile and those eyes so full of humor and mischief.

And before I had time to consider what that meant, the brass door opened at the hand of the valet, and we were inside.

As the door thumped closed, he pulled me to a stop, and the noise snapped off, leaving us in the calm, comparative quiet of the restaurant lobby.

Tommy smiled down at me.

“I did it,” I breathed in disbelief.

“I never had a doubt in my mind,” he said gently. “Need to check your lipstick?”

Lips together, I smiled as a zing of adrenaline shoot through me. “Nope. It’s perfectly in place.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and snagged my hand, towing me to the host stand with him.

My heart clanged in my ribs while he gave the hostess our name.

If you’d told me even yesterday morning that I’d be in full set makeup, running into a restaurant with Thomas Bane as we were accosted by paparazzi, you would have had to commit me for a fit of histrionics. But here I was, listening to the deep rumble of his voice, holding his hand like a lifeline.

It was all because of him. I was quickly learning that it was impossible not to feel safe in Tommy’s care.

Beyond all reason, I was standing in the restaurant with the comforting hum of patrons muffled by the lush red carpet under my feet and Tommy holding my hand like it was the most natural thing.

I tried not to consider that his was the first hand I’d held since it didn’t count anyway.

It was good practice at least.

Fake and not fake. Real and pretend. It was real, and it wasn’t. The kiss in the chapel and the kiss after the chapel. Tommy’s hand and mine. The rings on our fingers.

I was already confused, and it’d only been twenty-four hours. I squirmed against the discomfort of that realization.

The hostess seemed unaffected by Tommy, though her eyes flicked curiously to me, indicating she knew exactly who we were. But she was the picture of discretion as she led us through the restaurant and to a table.

Literally in the middle of the room.

The staff might have been discreet, but the patrons were not. I felt everyone’s eyes on us as Tommy pulled out my chair. The tables were crowded together, the couple next to us gawking. The woman’s phone was positioned in such a way that I was positive she was taking a