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Muted laughter and the murmur of voices flowed throughout the space. A lone male played soft, classical music on a grand piano. White-gloved waiters meandered through the ballroom, offering canapés and flutes of champagne to the many guests—all of whom were dressed in tuxedos or gowns, much like Dane and I were.
My floor-length, ruby red chiffon gown was gorgeous. Dane had tried giving me money to buy one, but I’d point-blank refused and lied that I already had one. In truth, I hadn’t wanted to take any cash from him to buy clothes. It would have felt weird.
I’d originally intended to pin my hair up into an elaborate do, as many of the other female guests had done. Dane had asked me to wear it down. When I’d asked why, he’d merely replied, “Because I like it down.” To be honest, I’d still had every intention of pinning it up, but I’d been running late so I hadn’t had time.
My hand flexed around my satin clutch. “There’s a whole lot of people here.” I spotted several of Dane’s business associates. There were also a few celebrities, including an English model, Jaxxon Carter, and her race-driver husband, Connor McKenzie.
Most of the attendees stood around in clusters, deep in conversation. Others breezed around the room, admiring the décor. The event organizers had used a beautiful combination of gold, silver, white, and copper tones that worked well in the large space. There were also floral arrangements here, there, and everywhere.
Dane grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and gave one to me. “Here.”
“Thank you.” I sipped at the bubbly liquid. “Are your brothers and their wives here yet?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.” He curled an arm around my waist and cupped my hip, making my pulse jump. Jesus, he smelled good. His signature cologne was sensual, mysterious, and powerfully masculine. It made me want to lick him all up.
“Stay close to me,” he added.
I took a steadying sip of my drink. “Will do.”
I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so nervous. It was just a fundraising gala ball, for heaven’s sake. But, to be fair, I was under a lot of pressure tonight. Our fake dates were easier when we were seemingly exercising subtlety. My job this evening was to convince people I was enamored with Dane, but I had to be careful to not overdo it. And I’d need to stop my body from going into meltdown after a night of him touching me more openly than normal—which would be easier said than done.
If I couldn’t get through this gala without losing my nerves, I’d never get through my upcoming, fake wedding. Just thinking of it made my stomach roll.
Reaching for humor to lighten my mood, I joked, “So, should I call you babycakes from now on or something?”
Dane gave me a droll look. “No.”
“Shnookums? Dear one? Sugar lips? Light of my life? Ooh, I know—big daddy.”
He sighed and shook his head, but his eyes were dancing. “Only you, Vienna. Only you.” He guided me across the room to a group of people I didn’t recognize.
One beamed at him. “Ah, Dane.”
My fake date nodded. “Cliff.”
Cliff’s eyes drifted to me, gleaming with speculation. “And who is this beautiful guest of yours?”
“This is my Vienna,” said Dane, his voice loaded with possession. And, yep, several sets of eyebrows lifted high.
Cliff blinked. “Your Vienna? Like that, is it?”
“Wouldn’t you claim such a stunning creature if you could?”
Cliff grinned. “Oh, I sure would.”
Dane looked down at me, one corner of his mouth kicking up into a warm, sexy smile that made me tingle in all the best places.
After the group asked us a few questions, such as how we met and how long we’d been dating, the conversation switched to business. No surprise there. A lot of networking went on at such events. But as that wasn’t Dane’s main purpose tonight, it wasn’t long before he moved us on.
Over the next half hour, we walked from group to group. All were surprised to see he had an actual date, and many hit us with the same questions that the first group we’d spoken with had asked.
Some of the men treated their female companions like they were just pretty ornaments. Dane didn’t do that to me. He included me in conversations, touched me constantly, kept me close, and would sometimes turn his full attention to me. Whenever he did the latter, my nerves went a little haywire. Being the center of his focus could be a heady thing.
Conscious of our audience, I made sure to occasionally touch him or cast him brief, soft smiles that held secrets. I was always rewarded—sometimes with a brush of his mouth to my temple, sometimes with a stroke of his hand over my hair, and sometimes with a slow, lazy smile I felt in my core.
