22
Ridge
Robyn’s back is straight as she walks away. Her shoulders are pulled back. Her hair is a tumble of dark waves around her shoulders.
I wait a beat, then follow.
I keep my distance. Far enough that no one would put two and two together, but also close enough to do my job as her bodyguard.
I fucked up.
That should never have happened.
I let my dick run the show. I let my dragon push to the front. I lost control in a big way.
I’ve never been jealous a day in my life. Not once.
Tonight, all of that came undone. I saw the way that male Rider looked at Robyn, and my blood ignited in my veins.
I hated that she told him I’m her bodyguard, not her date. Like she was leaving the door open for him. Like she wanted him.
I let her goad me. Hell, I pushed right back.
I sure as shit wasn’t supposed to kiss her…or fuck her. My balls pull tight just thinking about her snug pussy, her strangled cries. Holy shit!
She’s reached the main hall. I see her step through the door. She turns left, scanning the room, and finds her table. She moves through the space with that same composed walk, smiling at someone here, dipping her head to someone there. She reaches her chair, leans down, and picks up the small clutch she left on the seat.
She flips it open and pulls out a tube of lipstick and a tiny mirror. She does it all in three seconds, standing right at the table, mirror angled toward her face. The lipstick goes on in two quick swipes. Then she blots her lips together and packs everything away.
Seconds later, she fishes out a folded sheet of paper, putting her clutch back down.
And then she lifts her head, tilts her chin up, and walks toward the stage.
A male in a dark suit standing at the side of the stage spots her. His eyes widen, and he smiles as soon as he sees her. Then he moves to intercept her, saying something low as he reaches her. She says something back, and he smiles, then nods. He gestures for her to take the few steps that lead up.
She climbs them, holding her dress up. She crosses to the podium and puts her papers down on the lectern, then drops her hands to either side of the wood.
Her skin is flushed. Her lips are plump from my kisses. Her hair falls about her shoulders in glossy strands. I prefer it down. It suits her. She looks a little wild and yet put together. She has that “just been fucked” look, although no one will recognize it but me, since I put it there.
That dress was made for her. It hugs her every curve.
She nods at the male in the suit, the same one who met her at the steps. He waves at the DJ, who slowly lowers the music. Then he lifts a mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, and the room goes quiet by another notch. “If you would please take your seats. It is my great pleasure tonight to introduce a woman who needs no introduction in this room. It’s the Head of Shifter Medicine. Please welcome, Dr. Robyn Keller.”
The applause is warm.
Robyn smiles, lifts a hand in a small wave, and the male steps off the stage.
She clears her throat.
“Good evening,” she says, and her voice is a notch too high. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for the work you do and the support you have shown this hospital over many years. Tonight is about, um, it’s about recognizing the contribution that all of you make, and the work that is being done on this island in shifter medicine, in trauma, and in?—”
She glances down at the page.
“—in our ongoing efforts to push the b-boundaries of what is possible in our field. Ahhhh…last year alone, our trauma department admitted three hundred and t-twelve major cases, of which two hundred and ninety walked out of our doors.” She clears her throat again. “It is a number which we are very proud of, and which we could not have achieved w-without the support of the…um…the donors in this room.”
She swallows and then clears her throat again. Then she takes a sip of water.
