But my heart is beating too hard to stand, let alone talk.
I lick my dry lips. “I thought Rachel said no talking tonight? Just smiling and appearing in love."
"Harper—"
“Maybe after? Maybe when we can both think clearly."
"Can we?” Those gorgeous hazy irises of his harden. “Think clearly, that is.”
It's the same question I wondered myself just hours ago. And I still don't have an answer.
"Car's waiting," I say instead, because if we stay in this hallway any longer, I'm going to do something stupid. Again.
Victor steps closer—not touching me, but close enough that I can smell that warm cedar-and-something scent that’s becoming all too familiar.
"This conversation isn't over," he says quietly, his voice dropping to that bossy low register of his.
My pulse kicks. “I know."
"After the event. When we get home."
Home. There's that word again.
"Okay," I breathe.
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a fraction of a second before he steps back, offering his arm with infuriating formality.
"Shall we?"
I take his arm, and we head toward the elevator. But I can still feel the heat of Victor Kade’s—my boss, the man who holds my career in his hands—gaze on my lips.
And I know tonight is going to be a very, very long night.
The Grandview Hotel is in Midtown, all glass and steel and sweeping luxury. The opening event is in the penthouse ballroom, and by the time we arrive, the place is already packed with Manhattan's elite—investors, tech executives, society types who consider "casual Friday" an abomination.
Victor's hand is on the small of my back as we enter, the touch professional and possessive at the same time.
I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress, and I'm trying very hard not to think about how those same hands pulled me against his hard body and cock mere hours ago.
"Remember," he murmurs low as we approach the receiving line. "We're happily married. Whirlwind romance. The gaming chapel was charming and quirky."
"Got it. Lie convincingly."
"It's not lying. It's tailored truth-telling."
"That's literally the definition of lying."
"Harper."
"Victor."
A photographer approaches. "Mr. Kade! Can we get a photo of you and your wife?"
Victor's hand tightens slightly on my back, and I paste on a smile.
"Of course," he says smoothly.
We pose. His arm around my waist. My hand on his chest. The heat between us fiery enough to light a few of the nearby candles on tabletops.
