“That can’t be true.” He angles himself so he’s facing me, one broad shoulder propped against the old stone of the ballroom wall. “No one likes being in the background.”
His words are low and probing, and something leaps inside me.
“It’s where I belong,” I respond without looking at him.
“I disagree.”
“That’s because you always disagree.”
“Look at me.” His words are hot and dark, and suddenly the space behind this plant feels way too small.
I look.
I regret it.
Occasionally, Tristan’s cheekbones catch the light or he laughs with his head tipped back, and I’m right back to where I was the day I met him—speechless.
That’s how he looks right now, with his crisp tuxedo and wavy hair backlit by the lights of the ballroom, his gaze intent and green like emeralds, his lips pouting.
But I’ve never felt the breath catch in my chest like this.
I refuse to be breathless.
“I’m looking.” I keep my voice steady, even as my stomach churns.
What the fuck is happening to me?Did I eat something weird from the catering kitchen?I discreetly rub a sweating palm down my pants. Sweaty palms are a liability in my line of work.
Tristan is studying me. Not with his usual amusement,but something different. He reminds me of a lazy predator most of the time. A freshly sated lion who doesn’t bother with hunting because others do it for him.
But right now there’s a sharpness to his gaze that makes me wonder what changed while he was gone.
“Are you okay?”
His words draw attention to the pit in my stomach, the feeling I’ve been ignoring all evening.
“I’m fine. Areyouokay, Mr. CEO?”
His jaw tightens. The Prince family hasn’t announced it yet, but their grandfather is retiring, Aiden is stepping aside, and Tristan is stepping forward.
“I’m fine. You want to dance?” He sets his empty glass down on a side table.
“I amnotdancing with you.”
He pouts, even though his eyes dance with amusement again. “Bailey, you’re no fun.”
“I’m not supposed to be fun. I’m the bodyguard.”
“Let’s go.” He tugs me out from behind the plant, and I swear my whole body heats under the lights of the dance floor. I sigh and let him drag me. It’s better than causing a scene. One dance. I’ll give him one dance and then I’ll duck onto the terrace and check the perimeter.
Just oneis how it starts with him. One game of chess. One dance. One moment of indiscretion. Being around him is like doing drugs. You feel good, and then you want more.
“This is inappropriate,” I mutter as we wend our way through the crowd.
“It’s my birthday and I’ll dance if I want to,” he tosses over his shoulder as he pushes guests out of the way. As usual, Tristan Prince is determined to be the center of attention.
We couldn’t be more different. I’m more comfortable onthe sidelines, and he’s only happy if everyone is looking in his direction.
I mouthsorryto the partygoers who turn to me with shocked expressions. The shock only grows when they see my clothes, which makes my face prickle. I don’t want to dance. I want to check the kitchen and make sure no one snuck back there to steal champagne again.
