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And then Nic had come along and blown that idea right out of the water when they’d barely known each other a week. How did he do it? How did he see her when she couldn’t even see herself?
“Desi?” he urged, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend with me.”
“I’m not. I swear.” And to her astonishment, she wasn’t. Because right then, in that moment, standing in his arms, she was okay. More okay than she’d been in a very long time. “It’s just been a crazy day. But I’m good now.”
She could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood what she hadn’t been able to say—that being with him had made her okay—but he didn’t push it. He didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he dropped his glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter and pulled her into his arms.
“Is this the part where you ask me to dance?” she teased, more than ready to clear her head of painful thoughts.
“Actually, this is the part where I whisk you outside and ravish you.” But contrary to his words, he swept her onto the almost empty dance floor, spinning her around to the beat of some old-time song she recognized but couldn’t name.
“I thought I told you earlier that we weren’t making love on the balcony this time.”
He laughed, bending his head to drop a soft, sweet, sexy kiss on her shoulder. “Yes, but I checked. No balcony.”
She laughed then, too—she couldn’t help it. No matter how awful her mood was, Nic always found a way to make things better.
“So I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked blithely.
“Take it as a maybe,” she answered.
He quirked a brow. “Maybe’s not no.”
“No, it isn’t.” She held on while he twirled them around. “But it’s not yes, ei—” She broke off midsentence, gasping and clinging to him as he suddenly lifted her up and spun her around.
“Let go,” he said as he gently moved her away from his body. And though it went against every instinct she had, Desi did what he said for once. And then laughed her head off as he spun her all the way out before reeling her back in with a quick snap of his wrist.
She felt it happen right then—in the middle of the dance floor at a fancy gala that he belonged at and she certainly didn’t. Desi felt herself slide headfirst into love with Nic Durand.
She spent the evening breaking all the rules. Instead of blending into the background and observing the wealthy and sometimes famous, she allowed herself to be introduced to them. To be drawn into conversations with them. Then again, it wasn’t as if she had a choice.
Being Nic Durand’s date meant being surrounded by people all the time. She wasn’t the only one who loved him, after all. He might be new to Southern California’s high society, but Nic had the kind of personality people gravitated to—and the billions of dollars at his disposal only added to his appeal. But even without the money, he was one of those guys everyone wanted to be friends with. Larger than life, funny as hell, handsome as all get out—and nice to boot. What was there not to love? God knew, she’d tried and look where it had gotten her.
Still, she couldn’t quite believe that she was in the thick of things—wasn’t sure that she wanted to be, if she was honest. When she’d agreed to taking him as her date, she?
?d kind of planned to still do the wallflower thing. Sure, she’d known he’d attract attention, but she thought that would only make it easier for her to blend in to the crowds.
But Nic wasn’t okay with her blending in to the background. Actually, he wasn’t okay with her being more than two feet from him all night. Not in a creepy, possessive kind of way that would have made her champ at the bit—and probably deck him before the night was over—but in the concerned, solicitous way that said he was looking out for her. And that he was proud to have her by his side.
And so she found herself making miles of mental notes about who was doing what with whom—and what they were wearing while they were doing it. Twice, she slipped away to ostensibly use the bathroom only to spend the time hiding in a corner and talking into her recorder as fast as she could.
Not that she was talking to these people under false pretenses—everyone Nic introduced her to was told she worked for the Los Angeles Times and was covering the party for their society pages. But the thing was, no one seemed to care. At least that she could tell, no one acted any differently toward her at all.
At least until she met Marc Durand.
From the moment she locked eyes with Nic’s brother, she knew she was in trouble. And she couldn’t even say that she didn’t deserve it, because she totally did. He was the CEO of Bijoux, the man she had almost accused in print of lying, cheating, stealing and helping to fund the most egregious human rights violations. Was it any wonder he was looking at her as if he wanted to take her apart tiny piece by tiny piece? And then feed those tiny pieces to one of the sharks swimming in the tanks just beyond the pavilion?
Marc saw her and she saw Marc before Nic had a clue that anything was amiss. She tried to slip away before the eldest Durand could make a scene, but the moment she moved an inch farther away than Nic deemed acceptable, he turned to her with a frown. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She, who always had a snappy comeback, had no idea what she was supposed to say to that. And so she just shook her head, letting her eyes find Marc and his date, as they were trying to extricate themselves from the clutches of San Diego’s mayor.
Nic followed her gaze, and sudden understanding flashed across his face. Then he pulled her in close, bending his head to whisper in her ear, “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? Easy for him to say.
