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“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it and they grow on you,” I say and change the subject. “So, you friends of the groom?
“No, my aunt is. She couldn’t go, so I came in her stead.”
“Well, you’re a lot nicer than an RSVP and a gift card that most people send when they can’t come to a wedding. It’s nice of you to come. Even though, I bet it wasn’t that hard of a sell. It’s beautiful here,” I say.
“I’m not nice. My aunt raised me. So, when she asks something of me, I do it.” He shrugs and takes a sip of water, and I glance back at our table for a second to see if Cass is back. She’s not.
“May I?” he asks, and I turn back to face him. He’s watching me expectantly.
“May you what?” He nods to the table. His hand is hovering right above my wrist.
“Oh, you want to …” I ask in surprise, but smile and nod. “Feel free to put those big hands wherever you’d like,” I say and groan internally at how thirsty I sound.
He smirks a little before his thumb swipes once on the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. I shiver and bite back a moan at the tremor that runs down the center of my body. I’m shouting YES in my head.
He lifts my hand to his face. His breath tickles me before he draws in a deep breath, his eyes closed as he rubs his nose back and forth across my wrist. My insides liquify.
“You smell like roses,” he whispers so softly, his breath floats over the inside of my forearm and a tingle dances all the way up my arm.
If I’m dreaming, please don’t ever wake me.
I lean into him and put on my sauciest smile. “It’s this body lotion I bought in duty free—”
“It smells cheap.” His voice is no longer soft and seductive. Heat rises up my neck and spreads on my cheeks as his words sink in.
I yank my hand out of his grasp and lean away, “Excuse me?” I ask in affront.
“Didn’t anyone tell you before you came over that I only entertain heiresses and above?”
“‘Entertain?’” I put the words in air quotes while I gawk at the man who just turned from a prince to a toad in less than three minutes.
“I’m not interested in being your next payday,” he announces.
My jaw drops.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says without looking at me. “Go try it on one of the drunker, more persuadable men here. I’m sure you’ll leave with enough money to at least cover your expenses,” he says and my head snaps back so hard, I’m surprised it’s still attached to my body.
His gaze flits over me. “No question. You’re a knockout. But, if you’re looking for something more than a weekend, I’d suggest you invest in your look. Off-the-rack dresses aren’t going to cut it with this crowd. Dress for the job you want, and all that,” he says and falls back in his chair.
Each insult and insinuation is barbed with c
ontempt. They flay old wounds wide open.
“You jerk,” I spit and lean forward so I can look him in the eye when I tell him to fuck off.
They’re cold, dark, and shuttered. He looks like a completely different person than the one I met on the elevator. I wonder who put that look in his eye. I know it’s not me. The disillusionment I see is deep-seated. Despite the warm May sea breeze passing through the tent, goose bumps replace my tingles.
“Do better research on your next target. Approaching me at an event like this was a dead giveaway about your motives. You should have bumped into me at the airport or something less obvious.” His voice is devoid of any emotion, his gaze moved to the dance floor. His gaze is observant but detached. “Hmm … it’s a shame, I think we would’ve had a great time together,” he says while he looks at me like I’m a car he’s thinking about buying.
I wonder for a minute if I’m being punked. I glance around the room. The music, the tinkle of silverware scraping plates, people shouting to be heard over the noise are still there. No camera crew is rolling in to surprise me.
Nothing changed. No one’s watching us. I look back at him.
“Are you serious?” I ask him. I look closely at him for a sign that maybe he’s kidding.
Nope, that disdain is real. He frowns and adjusts the cuffs of his jacket before he leans forward. “Let me spell it out.” His eyes skim over me again. “Based on your lack of … polish,” his eyes roam my body, from head to toe and my flush burns over my skin in their wake. “I’m assuming you’re new to this scene. All the regulars know better than to try a trick like this. This place is littered with rich men. I’m sure you’ll find one. You can thank me by calling out my name when you pretend he made you come,” he says without a hint of humor and adjusts his cuff links.
I clasp my purse to my chest in shock.
