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Other than Rowan, I wasn’t going to know anyone there. And to say I didn’t fit in with the crowd that attended an event such as the AHA gala was an epic understatement. I hadn’t felt so out of my element since I was a teenager.
“Stop fidgeting.” Rowan reached across the seat and wrapped his long fingers around my hand that had been tugging at my bracelet.
His soft words and gentle touch pulled my attention from the passing buildings outside our limousine's window. “I can’t help it.”
His grip on my hand loosened as he flipped my palm over and looked down, the tips of his fingers whispering over the gold leaves wrapped around my wrist. “You keep yanking on this bracelet and you’re going to break it.” I turned my attention from his handsome face, his strong jaw covered in a day’s worth of stubble. He still managed to look slightly rugged, even while wearing a designer tux, and my body had been tingling since the moment I climbed into the limo and first caught sight of him. “You make this?” he asked, jerking me back to reality.
“Yeah. And the earrings. I needed something to match my dress.”
“Gorgeous,” he said on a whispered breath. I thought he was talking about the bracelet, but when I looked up from our hands that crystal gaze was focused solely on my face. My breath hitched as his eyes roamed every inch of my features. He leaned in closer, his hand on my wrist tightening as though he was afraid I’d pull away. I had absolutely no intention of pulling away. I didn’t have it in me to fight any longer. Denying myself something I wanted so badly was exhausting, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. Consequences be damned, I’d find a way to deal with the aftermath when that time came.
Which it undoubtedly would.
“Rowan…” That one word came out like a plea, soft and breathy, full of need. We were so close I could see his eyes flare at just the sound of me saying his name. He wanted me. I wanted him. It was undeniable.
Then the curtain came crashing down on our moment.
“Mr. Locklaine, we’ve arrived,” the driver’s voice called across the intercom.
“Fuck,” he nearly growled as he pulled away, resting his back against the seat as he raked his hands through his hair. His words were mumbled, but I could understand them perfectly. “Fucking shit. Goddamn it.” And I couldn’t have agreed more.
His chest rose and fell on a deep breath as I tried to get my rapid heartbeat under control. I sucked in as much air as possible, coaxing myself with a silentin through your nose, out through your mouth. It took a few seconds, but I finally started to calm down. That was, until Rowan focused those darkened eyes on me.
“This isn’t over. Goddamn, this is so not fucking over.”
“I know.” The surprise that flashed across his face told me he’d been expecting a fight. Well, I wasn’t going to give him one.
“Tonight, after this is over. Come home with me.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t giving me any room to change my mind.
“O-okay,” I stuttered on a nod.
A slow, brain-shorting smile spread across his lips as he spoke a quiet, “Okay.”
He held on to my hand firmly as he guided me out of the limo, letting go once I was on my feet to rest his palm at the small of my back. The touch provided a sense of comfort as we walked into the Plaza Hotel where the gala was being held.
“Whoa,” I exhaled. “Talk about lifestyles of the rich and famous,” I whispered for only Rowan’s ears.
“This place will be packed with pretentious douchebags and narcissistic bastards.”
I turned my face up toward him and gave him a quick smile. “So, what you’re saying is you’ll fit in perfectly.”
“She’s got jokes.” He grinned, giving my side a pinch that caused me to let out a small yelp. Both of us laughed at the few disapproving looks from the people around us.
“So, tell me what to expect tonight,” I said as we walked into the ornately decorated ballroom. Yep,soout of my element.
Rowan led me to the bar closest to us, one of two on either side of the room. “Well, it’s going to be boring,” he started. “Mindnumbinglyboring. Cocktails and a silent auction followed by a dinner, where we’ll undoubtedly be stuck in conversations so dull you’ll want to stab your eardrums out with a butter knife.” He turned to me and gave a crooked grin as I sat on one of the available barstools. “That’s frowned upon, by the way. You’ll be tempted, but I suggest you keep all cutlery away from your ears.”
“Noted,” I giggled.
“During the dinner, someone—most likely a limp-dick politician who doesn’t give a shit about the charity—will drone on about all the reasons we should open our checkbooks and ask each of us to donate an amount that would be enough to buy a private island, all while purposefully sliding in comments as to what he or she is running for and why they’re the best choice for New York’s blah blah blah. Then they’ll announce the winners of the auction items, making sure to give the exact dollar amount, down to the penny, hoping to emasculate the rest of us who weren’t willing to fork out that much. Sprinkle in a shit-ton of schmoozing in between, and there’s your night.”
“Wow, you make it sound so appealing,” I responded sarcastically.
“Well, now you know why I hate coming to these things.”
The bartender came over for our drink order, a scotch on the rocks for Rowan, a gin and tonic for myself.
“So,” I asked a few minutes later, taking a fortifying sip of my drink as I turned to scan the room, “Are you telling me you have enough money to buy your own personal island?”
