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It’s a joke, I remind myself.They’re joking. “I’ll come get you after she has her pictures taken.”
Thanking them, I turn and abruptly halt all movement.
There he is!
Mr. Fucking Gorgeous is standing in front of me again. My heartbeat picks up again at the sight of him, and I’m aware of my jaw opening slightly.
I close my mouth before drool soaks the front of my T-shirt. There’s something about him that I can’t pull away from. Personality? Charisma? Sex appeal? Whatever it is, he’s like a magnet that’s drawing me to him without lifting a finger. It’s like the sun just rose after a thunderstorm and the earth bloomed.
I hold up my camera, and he nods. But before I can take his picture, the redhead steps into the frame. I really want him alone, but I can hardly tell her to step out.
“Say cheese.” I sound so lame, I wince.
“Cheese.” His deep voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, and I feel my heart skip at the sensual way the sound drips from his lips.
Focus, Paige!
My gaze keeps catching on him as he walks to the other side of the room. Slyly, I sneak in his direction, photographing a few other guests along the way. I take his picture again. And again. And again. When I finally lower my camera, he’s looking straight at me. A knowing smile curves on his face and heat rushes to my cheeks.
Caught. I decide not to play it off. I rock on my heels as he approaches in two strides. If he asks, I’ll pretend to delete his picture.
“Are you here on your own?” His cocky smile could lead to bad decisions, intense fun, and then alotof trouble.
I blink. “I’m the photographer.”
His eyes trail down to my pants, where every pocket is bulging. But something tells me he’s more interested in what’sundermy pockets than what’s in them. Sheepishly, I look away, chewing my lower lip when his gaze lingers for a moment before it slowly rises up to meet mine.
“The Novikovs are private people,” he says. “I thought you might be a distant relative.”
“From the wrong side of the tracks?” I ask, my voice higher and quieter than I’d like.
“Aren’t we all from the wrong side of the tracks here?” His intense gaze traps me and he extends a hand. “Dance with me?”
I take an embarrassingly long time to find my voice and answer. “I’m working.” Money before fun. I need to be paid, and that won’t happen if I’m not taking pictures.
“You’re entitled to a break.” He takes my camera out of my hands and hands it to a scary guy with a scar across his face from his temple to the bridge of his nose hovering behind us. With his free hand, Mr. Fucking Gorgeous pulls me onto the dance floor.
No one seems to mind that I’m dancing with him. Do they even notice me beside him? The boyish grin never leaves his lips as he tugs me close. I feel something hard press against me. For a split second, my heart skips again, and then I realize that the hard protrusion is much higher than wherethatis supposed to be.
It takes me another second to realize it’s a gun.Who the hell brings a gun to a wedding?
Criminals, Paige.My mind immediately answers.
I let him go immediately. “I should get back to work.”
“Why?” He takes my hands back and pulls me closer against his body. “Pretty women should enjoy themselves.”
A red flag springs up and starts to ripple in my mind. “You mean enjoy themselves with you?”
“Does that sound so bad?” His hand lowers down my back and his finger brushes my ass.
I ease his paw back up. I try to pull away when the song ends, but I can’t get out of his grasp as the next one starts. Damn yacht rock. Christopher Cross is my favorite, as corny as he is. My dad taught me how to play “Sailing” using the synth app on my phone.
I melt into Mr. Fucking Gorgeous, careful not to press too hard. I don’t want that gun going off.
“Want me to take you away,devushka?” he whispers, his voice positively dripping.
I force myself to roll my eyes and stop moving, even as my own body instinctively wants to drift closer to him. “Look, I have a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend cheating at home.”Fiance, Paigé, I bitterly remind myself as Mr. Fucking Gorgeous spins me again.“I don’t need another man begging for sex.” Tim texted me all evening, probably since Carole left the apartment. The coward. He better not be there tonight.
