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Anne shook her head. “Not really. I almost always attend my mother’s, but the runway show was a new one.”
“The robbery, or attempted robbery, must’ve had inside information then, if the event had never been done before.”
“Have you heard anything more about it?” she asked.
“They interrogated the one who survived, but he invoked his Miranda rights and lawyered up.”
Anne sighed. “Of course, he did.”
“Former offender, though, so he had a record. Assault. Breaking and entering. That kind of thing. Nothing big-time, though. Not until the fundraiser. It was poorly planned. Only two men with a crowd that size in a venue of a high-end hotel? They didn’t stand a chance.”
“Not with you there, they didn’t,” Anne reminded him, still feeling a bit in awe of how he’d taken them down. She couldn’t help it. She’d only ever seen that kind of thing in the movies.
To her surprise, the tips of his ears turned red. She’d embarrassed him.
“Anyway, if they find anything else out, I’ll let you know,” he said, brushing off her comment and finishing off his champagne. He glanced at his watch. “We should probably head out. I hope you don’t mind that I made reservations for a late dinner after the show.”
Anne hesitated. “Um, well, I have to work early in the morning.”
“Have you had dinner?”
She’d barely had time to dress, much less eat. “No.”
“Then we’ll see how hungry you are after the show.” His lopsided grin wanted to melt her resistance.
“We’ll see.”
She handed him her wrap, which he draped around her shoulders. His fingers lightly brushed her skin as he arranged her hair from underneath the wrap, sending a shiver down her back. Neither of them mentioned it.
Grasping her silver clutch, she locked the door behind them. He offered her his arm, which she took. The muscles underneath the fabric were hard beneath her touch.
The evening was biting, and she shivered as he helped her into his car. A moment later and he was behind the wheel and turning up the heat for her.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a driver,” she said.
“I did have, for a while, but I prefer to be in control.”
“Why do I think that’s your default setting?” she asked. “To be in control.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face, lit up every few seconds by the streetlights they passed.
“I’m not going to deny that. It comes with the territory.”
“Territory?”
Blane pointed to himself. “SEAL, lawyer, senator. None of those occupations are co-dependent.”
He had a point there. Blane was an alpha male, used to being in control and leading. Protecting. Just like he had at the fundraiser.
He valeted the car and escorted her into the theater. His seats were excellent, separating them off onto one of the balconies. There was someone there who brought them a bottle of wine and two glasses. Blane spoke with them and shortly thereafter they brought a tray of charcuterie bites.
“Fancy,” Anne said, taking the glass of wine he offered her.
Blane’s gaze lingered, taking her in. She was stunning. The deep red flattered her ivory skin, and her raven hair was a stark contrast. The top of her dress hugged her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. And the way she wore it, as though born to the role of a Grace Kelley, drew him in like a moth to a flame.
She leaned forward to take a morsel from the charcuterie board and his eyes caught on the bare skin of her back. His fingers itched with wanting to reach out and touch her. Her shoulders were perfectly rounded and beautifully displayed. He wanted her, he realized. Wanted her in the worst way.
Blane glanced away and took a sip of the cool wine. He had to think of other things. It wouldn’t do to sport a raging erection at the theater. There were enough eyes on them as it was. She’d given him a shot. He didn’t want to screw it up.
