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He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as a broad, dimpled grin appears on his kiss-stained lips. “Your mouth makes me forget my own goddamn name, Wren Caputo.”
When he holds his hand out, I immediately take it, stepping closer to his side with a grin of my own as we make our way to the elevator. “I could say the same, Vaughn Burton.”
He side-eyes me with a suppressed grin before ushering me into the waiting elevator, his hand taking mine as we descend to the basement.
“Where are we going anyway?”
He simply shrugs as we arrive in his garage, where he proceeds to unlock a car that’salmostas sexy as he is. Once he helps me get settled, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Where are we going?”
He revs the car and tosses me a wink before peeling out of the garage and onto the lively Tribeca street.
As we zip through uptown traffic, my repeated question lands on deaf ears, much to my annoyance and Vaughn’s blatant delight.
My jaw drops when Vaughn pulls up in his utterly over-the-top supercar right outside The Met. There’s a hoard of photographers and even a handful of celebrities on those iconic steps.
“Why are we here?”
“We’re attending the exhibition for a hot new artist. And I want you to meet the curator concerning…a collaboration of sorts.”
My mouth goes dry at the thought of meeting Harold Dickinson, curator at The Met. The possibility of interningheremakes me nervous beyond words.
I twist to face Vaughn, horror flowing through my veins, but he grips my hand before I can say a word.
His thumb strokes the back of my hand, his touch centering me instantaneously. He moves closer, pressing his brow to mine, his calming words whispering across my skin.
“Do you trust me?”
My answer is immediate. “Implicitly.”
His index finger twists around a curl falling over my shoulder as his lips lift. “Good girl.”
I raise wide eyes to his, swallowing roughly. “Don’t leave me.”
His lips dust over mine in the lightest of touches. “Not even the hounds of hell could tear me away, little bird.”
Those words lift me as he steps out of the car, rounding it to open my door as a smiling valet approaches, his eyes filled with unmistakable glee at being chosen as the lucky driver of Vaughn’s Bugatti.
His eyes rake over me as I step from the car, taking Vaughn’s waiting hand.
The same hand that tightens minutely before he rounds on the unsuspecting valet.
“If you wish to keep your eyes in your damn head, I suggest you remove them frommy Wren.”
The valet’s eyes blow wide, snapping to Vaughn’s as his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.
Cameras snap behind us as the media notice Vaughn’s presence when he leans closer, passing over his car keys with a low snarl. “And if there’s so much as ahintof scratch on my baby, I’ll track you down, snap your neck, and ensure it looks like a motherfucking accident.”
The valet takes the keys with trembling hands even as I suppress a grin before Vaughn takes my arm and leads me closer to the waiting media.
“No one else has figured it out yet, have they?”
He looks down at me with questioning eyes, and I allow my threatening smile to split my face. “You’re all bark and no bite.”
Arching a brow, he leans closer with mischief in his eyes. “The marks on your sweet ass would beg to differ, my little bird.”
I inhale sharply as he slides his hand over those marks he’s referring to. The ones he’d put there just this morning.
