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That man knew his effect on women. I’d seen the way the interns preened under his attention, noticed the way they watched him. I’d heard his quiet chuckle whenhenoticed the same. He also never had a shortage of dates and was constantly screening calls because he was just too perfect.
I was not immune to his charm, his power, but as a professional and his direct supervisor, I could control myself.
The problem was that he had never turned the full effect of that power on me before, and I found my body’s reaction much harder to control. I became very aware of the swell of my breasts above the plunging neckline of my swoop top dress and the curve of my hips, hugged by smooth red silk.
His gaze was scorching, and my body heated up, forgetting that he wasn’t actually imagining my body without clothes on, the way it appeared. He didn’t actually want to run his hands over my curves the way his eyes had done. Or lick my lips the way my tongue had done.
What the hell was Mark doing?I asked myself, but realized the better question was,why?
Mark agreed to tell Emory we had slept together a couple of times—ifshe asked—and to be my fake date to the wedding. I was glad he agreed so I didn’t have to show up to this fuck show dateless—God, that would have added to my humiliation.
However, I hadn’t asked him to eye fuck me in front of everyone so convincingly.
I subtly narrowed my eyes at him, turned my back, and raised my champagne flute in the air, signaling the other guests to do the same. Even with my back turned, I felt Mark’s gaze—felt it even more than the judgmental ones I couldsee.
Alcohol. I needed all the alcohol, and I fully intended to have only that for dinner. We’d eaten all day in the bridal suite, and I had way more than my fair share of the hand-delivered hors d'oeuvres, knowing my nerves wouldn’t let me eat at the reception.
“Everyone raise your glasses,” I said, grateful my voice came out steady. “Here’s to the new Mr. and Mrs. Prancer.”
I chugged the rest of my champagne, hugged Emory and Ben, then swiped another glass from a passing waitress on the way off the dance floor. I chugged that, too, before heading straight to the ladies’ room.
I knew eyes couldn’t find me in there.
My face was flushed in the mirror. I leaned my palms against the cool counter, wishing I could press my face to it and chill the burning flesh. It felt so hot.
Closing my eyes, I bent my head and took another deep breath. I reminded myself that I was a strong woman who didn’t get flustered when insanely hot, charming men hit on me and that I had handled the assholes out there before. I could do it for a night as a stronger, more confident woman.
I left the bathroom with the intention of going straight to the bar. I would need to put on the performance of my lifetime if I wanted to convince Emory I was happy in Philadelphia and show the rest of that shithole town how well I was doing despite the best efforts of Charles Rost.
CHAPTER2
Reaching the bar was more challenging than escaping the dance floor had been. Speeches were over, so more people were on their feet. I was stopped by at least ten different people, despite my hurried pace, only one of which I was excited to see. The others just wanted to pry me for information to feed their gossip.
Most slipped in a question about Mark. We’d agreed to keep our story as close to the truth as possible. We worked together. It just sort of happened. I told them enough to be polite.
Mark was laughing and talking to a dark-haired older man as I finally approached. His smile changed from carefree and charming to something more sensual when he saw me, making my stomach swoop.
My God, he’s good. And my God, he needs to tone that down.
He stood from where he casually leaned against the bar to his full height. Somehow, he seemed even taller than before. Broader. Like his very presence took up way more space than it should have.
“Hey, Babe,” he said with a sinful smile that transformed his usually friendly face into something entirely different. Something darker. It made my breathing pick up, and it took effort not to react openly.
Because, whatthe fuck, Mark?
He leaned down, smoothly kissing my cheek when I stopped in front of him.
I tingled—in lots of places—and knew without a doubt that my mental pep talk in the bathroom hadn’t prepared me in the slightest to deal with this version of Mark Charming. If I couldn’t handle his heavy looks, there was no way I could function if that man kept putting his mouth on me.
“Knock it off,” I whispered, sending him a not-so-subtle glare and shoved him slightly to make him step back. He was not playing fair.
His smile only grew, humor mixing with the heat in his gaze, a bit of my Mark coming out to play. The Mark that teased me relentlessly had teamed up with this sexual, charming version, and I was not prepared for the onslaught.
I raised a finger to Beth, the bartender, asking for a much-needed drink.
I sighed in relief when she nodded and took the seat Mark offered, subtly elbowing him as I squeezed past. He chuckled and threw his arm around the back of my chair. His fingers grazed the bare skin of my shoulder in the process, and I internally screamed at Beth to hurry up.
Mark introduced me to his new friend, but upon hearing my name, the man’s demeanor changed. Nothing obvious, but it was clear to me since it had been happening my whole life.
