9. Antonio
Antonio
Ophelia is an absolute rock star. I watch as she flits around the room checking with her team while also taking time to stop and speak to the attendees. It’s astounding that she put this entire event together with only a small staff of volunteers. Everything looks beautiful.
The mix of people in this ballroom is eclectic, to say the least. There are local and state politicians mingling with men who are obviously part of the biker militia, though they have dressed up for the event.
The room buzzes with power and influence from wealthy business owners, and sports stars from around the state make the rounds, ginning up excitement for the memorabilia that’s been donated for the auction while a band plays quietly enough to allow easy conversation.
“Sorry about that,” my stunning date says, walking up beside me. “They had a small issue at the bar I needed to straighten out.”
It’s almost impossible to take a full breath when she’s around.
I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful. Her makeup is understated, and the soft waves that usually frame her face have been straightened into a sleek bob that’s both elegant and sexy.
Her black dress fits her to perfection, and I look forward to peeling it off her luscious body later.
“It’s no problem. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her smile is coy and taunting. “Not right now, but I can think of something you could help me with when we get home.”
“Would this thing require the use of my mouth?” I ask, and she bobs her eyebrows at me.
“Among other body parts.”
“Watch yourself, love, or you’ll find yourself being carried to a back room and fucked over the first flat surface I can find.”
Ophelia taps one manicured nail against her lips, trying to feign nonchalance, though I can see a glint of arousal in her brown eyes. “Very tempting but dinner is about to start.”
As if on cue, the music pauses, and the lead singer of the band on the small stage announces that everyone should take their seats.
Dinner is flawless, and the conversation flows easily around the table.
Besides Ophelia’s family, the hockey players and their wives are also seated with us, which makes sense since they are part of Jordie’s family.
Despite the formal attire and elegant food, this event is turning out to be much less stuffy than I expected.
The room is filled with friendly chatter and laughter rather than hushed, mundane conversations.
When dessert is served, Ophelia rises and takes the stage.
Her speech is moving and heartfelt as she speaks about her sister and the work done by the Beverly’s Hope organization.
She’s gracious when thanking the volunteers and donors, and there’s not a single whisper coming from anyone in the room.
Ophelia holds us all hostage with her passion, and that hardened organ in my chest softens with her every word.
Jesus, I think I’m falling for her.
When she steps back from the podium with a sad but grateful smile on her face, I’m the first one on my feet, followed instantly by every other person in the room.
No doubt donations are going to be through the roof this evening, and I’m so damn proud of her and everything she’s built.
I’m not sure I’m worthy of this beautiful, intelligent woman.
The band kicks off again, playing a familiar pop tune that I’m pretty sure is a Taylor Swift song.
Ophelia makes her way over to us, but it takes a while because no fewer than a dozen people stop her on her trek back.
She seems to know everyone and vice versa.
If Houston, Texas were a monarchy, I have no doubt Ophelia Oakley-Hale would be the queen.
As soon as she arrives, each of her sons rises to hug her and whisper against her hair.
She’s raised some good lads, and they obviously adore their mother.
Then her daughters-in-law and Serena take their turns.
Jealousy floods through me because I want to take Ophelia in my arms and kiss the ever-loving shite out of her, right here in front of God and everyone.
But I can’t because I’m just the fake date, I think with more than a little bitterness. Instead, I take her hand beneath the table when she sits, giving it a firm squeeze as I lean subtly closer. “You were absolutely fantastic, darlin’. I’m in awe of you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine for a long second before Reno Swain leans across the table to offer his congratulations. But I continue holding her hand, clasping it beneath the table when all I want to do is show off that she’s mine.
Remi’s gaze meets mine across the table, and I wonder if he can read the thoughts I’m having about his mother.
My shoulders tense, but when he offers me a small smile, they instantly relax.
Then his eyes narrow as he looks behind me and stands, rounding the table to our side.
I reflexively release Ophelia’s hand and instantly miss the softness of her skin.
“J.P. alert,” he says quietly, bending down between us. “Come dance with me, Mom.” I glance behind me to see that dumbarse man standing there with a look of disappointment as Remi leads Ophelia to the dance floor. What is the deal with that guy anyway?
After dancing with Remi, Phoenix and Helix take their turns dancing with their mother.
Nicolette pulls her eyes from the dance floor and levels them on me.
I have a feeling she knows there’s something going on between her mother-in-law and me, and I worry she’s going to spill the beans to the entire table.
But her lips curve into a sly smile. “You know, I think Antonio should dance with Mom too.”
I freeze, waiting for Remi to blow up, but he simply shrugs. “That would probably be a good idea since you’re her actual date. Give the rest of us a break,” he teases, feigning wiping sweat from his forehead. “I have no idea where Mom gets her energy.”
Oh son, if you only knew the energy your mother has when she’s alone with me.
I do my best to tamp down the arousal flooding my system as the memories of last night come rushing in. “I can do a fair waltz,” I offer.
“Next waltz, she’s all yours,” Phoenix announces, and god, I wish that were really true.
When the band kicks off an Alan Jackson tune, Nicolette stares at me and gestures one hand toward the dance floor like a game show hostess.
I chuckle and stand, removing my jacket and heading to the dance floor.
That Nicolette is one perceptive lass, and I can only hope she will keep our little secret.
Tapping Helix on the shoulder, I say with mock formality, “Pardon me, sir. May I please dance with the lovely lady?”
He laughs and twirls his mom beneath his arm before placing her hand in mine and bowing gallantly. “You kids have fun. I’m going to see if Nic needs anything.”
I wrap one arm around Ophelia’s trim waist and grasp her hand. She places her other one on my shoulder and smiles up at me. “Hey, handsome. You come here often?” she teases.
Putting on my best southern drawl—which honestly is not very good—I reply, “Why Ms. Ophelia. Are you flirting with me?”
“What if I am?” she challenges as I begin moving us around the floor.
“Then that would lead me to believe you wouldn’t be offended if I acted less than gentlemanly toward you later.”
Her lips curve into a tempting delicacy I’d like to devour. “What did you have in mind, sir?”
Fucking hell, this woman… “Keep calling me sir, and you’re going to find out.” I spin our bodies and manage not to step on her feet.
“Where did you learn to dance?”
“Miss O’Reilly in primary school. She made us learn, and if we stepped on our partners’ toes, she would smack us around the head with a ruler. I was rather gangly with big feet, so I got more than one smack in my day.”
“I like your big…” Ophelia pauses and bites her bottom lip before finishing. “Feet.”
A body part that is definitely not a foot recognizes her innuendo and thickens in my pants. She grins broadly, enjoying this power she has over me. Hell, I enjoy it as well.
We finish the dance with me managing to not break her toes or come in my pants, and the singer announces the band is taking a short break.
Someone turns on a dance tune from the sound system, and more people crowd the dance floor.
Reluctantly, I release my gorgeous date and turn to guide her toward our table.
But we’re stopped by Phoenix, followed by Jordie, who pokes me in the chest. “Uh-uh. You two are staying out here for this one.”
I look around at the partygoers who all seem to know some secret dance I’m not privy to. “I have no idea what this is,” I hiss at the young woman.
“It’s called the Dougie,” Jordie announces. “I had to do this in the end zone with my team back in high school when we’d score a touchdown. Come on. It’s fun.”
Then she and Phoenix proceed to teach Ophelia and me the dumbest dance I’ve ever witnessed, but by the time we’re done, we’re all laughing.
After that, we do something called the Wobble, taught to us by an enormous biker called Hammer.
I like this one because it gives me a chance to check out Ophelia swirling her hips around. Christ, she’s sexy.
“I need a drink,” my date announces when the song is over, dabbing delicately at the sweat dotting her forehead.
“I’ll get it for you,” I tell her. “More champagne?”
“Just water, please. I’m going to freshen up in the restroom right quick.”
I head to the bar and order us both a water, keeping Ophelia in my peripheral vision until she disappears down a short hallway. Many of the attendees have left, so the crowd has thinned a bit. That’s when I notice a blond man looking around furtively as he follows her path.
“Goddammit,” I curse, abandoning my post by the bar and wending my way quickly toward the restrooms. J.P. Jenkins better not be headed where I think he’s headed or this may well be his last night on Earth.