7. Mallory
Carson can dance. Because, of course, he can. The man knows his way around a dance floor, and the way he moves confirms, as if I had any doubt, he knows his way around a woman’s body, too. Which is perfect because my legs are still wobbly from the kiss.
The one I started, but he quickly hijacked. Deepening it as he cradled my head in his hand and overwhelmed each of my heightened senses.
After a beat when his surprise registered, his tongue swept into my mouth like it owned the place. But the exploration was tender, with only a hint of the restraint he was wielding.
The touch was welcome and set my blood on fire. Until we were interrupted, who knows how many minutes later, when the wedding planner corralled us to once again line up in processional order to be introduced at the reception. And join in the first dance.
So now, here we are, under the low lights of the grand ballroom, as a familiar love song plays. My grip is tight on Carson”s smooth linen suit jacket while we glide across the wooden dance floor with the other attendants and the happy couple.
He”s holding me close, smells like sin, and has his arm wrapped around my waist like a protective shield. I’m eyeing the exit, debating if anyone would miss our presence, because any resolve I had not to sleep with Carson Bennett tonight has been thrown into a blender and pulverized.
After all, our agreement to just be Carson and Mallory while we’re here is just like the what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas kind of deal, right? At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. And I don’t want to waste an opportunity for a night of unbridled passion that’s sure to satisfy. Because one night is all I’ve got.
“Planning a quick getaway?” Carson murmurs, lifting his chin to acknowledge someone behind me before his amused gaze falls to meet mine.
No reason to mince words. “I want to finish what I started.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Is that so?”
“Don’t you?”
A beat and then, “That depends.”
That depends?
“Your erection didn’t seem to share your hesitation.”
The stiff length pressed into my belly on the patio ten minutes ago and made it crystal clear he’s a willing partner. At least, I thought it did.
A chuckle escapes him. “It doesn’t, believe me.”
“Then why the indecision?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. My eyes drop to track the movement, and his grip tightens around me as he looks off into the distance. “Can I ask you something?”
His tone has lost its playful edge.
“Why do I have the feeling it’s not what’s your favorite position?”
That earns me another chuckle, but it’s short-lived as he turns serious. “What made you go into public relations? What do you love about it?”
He’s laying a classic reporter move on me. One known for getting an interviewee to open up. I didn’t see that coming. No man has ever bothered to ask what I love about my job. Especially not one who challenged me to set aside our professional roles for the weekend. But he’s press and probably naturally curious. Plus, he seems genuinely interested, his blue eyes thoughtful as we slowly sway. For some reason, right now, it seems important that he knows where I’m coming from.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts. Carson’s not the type to take a throwaway answer, and even though we’ve agreed to keep business out of it, this isn’t really about business. It’s about me. And how I phrase anything, whether it be a press release or an answer to a reporter’s question, is important. Words matter.
“I love the creativity and challenges PR offers. I enjoy thinking strategically and working with an amazing team. Plus,” I add, “I believe in what we’re doing. Serving as the spokesperson for our brand and advocating for its values and mission, advancing its initiatives, allows me to amplify our positive impact on the world.”
He considers my response for a moment. Then, “I can see why you chose PR. And why you’re one of the best. It makes perfect sense.”
“But?” I prompt, picking up on the question in his tone.
He eyes me, as if debating whether to ask what’s on his mind. “But how is it that a accomplished, ravishing, kind, and thoughtful woman like you single?”
I scoff. “You sound like my mother. Except for the ravishing part. But, to be honest, I’m unwilling to sacrifice and haven’t found a man yet who respects that.”
Before he can press further, I turn the tables on him. “But enough about me. What about you? What do you love about press and running a media conglomerate?”
”Besides being a newsie, of course?”
”Yes, besides that.”
”And the All Access passes?”
I can”t help but smile. ”Yes, besides that, too.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “That’s a good question. One I’ve never really thought about. We were born into the business, of course. Henry—you know Henry, right?”
“Your little brother?”
“Yes, he’s always come more naturally to the work. He’s more responsible and seems to enjoy overseeing the operations of our various companies. But once our parents died, there was no longer a question of pursuing something different. Our father was gone, and it was assumed we’d follow in my grandfather’s footsteps.”
Carson’s parents were killed in a car accident years ago. The crash made headlines then, and now, I wonder how that affected the make-up of the man who’s holding me close.
“What would you do if you weren’t in line to take over Bennett Media Group? If you could do anything in the world?”
A touch of a smile curls his lip, and he’s quick to answer. “I’d be a philanthropist. Most people don’t believe me, but I’d take after my mother and use my skills and connections to do what I could to help others.”
The foundation Sawyer mentioned last night, the one I’d never heard about, now seems to make perfect sense. “Why doesn’t anyone talk about your role in the foundation? Why is it that your reputation in…other parts of your life seems to be what you’re known for?”
He looks off across the room with a wry smile. “You know as well as I do that scandals makes great headlines and headlines sell papers.”
The first dance ends and we join the rest of the wedding party making their way toward the head table. But Carson doesn’t lose his train of thought as we go.
“Tell me,” he says, blowing out a long breath at my side, “Are your parents still married?”
“Yes.”
“Happily?”
“Yes.”
“And what would your mother say, do you think, if you told her you met a man and fell for him and he guaranteed you’d never have to sacrifice your career a day in your life?”
I bite my lip, considering his question. It’s another one no one’s ever asked me. “She’d ask me when I’d be giving her grandbabies. But,” I add, as a grin spreads across his face. “If you know a fictional man like that, one who truly means it and isn’t just making empty promises, then send him my way, will you? Because I’m fairly certain a man like that doesn’t exist here in the real world. At least, not one who’s successful in his own right and willing to sacrifice to make a relationship work.”
“If I meet this mythical creature,” Carson says, biting back a smile as he holds my chair for me, “I’ll be sure to give him your number.”