CHAPTER 23
GRAYDON
“Thank you, sir,” the valet says as I hand him the keys to the unnecessary rental Gretchen made me get.
Don’t see why it fucking matters what I drive. There’s no one out here taking pictures of our arrival.
I move to Maple’s side of the car and open the door for her, holding out my hand. Her delicate hand slips into mine, the perfect fit in my large palm.
“Hand me your clutch,” I say.
“Huh?”
“So you don’t have to hold it with your bad hand.”
“You’re going to hold my clutch all night?”
“Yeah, you have a problem with that?”
“No,” she says, her eyes wide as she hands it over. My eyes slide over that goddamn dress again, making my mouth water just like it did when I first caught sight of her at her apartment.
I can’t even explain how much my brain short-circuited and begged me to push her back inside her apartment to peel the damn thing off her. Because the fabric didn’t leave anything to the imagination.
Nope, I felt like the damn thing was painted on her as I took in every mouth-watering curve of her body. It molded over her breasts and tight, pebbled nipples, and the fabric clung to her waist and fitted perfectly over her hips. And that back? Jesus fuck, the back.
Her ass is the goddamn highlight as the fabric rests just above the slope, showing off two dimples that I want to run my fingers over.
And from the way her ass bounced when she turned to show me the back, I knew immediately she wasn’t wearing underwear.
That made me break out in a full goddamn sweat and rendered me speechless.
She’s so stunning.
So beautiful.
So effortlessly gorgeous that I couldn’t stop myself from placing my hand on her thigh in the car, nor could I stop myself from stealing glances in her direction while driving. And I know for a fact that this entire evening will be spent making sure no other dickwad thinks he can even get near her.
Nope. She’s fucking mine.
Mine.
“Are you okay?” she asks as we make our way through the door and down a hallway to a ballroom where the event festivities are being held.
“Fine,” I answer, keeping her close.
These events are always so counterintuitive because the money they spend on the lavish event space, the food, and the decorations could simply be donated rather than forcing us to walk around, make small talk, and try to get people to care about the goddamn zoo animals we’re here to promote.
When we reach the ballroom, I spot the bar and turn toward her. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure,” she answers, so I guide her through the crowd, hearing a few murmurs as we walk by.
I ignore them, as I have one thing on my mind—getting a drink.
Only one because I won’t drive if I drink more than that, but Christ, I just need something to loosen the choke hold this woman has on me right now.
From her questions about changing dresses, she must have no fucking idea how stunning she is.
She never seeks my approval, and yet she’s tried to lift me up with her comments and encouragement, even if I don’t resemble the man she’s talking about.
But the words to tell this beauty how stunning she is simply won’t pass my lips.
I’m not good with words. She’s smart, somehow timid yet so strong too.
She’s loyal, a minimalist with a sassy sense of humor.
And yes, I’ve even smiled around her. She’s so… real.
What am I supposed to do with a woman like this?
When we pull up to the bar, I release her hand but then place my hand on her lower back, her soft skin making my palm feel like it’s burning on the spot, but the kind of burn I want to suffer in.
“What do you want?” I ask, my mouth close to her head.
She glances up at me, that beautiful smile of hers practically making me weak in the goddamn knees. “Honestly, just some white wine.”
I turn toward the bartender and say, “White wine for her, a whiskey for me.”
He nods, and I set her clutch on the bar to reach for my wallet and pull out a tip.
“This is way fancier than the last event.” She moves even closer, and I catch a hint of her minty breath as she whispers, “Did you see the size of the chandeliers? Yowza.”
I don’t know why that makes me smirk, but it does. “That’s how you can tell how fancy the event is? By the size of the chandeliers?”
She leans into me, letting my hand curl over her bare skin as she plays with the lapel of my suit jacket. “You just smirked. Does that mean you might actually let loose a little? Because by the way you greeted me, I felt like I did something wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I say as I let my thumb rub over her skin, causing her eyes to flutter.
“Then why were you so angry?”
“Not angry,” I say. “Just…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it.
“Just what?” she presses, sliding her fingers over my lapel.
Her inquisitive, soulful eyes stare up at me, looking for answers. Answers that I want to keep close to my chest, but as she leans in closer, enveloping me in her sweet, flowery scent, I find the firm grasp I have on these…feelings slip for a moment.
“Just…awestruck,” I finally answer, then allow my other hand to tug ever so slightly on her bottom lip. “You look fucking beautiful, Maple.”
“Oh,” she says in surprise, as if she didn’t expect me to admit such a thing. “Um, thank you.”
Silence falls between us. She’s leaning into me, and I’m inching her closer with my hand as I curl my fingers over her ribs, wanting my fingertips to imprint on her velvet skin.
“Here you are,” the bartender says, snapping us out of our moment.
Clearing my throat, I release my hold on her back and offer her drink to her before picking up mine and quickly taking a larger gulp than anticipated.
I snag her clutch and maneuver her through the crowd until we’re standing at a high-top table in the middle of the room.
The large chandeliers hang over us, the live band gently plays instrumentals, and occasional laughter spreads through the room—all signs of a stuffy event well on its way into the evening.
“So what should we do?” she asks, looking around and sipping her wine.
“Nothing,” I say.
“What do you mean? Shouldn’t we talk to people?”
“They’ll come to us,” I say as I set my whiskey down and move in closer to her. “They always do. And you want the people to come to you.”
“Why?” she asks. I place my hand on her back again, this time inching it lower, just above the curve of her ass. Her smirk tells me she realizes just how close I am to what I’ve wanted since the first day I met her.
“Because the people who seek us out want our attention. The people who want our attention will want to donate because they’ll want to impress us.”
Her smile grows. “That’s actually really smart.”
“Not my first time, Baker.” I turn toward her, keeping her close so I can keep my hold on her. She has to tilt her head back to look at me, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Think they’ll approach us with you holding me this tightly?”
“Yes,” I answer, my thumb stroking her skin, causing her to gulp her wine, then set her almost empty glass down.
“You’re, uh, you’re really good at the whole deception thing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, you know, playing up the intimacy like Gretchen said.”
She thinks this is me playing a part?
Yeah, not so much.
This is me wanting to keep her close.
Wanting to touch her.
Hold her.
Feel her.
This is me being a jealous asshole, making sure everyone in this room knows to back the fuck off when it comes to Maple Baker.
“Not hard to do,” I say, meeting her gaze.
She wets her lips as she lifts her hand to my lapel again, those eyes of hers looking hungry.
“St. John,” a voice sounds from the right, breaking the spell between us one more time. I turn to see some old dude I know I’ve seen before, but I can’t remember his name to save my life. He must notice because he says, “Gerry Gardner.”
Oh right…some rich asshole in pharmaceuticals.
“Gerry, great to see you,” I say, putting on the best fake smile I can muster and shaking his hand. “How are you?”
“Good. Good.” He looks between us, seeming interested, so I take that moment to introduce Maple.
“This is Maple Baker, my girlfriend.” The term rolls so easily off my tongue that I don’t even flinch while saying it, something I probably would have done with someone else. “Maple, Gerry, he works in pharmaceuticals. Maple works for the zoo as a keeper for the flamingos.”
Gerry smiles brightly. “Oh, I’m aware. My wife will be so upset because she’s been obsessed with updating me on your social media profile. She was supposed to be here tonight but ended up having to work late.”
“Ah, that’s such a shame,” Maple says. “It would have been lovely to meet her.”
Gerry looks between us again. “You know, she thought something was going on between you two but couldn’t confirm, but you just called her your girlfriend.”
I nod. “I did.” Then I pull her in tighter, my hand sliding around her side, my fingers slipping to the front of her ribs, under the fabric of her dress. I feel her take a sharp breath before she leans into the touch.
Gerry smiles brightly. “Do you think I could possibly take a picture with you two…for my wife?”
“Of course,” I say. “But you have to listen to Maple tell you about the flamingos first.”
Gerry smirks. “Why don’t I do you one better and write you a check?”
I glance down at Maple, her eyes wide.
“That will work just fine,” I say before finishing my whiskey.
“Yeah, they have a whole fridge full of krill, smells like rotten seafood, but the flamingos can’t get enough of it,” I say while a group of three sisters crowds around us.
“And when they start padding their feet against the water to stir up their food, it’s fucking cute. And that’s coming from me.”
The three sisters, best known in the fundraising circuit as the Gilded Girls, all clutch their hands to their chests as they eat up every word I’m throwing at them.