Chapter 4
Tucker
“A urora, you ready yet?” I call out. “We have ten minutes before we have to leave so that we don’t cross the threshold from fashionably late to tactlessly rude.”
No answer. I raise my hand to knock on the bathroom door, but just before I can pound it, she walks out.
And I think my heart is rebooting. Officially shut down and being restarted. She’s wearing a sparkling gold dress that’s hugging her curves. The plunging neckline is showcasing her tits and may as well have a flashing neon light with my name on them. I want to pull back the fabric enough to see her beaded nipples so I can suck them into my mouth. PS. I know they’re hard. The fabric isn’t thick.
My dick is aching, and I have no clue how I’m going to subtly push that fucker down.
Somehow I manage to find my voice. “You look nice.”
Her eyes flutter up to catch what must be a smoldering look, because she just smirks.
“You look nice , too,” she brushes past me like I’m a tree. Been planted there for a hundred years. Ya, those roots are fucking deep. I watch her move past like a bird that can’t move its eyes, my whole head follows her.
Holy hell.
That slit going up her thigh. How far up does it go? My fingers are itching to feel that creamy skin against my own.
“Tucker?”
“Huh?”
“I asked you if you’re ready to go.” Standing at the door with her clutch in hand, she’s giving me a look that I can’t decipher. Which is probably the case because any brain functions I may or may not have bragged about in the past have fled the building.
“Uh…ya,” I grab the back of my neck, “let’s go.”
Her eyes drag down my body and I know she can see the bulge in my pants. Nothing I can do about it right now. The second she turns around I’ll do my best to fix it. But really, at this point that means railing her or bailing on the gala (without her mind you). Neither of those is an option. My company is the one sponsoring this charity event to raise money to stop human trafficking, and I need to be there.
***
Well, that was the longest fucking car ride in the history of car rides. Her slit showed the full length of her leg for the entire car ride, making it difficult to drive with a stick in my pants.
When we finally get to the event, my nerves are shot. Every nerve ending has been spliced and is on fire. It’s like Aurora is the electrical current and every single spliced nerve is anticipating the jolt that’s going to come when she touches me. Because she will touch me. She’s supposed to be my fake girlfriend. This needs to be a winning act, but I should have thought this through a bit more.
I guess I just expected her to wear a little black dress like she normally wears when she comes as my assistant. But nope. She’s playing the girlfriend role in that dress.
We should have talked about tonight a bit more. I had it in my head that this was going to be so simple. Avoid Samantha. Deflect her unwanted advances. I don’t want to mix business with pleasure. Even though Samantha’s beautiful. She’s chaos on another level. But most importantly, I will have to work with her in the future since there are only so many angel investors of her calibre, and I don’t want to shit where I eat.
So, avoid Samantha. That was the objective. Now I’ve got all these…feelings—Is that really what they are?—clamoring for my attention instead. I stuff them down deep into my heart, pushing them down hard, hoping they drop out of my ass and don’t return. That’ll work, said no therapist ever. But a man’s got to try. I can’t start revealing my emotions now.
Entering the gala, we’re greeted with a red carpet and a hundred cameras flashing.
“A grimace might not be the best indication that you’re happily coupled off. Whoever you’re trying to avoid might not buy it.” Aurora is at my side, so close I can feel the heat emanating from her body. So close I can smell the vanilla shampoo in her hair, and I just want to tunnel my hand through her long pink locks and hold her head where I want her—
“Tucker?”
“Huh? Oh ya.” And then I slip my arm around her, and I’m a fucking goner. She’s soft. Warm. Curvy. This is going to be the night from hell.
“Get closer,” one photographer shouts.
And pretty soon the voices are mixing together, one right on top of the other. “Who’s the new girl?”
“Who are you wearing?”
“What’s her name?”
I don’t usually indulge photographers, so I tug her toward the entrance. “Let’s go, Rory.”
But one of the photographers caught her name.
“Give Rory a kiss.”
Like hell am I going to give her a kiss. But she turns to me with a sly look in her eye. “You wanted a fake girlfriend, Tucker.” Her hand is sliding up my chest as she whispers the words in a sultry tone. Her fingers are already in my hair by the time I realize I’ve dipped my head and am about to meet her luscious looking lips.
She’s stopped. We’re an inch apart, and she murmurs, “Come get it.”
Ya. Nothing is going to stop me from taking her up on that offer. My lips meet hers and flames engulf my body. My hands are roaming dangerously, and the full length of her body is pressed up against me. I deepen the kiss and our tongues tangle. I want her so much, my whole body is magnetized to her.
Her hands drop back to my chest and I feel a soft push. That’s when I remember where we are. In front a hundred photographers.
Right. Well, that solidifies a couple of things; notably my dick. Oh, and the whole fake girlfriend thing. Check.