Chapter 7 #2
"Good." I pull back my sleeve and glance at the time on my watch. I’m sure this event is going to be deathly boring, but at least I’ll have her by my side for entertainment. Not that I plan on telling her that. "Are you comfortable?"
"C-comfortable?" Her voice shakes a little.
I allow myself an inward smile. "I notice you’ve been fidgeting in your seat."
She freezes. "It’s just, uh… I’m not used to wearing such nice clothes, and this is the first time I’ve been in a limo."
“Oh?” I knit my brows. "You deserve beautiful clothes and to ride in a luxury car."
Her cheeks flush. "That’s very nice of you to say. I suppose, you must be used to this?" She waves a hand in the air. "Given your background, and all?"
"I wasn’t riding in an executive car when I was on my tours of duty. And I wasn’t surrounded by such lavishness when the bomb that took out my brother’s-in-arms went off next to me."
She inhales sharply.
I’m not sure why I say that. I don’t normally flaunt my background, preferring to keep my past to myself.
But with her, apparently, I’m enough at ease to speak my mind.
Also, a part of me wants her to see me as more than the spoiled, billionaire CEO she has pegged me for.
And perhaps, I feel threatened by how romantic it feels to be in this car with her, all dressed up for an evening out.
I want to break the mood. And when she winces, I know I’ve succeeded.
She lowers her chin. "That’s not what I meant."
I sigh. "I’m aware. And it’s not your fault. While I was born into the Davenport name, I spent the first thirty-three years of my life running from it."
I glance out my window again. I haven’t spoken about what happened on that last tour with anyone in my family. I’m shocked I opened up to her.
Confessing the sins of my past is not the kind of conversation I anticipated having with my employee. The car rolls to a stop then, providing me with a natural stop to the conversation. "We’re here." I push the door open and step out.
Then, because I was brought up to be a gentleman, and no other reason—definitely not because I want to torture myself again by feeling her soft fingers in mine and experiencing that rush of awareness when my skin touches hers—I hold out my hand.
She places her palm in mine, and I help her to her feet.
I’m rewarded by the pinpricks of heat that squeeze my nerve-endings, the sensations that course through my veins, the tightness that coils in my belly, and the twitches that course up my cock.
I lead her up the steps of Dalton Hall, the stately home in Regents Park that’s been in the bridegroom’s family for generations, where the reception is being held.
The paparazzi begin clicking away, the flashbulbs exploding.
Then we’re inside, and she heaves a sigh of relief. "I was expecting attention from the press, but talking about it and being at the receiving end of those flashbulbs is something else altogether.”
"Ignore them." I nod toward the hostess who welcomes us, then follow her into the grand foyer. Light slants through the stained-glass windows that adorn the top half of the walls. Ahead of us is a sweeping staircase that ascends to the second floor.
"Wow." Her steps slow to a halt. "This is incredible."
I glance down to see the amazement on her features, those big eyes, with the brown irises which have turned almost golden, reflecting her surprise.
Her red lips are slightly parted, and God help me, but she looks delectable.
And so young. Not in terms of the years between us; it’s the undisguised astonishment on her face that makes me feel much older and jaded.
I realize, at some point in my life, I allowed my experiences to get the better of me.
I forgot to believe in the joy of living.
Forgot about looking forward to what the future would bring.
Forgot how idealistic I was when I joined the Marines.
I've allowed my life to be filled with pain and regret, and the pursuit of power.
And it's taken just a few weeks of knowing this woman to remind me that I could have a different future. One in which I’m not running from my feelings.
When I noticed my Finance Director disparaging her, it brought my protective instincts to the fore.
It enraged me and made me feel emotions I’ve buried inside myself for so long.
It made me realize I could have a life where I'm not merely surviving, but engaged and forging meaningful connections with the world around me, only...
I don’t deserve that. I do not deserve to be happy.
Not when I couldn't protect my best mate, and the rest of my platoon, from being massacred. It’s why I’m going to step away from her and ensure I keep my distance.
It’s the only way to ensure I don’t taint her further.
I increase the pace of my steps. The faster I get this evening over with, the faster I can drop her home and be on my way to a place where I can find some relief from this constant hurt that has hooked its claws into my belly.
She’s forced to hurry to keep pace with me. I slow down enough for her to navigate the flight of stairs safely. When we reach the entrance to the ballroom, I release my hold on her.
She stumbles a little. My fingers twitch to reach out and right her, but I resist. I need to keep away from her.
Need to find my equilibrium again. I snap my fingers, and a steward appears next to me.
No, not any steward; it’s my friend Sinclair Sterling’s butler Jeeves.
It’s not a well-known fact that when the Royalty and quasi-Royalty in this country attend events, they bring their butlers along.
My stint with the Marines made me frown at this tradition, but I gotta admit, I appreciate it now.
If I'm going to leave her with anyone, I’d rather it be with Jeeves.
I can trust him to take care of her. And why should that matter?
You don’t have any claim on her, no matter that you spanked her, and she enjoyed it.
But she’s also my employee. She’s an asset to my company, and her safety is important to me.
I wouldn’t leave her with any man. But Jeeves? He’s all right.
Yep, it’s her safety that’s prompted this flurry of thoughts. I’m being a considerate employer, is all.
I nod in Jeeves’ direction, then at her. "Please introduce my assistant around, will you?"