Chapter 5
ARCHIE
The Gilded Hart’s ballroom looks like you’d expect a Valentine’s Day celebration to look. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, red roses on every surface, a string quartet in the corner.
But I can’t focus on any of it. Tessa’s hand is in mine, and nothing has ever felt so right.
“Archie!” Margie materializes out of nowhere, champagne in hand, Brad trailing behind her. “You made it!”
“You threatened bodily harm if I didn’t.”
“I would never.” She’s already looking past me to Tessa. “Oh my God, that dress. You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Tessa squeezes my hand before releasing it to accept Margie’s hug. “This looks like something out of a fairy tale.”
“Come on, I have to introduce you to everyone.” Margie loops her arm through Tessa’s like they’re old friends. “Archie, get your girlfriend a drink and catch up with us.”
She sweeps Tessa away before I can protest. I head for the bar, ordering whiskey for myself and red wine for Tessa. As I wait, I realize I don’t know her wine preference. Merlot or Cabernet? Dry or sweet?
When I find her again, she’s standing with a group of women near the dance floor, and I watch as one of the women gasps and grabs her arm.
“Wait. Aren’t you Curvy Cupid? From Instagram?” The woman turns to her companions. “Her post about knowing your worth changed my life.”
“That’s so kind.” Tessa’s voice is warm, but the light in her eyes has gone flat. I’ve worked with enough celebrities to recognize the practiced brightness of someone who’s had this conversation a thousand times.
I press the wine glass into her hand, letting my fingers brush hers. The gratitude in her expression catches in my throat.
“Ladies. Mind if I steal her?”
I guide her away with my hand on the small of her back. “You okay?”
“Fine. No matter how long I do this, it’s still weird when the professional and personal collide.” She glances up at me. “Everyone knows Curvy Cupid. Not many people know Tessa.”
“Dance with me,” I say.
Her eyebrows rise. “You dance?”
“Not well. But my sister is walking toward us, and the alternative is her interrogating you.”
Tessa laughs and sets her wine on a passing tray. “Lead the way.”
We’ve been on the floor for two songs, and I’m in trouble.
Tessa’s hand is on the back of my neck, her fingers playing with the short hair there, and every brush of her nails sends a current down my spine that makes my cock ache for release.
Her body moves against mine like we’ve done this a hundred times—her hips swaying with the music, pressing into me and pulling back, a rhythm that’s destroying my ability to think straight.
The silk of her dress is thin enough that I can feel everything: the warmth of her skin, the soft give of her waist under my palm, the generous curve of her hips where my hand has drifted lower than any gentleman would allow. She hasn’t moved it back.
The more we dance, the harder I get. Have been since the first song, when she pressed close and made a quiet sound against my shoulder, which ignited a protective instinct in me.
Now I’m gritting my teeth and trying to think about threat assessments and security protocols and anything other than how badly I want to take her somewhere private and show her what she’s doing to me.
She tilts her head back to look at me, and I stare at the pale line of her throat and imagine pressing my mouth there. Imagine her breath catching. Imagine her fingers tightening in my hair while I work my way down to the neckline of that dress and find out what’s underneath.
My hand tightens on her hip. She notices, but she shifts closer instead of pulling away. The soft weight of her breasts presses more firmly against my chest, and I have to close my eyes for a second to keep from doing something stupid in the middle of a charity gala.
“You’re tense,” she murmurs.
I’m dying. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t feel fine.” Her thumb traces a slow circle on my neck. “You feel like you’re about to snap.”
She has no idea. Or maybe she does. Maybe the way my hand keeps tightening on her hip is giving me away.
I want to back her into a dark corner and put my mouth on every inch of skin this dress is showing me.
I want to find out what sounds she makes when there’s no one else around.
I want to slide those straps off her shoulders and suck her luscious tits.
The song ends. In the silence before the next one, I hear myself speak.
“Want to get out of here for a few minutes?”
She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are dark, her lips parted, and I can see the same want I’m feeling written all over her face. I hope I’m reading her right. Everything in me is betting that I am.
“Yes.”
The terrace is freezing and occupied. I drape my jacket over Tessa’s shoulders without stopping and nod toward the glass structure glowing at the edge of the hotel grounds.
“Follow me.”
The Conservatory door opens onto a different world.
Humid air wraps around us, heavy with jasmine and the scent of wet earth.
Orchids climb iron trellises along the walls.
The glass ceiling is beaded with moisture, blurring the night sky above us.
Water drips somewhere in the quiet, and the quartet is a faint melody carried across the grounds.
Tessa slips my jacket off and drapes it over a stone bench.
She wanders ahead of me, trailing her fingers along a railing draped with greenery, and I follow close enough to touch her but holding back.
Barely. Every step she takes in front of me is a test of willpower—the way the silk moves over her hips, the glimpse of her bare shoulders, the soft curve of her neck where I want to press my mouth.
She stops in front of a cluster of white orchids, their petals heavy with mist, and tilts her head to study them.
I come up behind her. My hand finds hers, and our fingers lace together. Her breath speeds up, and my pulse hammers in response.
“They’re beautiful,” she says softly.
“They’re not even close to you.”
She turns, and we’re standing so close I could kiss her.
The humidity has loosened the curls around her face, and a strand is clinging to her temple.
I reach up and tuck it behind her ear, letting my fingertips trail along the curve of her jaw.
She leans into my hand, just barely, and the small surrender in that gesture nearly takes my knees out.
We walk deeper in, hand in hand, past hanging planters and trellises heavy with blooms. The gala is gone. It’s just us, the flowers, the warm, wet air, and the electricity humming between our clasped hands.
I pull her to a stop beside a stone planter overflowing with pink roses. She leans against it and looks up at me, and whatever she sees in my face makes her forget to breathe.
“This is supposed to be fake.”
“I know.” Her voice is a whisper.
“I don’t think I can do fake anymore.”
I cup her jaw and tilt her face up. Her breath catches, lips parting, and her eyes go dark.
“Then let’s stop pretending.”
I pull her against me and kiss her hard, one hand buried in her hair, the other pressed flat against the small of her back, and everything I’ve been holding in all night flows into the kiss.
She opens her mouth for me, and heat bolts down my spine.
I groan into her mouth, and she pulls me closer, her arms tightening around my neck.
Her lush breasts press against my chest, and I drop my hands to the curve of her hips and pull her against me. I press my hips against her, showing her how hard I am, and her breath catches as she rolls her hips into mine.
I back her into the planter, and orchids tremble above us. She’s pinned between my body and the cool stone, flushed everywhere I can see, her eyes black in the dim light.
“Archie.” My name in her mouth is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I drag my lips down her throat, her collarbone, the soft skin above her neckline.
She arches into me, one leg hooking around my calf, pulling me between her thighs.
The heat of her against me is unbearable.
I want to be inside her. I want to lay her down right here among the orchids and make love to her until she’s trembling, until she’s moaning my name.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she gasps.
I pull back enough to look at her. Lipstick smeared, hair tumbling loose, damp curls clinging to her neck. Gorgeous. And looking at me with an intensity that makes my whole body ache.
“Let’s stay here,” I say.
Her eyes go wide. Then her mouth curves into a smile that nearly makes me come in my pants.
I kiss her again, slower this time, and slide my hands to the hem of her dress. The silk bunches under my fingers as I draw it up over her knees, along the soft skin of her thighs, and the sound she makes against my mouth is worth everything in the world.