Page 118 of Just for the Cameras
GRAYDON
“Thank you, sir,” the valetsays 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.Thatmade 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’stried 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.
