Page 119 of Just for the Cameras
“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.
