Page 85 of Just for the Cameras
I step toward her, my voice dark as I say, “Pretty sure you can guess how big I am.”
At a snail’s pace, her head tilts as her eyes scan me. When our gazes meet, she wets her lips. “That’s…that’s not what I meant.”
“Seems as though you don’t mean a lot of the things you say when you’re around me.” I reach out and take her glass of champagne, only to down the rest of it.
“Hey, I was drinking that.”
“And I finished it,” I say, setting it down on the tray of a server going by. I place my hand on her lower back and add, “Now, you want to talk to people, so lead me to people to talk to.”
“What are you going to say to them?” she asks, worried.
“I’m going to talk about the stilt-legged dipshits…Is that what I called them?”
Her eyes narrow, and she fully turns toward me, rage simmering behind those stunning eyes of hers. “Don’t you dare.”
“Or was it knobby-kneed nitwits?”
She backs away from me, her finger ready to rise as she prepares to lecture me.
“Better check the body language, Baker. People are watching, and they might think we’re in a lovers’ quarrel. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Her back stiffens, and she tucks her finger back into her tiny fist before moving closer to me. I keep my hand on her back but tug her in just a hint closer so she’s almost pressed completely against me.
She doesn’t smell like her normal lavender self tonight. Instead, she must have sprayed some sort of fancy perfume, something feminine that I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, it smells phenomenal.
So fucking good, I’m tempted to run my nose along her neck to try to pinpoint exactly what kind of scent it is.
Between the dress, the way she highlighted her eyes, and her perfume, she has me wrapped around her angry little finger, and it’s taking everything in me to attempt to remind myself that I’m not interested.
That nothing good could come of making a move.
That this is strictly business.
But…fuck…why does she have to smell so goddamn good tonight?
To my surprise, her hand lands on my chest as she looks up at me, a smile crossing her red-painted lips. But the darkness in her eyes says she’s anything but interested. “We are here to bring awareness to flamingos. It’s part of the deal. Now, if you don’t want me posting embarrassing things about you on Flock and Tackle—”
“I’m not hiding anything embarrassing.”
“Oh yeah, then why won’t you let me google your name?”
My entire body shifts, like an earthquake of fear and anger collidingtogether. All thoughts of how she smells and how beautiful she looks quickly vanish. “Do not fucking joke about that,” I sneer.
“Body language,” she singsongs.
I’ll show her fucking body language.
So I lay my hand on her cheek, pushing her chin up with my thumb as I lower ever so slightly. I’m mere inches away from those red-painted lips. “Do not fucking threaten me, Baker.”
“Isn’t that what you were just doing to me,St. John?”
“I was joking.”
“Ooh, that joke fell flat. You should try—”
“Maple?” Someone interrupts us.
Together, we turn to the side, where a nerdy-looking man grins excitedly, wearing a simple suit that unfortunately fits him poorly. He has brown hair with a middle part falling over his forehead, while stupidly thin-framed glasses sit perched on his nose.
