Page 20 of Stealing Blinds

In another life, I would have clutched that—the authenticity of his gaze, the sweetness threading his words, the fact that this dashing, drooled-over-by-the-masses man can’t manage to stay away from me, even when significant travel is required—but not in this one.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

He sweeps my hair off my bare shoulder, his focus trailing the invisible prints he leaves on my collarbone before skating up my neck to my face. “You needed a plus-one.”

My skin heats. A mere brush of his fingertips, and I feel him everywhere.

A waiter passes by with hors d’oeuvres, and more people filter into the ballroom, so I discard my empty glass, grab Cash’s hand, and guide us toward the speakers so there’s no chance of someone overhearing our discussion.

“How did you know that, or find me, or arrive at the precise time I was entering?”

“Let’s not get hung up on frivolous details.” He wraps his arm around my waist and drags me toward him, his other hand lifting my chin. “I’m here. Use me. I make one hell of a date, and if you’re working, I’ll be a damn good partner.”

My stomach flips and flops, a flurry of trampled dreams trying their best to take flight. “A partner?”

He hasn’t even questioned what I’m here for. Maybe to him, it’s all the same. Or maybe he knows E. Although after his reaction in San Francisco, I ruled that out.

“Yes.” His lips quirk up at the corner, streaming into a dimple that declares this a victory. “Like Bonnie and Clyde, Sterling and Heath, Catwoman and Batman.”

“Bonnie and Clyde died in a police ambush; Heath was brutally murdered eight years into a ten-year sentence, leaving Sterling a widow; and I think we can all agree that Catwoman and Batman were a disaster. He belongs with Vicki Vale.”

“Well, now you’ve done it.” He shakes his head, his perfectly mussed dark blond hair catching the brilliant lights. “If you truly believe that—that Vicki Vale is more suited for Bruce Wayne than Catwoman—I don’t know that we have anything else to discuss.”

Aggravation floods my veins and drowns the brief mesmerizing stupor he had me in. “How, doing what you do, is this a game to you? I’m working.”

His chest deflates, but he doesn’t release me. “Nothing about this is a game to me, but I was trying to lighten the mood. I understand you’re working. Let’s go with a better example of partnership—Sylvie and Cash, Sly and Noire, you and me.”

The ballroom is getting crowded, so I step away, and he lets me. There’s a section set off from the main area that has glass French doors.

I walk that way, talking out of the side of my mouth as we go. “Being solo tonight was part of my plan.”

“Now you have backup.”

“Now I have a complication.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring out at the backyard, which is akin to a waterpark with pools and grottos and impeccable gardens. “Or someone who is willing to put themselves on the line for you.”

Keeping my attention on the private paradise, I find myself wondering what’s in this for him because it does seem to be more intense than a game. “Why? We’ve had three conversations.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t something to grab on to.”

“To grab on to?” I can’t contain my peeved huff. “Let me guess—like a headboard?”

He leans in, his fingers curling around my hip, his scruffy cheek grazing my jaw, his lips wetting my ear. “I was not referring to anything dirty. Is your mind always this filthy, Palmer, or just for me?”

A shiver skitters down my spine and arms. “I don’t even know you, Noire.”

“That’s an easy fix.”

“For what?” I step back, facing him and unleashing all my frustration. “You don’t stick around after sunup, so knowing anything other than what my dress would look like on the floor isn’t of interest to you. And I’m never going to agree to check off whatever fleeting fantasy you’ve imagined this to be. What else is there to know?”

Aware I need to regain my levelheaded focus, I head back toward the heart of the ballroom to search for the host.

Cash grabs my wrist, preventing my escape. “Everything.”

Everything? What the hell is he doing? I can’t do this.

“Cash—”