Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I knew I couldn’t sit beside her, hold her hand, and show the world she was mine—yet. But I could be in the same room, and hopefully she would draw strength from my presence. I knew her first instinct would be to protect me, tell me to stay away, but I couldn’t.
So, I remained quiet, took her small bag, kissed her deeply, and promised to see her later. We had plans for the entire weekend together.
I could only hope they would still be in place when she saw me and my donation piece tonight.
Later that evening, people were milling around everywhere. I tried not to fiddle with the collar of my shirt, failing miserably at times. The suit felt so constrictive, the tie heavy around my neck. I wasn’t used to dressing up, but I knew it was expected.
It was less decadent than the last dinner I attended—more about the cause it was for and not for show. Still elegant, but the flowers were simple, the settings held fewer glasses and cutlery. The room was brighter, and there were lots of pictures of the children from the ward and their stories. I made a mental note to ask Sean if there was a favor he could call in from a friend and have a story done about the work they did. I’d be happy to provide new images.
Striding up to the bar and ordering a scotch, I did my best to ignore the looks I was getting from many of the women in the room. There was a time I would have met their stares with my own, perhaps deciding, long before the evening was over, which one would accompany me to a hotel when the event was over. But those days were past me, and now there was only one set of eyes I longed to meet and have their approval. I made my way back over to where my donation was on display, playing the part required, answering questions, feigning interest in their comments about the piece. There was only one opinion I cared about.
Then she walked into the room—a vision in a deep blue dress that swirled around her legs, showing off her shapely calves. Her hair was swept up off her neck, curls escaping around her face.
I knew what that hair felt like wrapped in my fist. How her neck tasted under my tongue and how those legs felt wrapped around me. I wanted to feel it all again.
She was alone, her parents already present. They had stopped briefly, offering fake interest as they looked at the photo, their expressions blank. They had no idea what they were looking at. One of the committee members was standing with me and introduced us. I was offered a cool handshake and an even cooler smile. It was only the fact that the committee member droned on about my success and generosity that I was deemed passable enough for polite conversation. Because they were told I was important, I became such in their eyes.
I met their impassive gazes with one of my own, acknowledged the praise with a tilt of my head, as if it was my just due. Stood tall and proud in my designer suit and expensive watch, both of which spoke of the only thing they understood—money.
I answered their inane questions with a wealth of technical phrases I knew they wouldn’t understand. Smirked arrogantly as other people came forward, crowding around the piece, listening to their words.
Erotic.
Stimulating.
A masterpiece.
I accepted them all.
Because with Ally in the picture, they were all correct. But it was she who made it that way. Their praise was for her—they simply didn’t know it.
I narrowed my eyes as Bradley appeared behind Ally, wrapping his hand around her elbow. I felt a simmering anger in my chest.
No one should be touching her but me.
Someone approached them, and Ally turned, greeting an older woman I recognized as Elena. They began to talk, and Bradley moved away and grabbed a drink from the bar. As he approached, I tensed up, wanting to reach out and punch him. There was no reason to, aside from the fact that I wanted to feel his flesh give way under my fist. Instead, I observed him in silence as he looked at the picture, congratulating myself on my restraint.
“Interesting,” he commented. “Not my cup of tea.”
I smirked. The idiot had no idea. “No?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not much for…art.”
I nodded, keeping my face blank.
He took another pull on his drink. “Good of you to donate it, though.”
“It’s a worthy cause. Very close to the heart of someone I care deeply for.”
“Excellent.” He stuck out his hand, surprising me. “Dr. Bradley Bennett. I’m part of the committee for the event.”
For a brief second, I looked at his hand and then clasped it in mine, giving it a firm shake. I could be generous. After all, Ally was mine now. “Adam Kincaid.”