Page 63 of Ardently Yours

“Arden!”

He laughs and leans closer. “Let me spoil you a little tonight.”

When he places the mask over my eyes and ties the ribbons behind my head, his scent and proximity go straight to my hormones.

“Do you need me to loosen it?” he asks quietly, his warm breath skimming over my ear.

We’ve almost arrived. This is not the time to get turned on.Bad Charlotte. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He drops a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

When he puts on his own mask, his twilight-blue eyes become hidden in shadow, the planes of his cheekbones, lips, and jaw like something from a sculpture.

The car comes to a stop.

“Stay close to me. The security team will flank us. There won’t be any reporters once we’re inside. They’ll recognize me, even with the mask, but they have no way of knowing who you are.”

“Got it.”

One of the men with an earpiece opens our door. Flashes fire before Arden sets foot on the red carpet. He offers me his hand, and I climb out to stand beside him, my thigh momentarily exposed through the slit in the gown.

Instantly, he curves around me, tucking me into his shoulder. Hiding me against him. I’ve seen Arden protecting a woman like this before, when I sat in the university library and scrolled through photos of his past.

I shift, straightening. My face is covered by the mask. I don’t need to hide against his shoulder. I’m nervous, not helpless.

He responds by tightening his hold and angling his hand to cover my face. “You’re okay. Keep your head down and turned toward me. I’ve got you.”

Maybe he thinks I’m panicking. If I push back, it’ll look as though I’m trying to get away from him. So I allow Arden to keep me smashed against his shoulder, and I trip along beside him as reporters holler at us and fire their flashes.

“Mr. McRae, who are you escorting this evening?”

“What’s your name?”

“Arden, how long have you been dating?”

“Is your relationship serious?”

“Show us your face.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“What are you afraid of?”

I hate the shouted questions and the blinding flashes from the paparazzi, but I hate them thinking I’m afraid of them more. Arden just announced to the world that I’m not his date or partner, but a victim in need of protection.

When the doors close behind us, we walk through a lobby, then turn onto a corridor. Once we’re out of sight, he loosens his hold immediately.

I check to be sure no one can hear us.

“I didn’t need to hide against you. I’m wearing a mask,” I say quietly.

“The flashes are blinding if you look into them. There’s no point starting the night stressed by the paparazzi.” His response is just as low.

I tug on his arm and stop moving. “I get that. I won’t look at the cameras. But common sense says acting afraid of them will only cause a feeding frenzy.” They’re bullies, and God knows I have experience dealing with those.Never show your tormentors they’re getting to you.

“I don’t want them to hurt you. You don’t understand how deeply they can affect a person,” he says quietly.

“They won’t recognize me. That’s the only part I care about.”

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