Page 25 of Vows in Name Only
Cain stared at her, and she couldn’t keep her gaze from dipping to his swollen, damp mouth. Swollen and damp from her kiss. Despite the hurt pumping through her veins, lust stirred low in her belly. Dammit. She knew not to invest more into a relationship than the other person. That deficit had nearly destroyed her confidence, trampled her pride, battered her heart.
Texans remembered the Alamo. She remembered Donald.
Desire didn’t equal affection. Didn’t even equallike. And as hard as Cain’s dick had been when pressed against her, he didn’t care for her. Quite the contrary. If he had a choice—if her father granted him the choice—he would want nothing to do with her.
“Is that what that was? A performance?” he asked, and the rough texture of his tone rasped over her skin. “With no audience?”
“You’re here, an audience of one. Besides, what else would it be? You’re the one who told me to make my supposed love for you believable,” she lied. “Consider that a dry run.” She smiled, and it felt brittle and stiff. “We should return to the party. Any longer and people will wonder where we are.”
But he didn’t move. Just continued to study her in a way that threatened to carve away her emotional shield facade by facade, lie by lie.
“Right, we can’t allow people to start gossiping about us,” he drawled. “But do me one favor.” He stepped forward and pressed his hard chest and thighs to hers, and his erection... She locked down the moan that rose within. His erection, still hard, still insistent, prodded her belly. Pride refused to let her shift backward. Refused to let him see how his aroused flesh had need clawing at her.
Before she could ask about the favor, he brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. Once, twice before pushing down on it.
“Don’t replace your lipstick. One look at this swollen mouth and people will know I fucked it. That, too, is good for the validity of the performance.”
His callous words had a dual effect—they angered her...and they had her sex tightening so hard, she squeezed her thighs against the erotic pull.
He dropped his hand and stepped back, placing distance between them. “After you,” he mocked, sweeping an arm toward the library entrance. “We don’t want to keep the masses waiting.”
She ordered her legs to move, and thankfully, they followed her command. Not glancing at Cain, she strode toward the door, deliberately keeping her pace steady and casual.
Priority number one. Get through this farce of a party.
Priority number one-point-five. Patching up her defenses against Cain. That kiss had shaken them like boulders catapulted against stone barricades.
Because if she didn’t, the consequences terrified her.
Not that he would get in.
But what she would let escape.
Her heart.
Nine
Cain pulled into a parking spot in front of the East Boston community center. Frowning, he nabbed his cell from the dashboard console and brought up Devon’s text. He glanced at the address, then shifted his gaze to the GPS dash. Yes, it was the correct address.
Shutting off the engine of his Lexus RX 350, he exited the vehicle and surveyed the large red brick building set in the middle of the residential block. A couple of apartment buildings rose behind it and a city park sat across the street. A fenced-in playground, a couple of basketball courts and a paved lot painted blue with hopscotch blocks and a four-square game fanned out from the center. With it being well after dusk, no kids climbed the jungle gym. From the equipment that appeared old but well tended, the care and pride the administrators took in the center was apparent.
Still... Why did Devon ask him to meet her here? Was this a pet project and she intended to hit him up for a donation? At least the avarice would be for a good cause. He couldn’t really fault her. When it came to obtaining funds for the charities she supported, his mother had been known to be rather cutthroat as well.
He held up his wrist and peered down at his watch. A little after six. If they were going to be on time for this dinner party her father was hosting—one Cain was attending only because several businessmen he knew were also going to be present—then they had to leave in the next twenty minutes. Which meant her pitch would have to wait for another time.
He approached the entrance to the building and, pulling the door open, stepped into the lobby. A semicircular desk manned by a security guard claimed one corner and a couple of tables cluttered with brochures took up another. A large corkboard took up one wall and artwork that ranged from childlike to more mature drawings covered it. The effect was professional yet welcoming. And warm. He could see only a corridor past the security desk, but the muffled sounds of voices and laughter echoed from that direction. There was happiness here, and safety.
“Can I help you, sir?” the older guard asked as Cain neared the desk.
“Yes, I’m here for Devon Cole. She’s expecting me.”
A smile brightened his face, as if just the mention of her name brought him pleasure. “Yes.” He lifted a sign-in book and set it on the desktop. “You must be Mr. Farrell. Devon let me know you would be stopping by. Please log in your name and the time, and here’s your visitor’s badge.” He slid a laminated card with a silver clip attached toward Cain.
After he finished entering his information and picked up the badge, the guard smiled once more. “She’s in classroom number seven. Take this corridor to the end, go up the stairs and it’s the last room on the right.”
“Thank you.” He nodded and started down the hall.
A sliver of anticipation slid through him, and he resented the hell out of it. But he couldn’t deny it. It’d been a couple of weeks since the sham engagement party—and that incendiary kiss in the library. A couple of weeks since his body had been his own. Every night he went to bed, she owned him. Because it was images of her in his mind as he stroked himself.
