Page 29 of Vows in Name Only
Because confessing to Cain would’ve been for her sake alone. Being quiet was for the teens she loved, the staff who devoted their time and hearts, the community who depended on the center’s existence.
So she continued to play her role. Continued to participate in this charade of a romance that at times careened too dangerously close to feeling real.
She wouldn’t emerge from this unscathed. And that terrified her almost as much as losing the community center.
Her left hand curled into a fist, the lights from the foyer’s chandelier bouncing off the diamond.
Oh yes. Beautiful lies.
The doorbell chimed, snatching her from her morose thoughts. Swiping her damp palms down her thighs, she moved forward and unlocked the door. She didn’t need to glance through the video monitor; she expected only one person this evening.
Pulling open the door, she revealed Cain standing on the other side. His bright gaze met hers before dipping to the black high-waisted cocktail dress with the daring square neckline and roaming down to the stilettos with a delicate ankle strap. When his regard returned to her face, she sucked in a low breath at the heat flickering in those beautiful depths. The same warmth tingled her skin, swirled low in her belly...instigated a sweet, acute ache between her legs.
Her body had no shame when it came to this man.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Yet.
Her body already braced itself for the solicitous presses of his hand to the small of her back, the sensual cupping of the nape of her neck, the possessive curl of his arm around her waist. By the time he returned her home after these little outings, she resembled a noodle—wet and damn near limp with desire.
If she didn’t know for a fact that the man despised her, she would accuse him of diabolically torturing her with the sex he exuded like a pheromone.
“You look beautiful,” Cain said, the deep inflection a rough caress over her skin.
It wasn’t the first time he’d complimented her, but it never failed to leave her flustered and a bit disbelieving. Cain might not possess the reputation of a playboy, but previous to their “engagement,” he had been caught by photographers with women on his arm. Women who looked nothing like her. Tall, slender, sophisticated, worldly.
Not short, full-figured, a little naive. Especially when it came to this world he navigated with the precision and skill of a shark piloting through dark, predator-infested waters. She harbored zero doubts that if her father hadn’t manipulated and schemed, that meeting in Cain’s garden would’ve been their first and last. He wouldn’t have sought her out. Wouldn’t have kissed her as if she had become his air, food and shelter—everything he needed to survive.
More lies.
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning and picking up the coat she’d tossed over the chair. Before she could slide into it, Cain stepped forward and gently but firmly took the garment from her. He held it up, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “Thanks,” she repeated, tying the belt. “I’m ready.”
Nodding, he grasped her elbow and steered her out of the house. Minutes later, they pulled away from the curb and joined Back Bay’s Saturday night traffic. She stared out the window, lost in her thoughts, but soon realized they were headed in the opposite direction of downtown and the reception for the gallery opening. Her father had issued the invitation as one of his clients owned the art gallery. In other words, he wanted to flaunt his association with Cain like a national flag.
“Cain, unless this is an unusual shortcut, this isn’t the way to the reception.”
He glanced over at her, his gaze hooded. “We’re skipping it.”
She blinked. Stared at him. Or his sharp profile since he’d returned his attention to the road. “But...” she stuttered.
Oh, Dad isn’t going to like this.
As if he read her mind, Cain stated, “I told your father once before that just because he barks doesn’t mean I heel. I’ve attended several of the other events because they were beneficial to me. Tonight, he intends to prance me around the room like a show pony, and I’m not anyone’s stud. Besides,” he added, shooting another undecipherable look in her direction. “I made other plans.”
She didn’t ask what those plans were.
Jesus, his refusal to kowtow to her father shouldn’t be so damnhot. No man of her acquaintance had ever dared to defy Gregory Cole. Quite the opposite—they catered to him. Donald had pursued her just to get to her father. But Cain’s attitude? She would never have to worry if Gregory’s appeal was stronger than hers. Never have to fear his ulterior motives.
Ludicrous given their circumstances, but there was something...freeing in that knowledge. Freeing and just damnhot.
By the time she got herself together, Cain arrived at a home—if one could call a stately, historic mansion a home—she recognized.
“Your house?” She tore her gaze from the monolith of old Beacon Hill wealth to throw a confused glance at Cain. But he didn’t answer her. He shoved open his car door and rounded the hood to open hers. “Cain?” she pressed, sliding her palm across the one he extended toward her.
“Dinner, Devon,” he replied, drawing her from the vehicle and shutting the door behind her. “Trust me.”
Oh God no.
