Page 30 of Taken With You
He said, “I’d like to say you’re wrong about human nature, but we’ve agreed to be frank.”
“Yes.” She slipped the earring on. “Tonight will be a balancing act. If we’re overly formal with each other, or overly attentive, we’ll fan the flames of the gossip.”
“If any asshole is uncouth enough to ask, I’ll tell him exactly why I hired you.”
“Just keep the word ‘passion’ out of the description.” She slipped the post of the earring’s pair into the other earlobe, her head tilting toward him with a rueful smile.
“I’ll use ‘enthusiasm’ instead.”
“They’re going to think the worst anyway.”
“I’ll shut down any conversation that suggests otherwise.”Even if I can’t stop thinking about you splayed on my bed.
“Just remember that a roll of an eye will do loads more than a vigorous defense, partner.”
A suspicion shot through his head. “You’ve handled situations like this before.”
“All the freaking time.”
Of course she had. He wondered…had her experience arisen from the usual, pervasive, workplace sexism? Or had she developed these techniques while hiding a relationship with a colleague?
A needle went through him, sharp and sudden.
As if her past was any of his business.
She said, “The best way to shut this stuff down is to shrug off the speculation and keep the conversation professional. I know you can do that.”
“Consider me schooled.”
“Thank you.”
She slipped into a high-heeled sandal and he found himself fantasizing about slipping it off. Then he remembered the morning he’d bumped into her, Amanda looking dazed and sleep-rumpled in short pj’s, and he had to do a one-eighty back to his room with a mumbled excuse so she wouldn’t notice the leap of his cock. Then another evening, when she’d come back late from the cave, and he’d been sipping a whiskey in the living room, woken up by an erotic dream about her in lingerie. She passed by him with a mutteredgood night, as if the details of the sweaty, heart-pounding fantasy were written on his face. All reminders that he might be capable of controlling his behavior in public, at least…but tonight he would have to exert an extra layer of control on his runaway thoughts.
She swept up her purse and headed past him in a cloud of faint perfume as he fought to suck in some oxygen of his own. He followed her down the stairs, practicing good behavior by averting his gaze from the sweet furrow of her spine.
“Oh, shoot,” she said as they passed through the kitchen and she caught a glimpse of the clock above the window. “We’re running late.”
“Fashionably so. No worries.”
“A dozen red hot-air balloons are due to rise up to launch this evening. We’re going to barge in on all that excitement.”
“Personally, I have all the excitement I need right here.”
She stepped out onto the porch and cast him a narrowed-eyed glare. “What did we just talk about?”
“Hey,” he teased, “we’re not at the gala yet.”
“Then I’ll grant you a mulligan.” She slipped into the front seat of his Maserati. “Now drive—and keep your eyes on the road.”
Hours later, the Georges Duchamp gala rocked at full swing. A live band played trumpet-squealing, partner-swinging music, and half the party had crowded onto the parquet floor laid out beneath a tent in an open field above the vineyards. Waiters in blinding-white tuxedos hovered, refolding napkins on damask-covered tables and handing out a new series of glasses with the Duchamp Winery’s special-vintage dessert wine.
Garrick leaned against a garlanded post in the shadows, forcing himself to swallow a sip. He followed Amanda with his eyes as she worked the room, greeting colleagues, pressing the flesh, making contacts with innumerable restaurateurs, distributors, writers. At one point, she leaned over to speak to an older gentleman, and Garrick nearly snapped the stem of his wineglass. He wanted to stand behind her, shield that naked back from the sight of every man.
But then he’d appear protective. Possessive. Tonight, he couldn’t be seen with his hands on a beer or with his hands on Amanda.
At least, when he got home, he could have the beer.
Just then, the band broke out in a bluesy selection, something slow and smoky. Groups filtered off the dance floor, leaving only swaying couples behind. How he envied them. How he wished he could splay his hand on Amanda’s naked back and bury his nose in her hair.
