Page 78 of Power Play
Her eyes skim it, then widen. “You want to come to the dinner dance?”
“You invited me.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d say yes so fast. It’s formal; suits and speeches and handsy consultants who think a low-cut dress is an invitation to corner you at the dessert table.”
My jaw tightens. “Do I need to fight someone at this dance?”
She laughs. “Hopefully not. It’s a charity thing. Same hospital fundraiser as the one you did with the kids last month. This one just comes with a lot more awkward mingling and bad canapés.”
I lean back on my elbows. “Sounds dreadful. When do we leave?”
“You’re serious?”
“As a sprained ankle. Plus, I get to wear a suit and impress your colleagues with my dashing limp.”
She pretends to swoon. “Murphy, the crippled peacock. How ever will I resist?”
I toss a grape at her. She catches it with her mouth, triumphant. “God, I love you,” I say without thinking.
She freezes. Then smiles. “That’s the second time you’ve said it, by the way.”
I blink. “Wait, really?”
“First time was a post-sex sofa confession. You were very flustered.”
“Sounds fake. I’m extremely composed during all sofa-based declarations.”
She leans over, and pecks me on the cheek. “Well, now you’ve said it twice, I guess it’s official.”
I slide my arm around her waist, tugging her into my side. “Third time’s the charm, Hart. I love you. Even if you eat all my olives.”
She grins, then nuzzles into me. “I love you too. Even if you bring a picnic to emotionally manipulate me.”
We sit like that until her phone buzzes with a message, she takes it out to glance at it and she groans, sitting up. “Back to the trenches.”
I get to my feet carefully pulling her up with me. “You know,” I say, “I’m really good at dancing with a limp.”
“I bet you are.”
“Think they’ll have a slow song?”
She smirks. “If they don’t, I’ll make them.”
We part ways reluctantly, but my heart’s doing cartwheels the whole way back to the car.
Dinner dance with Sophie Hart.
An excuse to wear a tux. And maybe I’ll tell her again, on the dance floor this time, just how completely gone I am for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SOPHIE
By the time we walk into the ballroom, Murphy’s already talking like we’re royalty. “Hope they warmed up the dancefloor for us,” he mutters, hand hovering low on my back like it’s second nature. “Wouldn’t want to injure anyone with these moves.”
“You mean like your dodgy ankle?” I shoot back, giving him a look as I adjust the slit of my dress. “Might need to get physio clearance before you attempt a spin.”
Murphy lets out a bark of laughter. “Oi. I’m limber as hell. Ask anyone.”
