Page 38 of Watch Me Burn
“I’m a wildlife veterinarian.” Luna’s smile is unwavering. “I run a sanctuary for injured and rehabilitating wild animals.”
“A veterinarian?” Francesca’s eyebrows rise. “How… untamed. I suppose someone has to look after the wild things.”
My jaw tightens, anger rising at Francesca’s condescending snub of what Luna does, but Luna just laughs. The sound is genuine, not forced or awkward, and it catches Francesca off guard.
“Definitely untamed. Last month, I had to remove shotgun pellets from the rear end of a 400-pound black bear.” Luna takes a sip of her champagne, her eyes dancing with amusement. “But I do get to wear much more comfortable shoes to work than these heels. That’s a definite perk.”
Cade chuckles under his breath, and even I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth, despite the unwelcome reminder of Luna’s injury. Francesca’s face hardens for a split second before her social mask snaps back into place.
“How fascinating. Damien has always had such diverse tastes.” She turns to me, disregarding Luna. “We must catch up properly before I leave town. Call me.”
“I’m afraid my schedule is quite full. Perhaps next time you’re in Denver.”
Which will hopefully be never.
Francesca’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You always did play hard to get, darling. It’s what made the chase so delicious.” She glances at Luna again. “Enjoy the benefit, Dr. Foster. I hope some of these wealthy patrons can spare a thought for your bears.”
With that parting shot, she slinks away into the crowd, the exaggerated sway of her hips doing nothing for me.
Luna watches her go. “Well, she’s delightful. Former girlfriend?”
“Briefly,” I admit. “It was over quickly once I realized she saw animals as accessories rather than living beings.”
Luna’s posture doesn’t change. No jealousy tightens her features, and no insecurity creeps into her expression.
“I’m going to guess a tiny purse dog she dyed red to match her outfit?”
The accuracy of her guess startles a laugh out of me. “A Pomeranian. And it was pink.”
“Even worse.” She sighs, her sympathy for the dog obvious. “Well, she’s certainly beautiful.”
“She’s nothing compared to you.”
It’s happening more and more. This loss of control, this honesty that slips past my walls.
Color blooms across her cheeks. Her gaze drops, then rises to meet mine.
“Smooth talker.”
I move into her space, close enough to catch the hitch in her breathing.
“Not smooth. Honest.”
Her lips part. The blush spreads down to her collarbone, visible above the neckline of her dress. She toys with the stem of her glass, suddenly fascinated by it.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“I know.”
For the next hour, Luna accompanies me as I make my way around the room, introducing her as I play the role of the charming host, thanking donors, discussing the foundation’s achievements, and shaking hands with politicians and celebrities whose support lends credibility to our cause.
Luna is magnificent, moving through the crowd with effortless grace. When the governor pulls me aside, she assures me she’ll be fine. It takes longer than I anticipated, and when I return to the ballroom, I see her engaged in an animated conversation with a photographer whose work we’ve featured in our campaigns.
I watch as she uses her hands to demonstrate something that looks like the wingspan of a bird of prey, given her gestures. The photographer grins like she’s just made his entire night. Everyone she talks to comes away smiling. She has that effect on people. On animals. On me.
But watching her captivate another man makes my hands curl into fists at my sides. The photographer is harmless. Cade mentioned something about a husband, but that knowledge does nothing to stop the heat climbing up my neck. Logic doesn’t touch this. Sharing her feels like bleeding out in slow motion.
I want her attention. All of it. Only on me.
