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“I don’t think it can be done.” I shake my head, the warmth spreading inside me.

“Watch me,” he snaps.

I fight my laugh, barely succeeding. “Well, even if you somehow manage to cancel their campaign, it’s going to cost you way more than it’s worth.”

“I’m not putting a price on your safety. Thank fucking God you’re a podcaster now.” He leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My safety? As much as I appreciate this abandoned display of jealousy, Corm, you’re being ridiculous.”

“My money. My wife. My decision.”

When did I come to love his growls?

The blinking flashlights interrupt the ridiculous conversation. I flinch, bile rising in my stomach. Shit, I forgot the media would be here, snatching pics of the crème de la crème of Manhattan society.

The mood in the car shifts. As if Corm drops his brooding the minute he senses my discomfort. He wraps his arm around me and kisses my temple.

Without confirming with me, he knows. He hits the intercom. “How many cars in front of us?”

“About four, sir.”

“Can you get us to the back entrance, please?”

“Sure. It will take us another fifteen to twenty minutes to outmaneuver the traffic and road closures.”

“That’s fine.”

He smiles at me, and my chest explodes with fluttering wings and warmth. “We’ll be late, and Betsy won’t be happy we don’t get photographed.”

“Fuck Betsy. We’ll arrive together, and that’s what Vladislav needs to see.”

“Thank you.”

He lowers his lips to mine in a slow, languid kiss, and I moan into his mouth, leaning for more, for deeper, for longer.

But he pulls away, adjusting his pants. “Sorry, we can’t. We’d never be able to get in.”

I smile and lean my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes.Home.

Corm’s lips touch my forehead, and I stir. His scent provides an intense sense of safety. I fidget a bit, still unwilling to open my eyes.

Waking up beside this man makes me almost not want to get up. I wish we didn’t have to. Ever. Wait a minute? Am I in his bed?

I startle and sit up. “Oh my God, I fell asleep?”

The bow of my gown is all wrinkled and squashed. The car is moving, but we’re crossing a bridge. I look from one window to the other. Brooklyn Bridge?

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” He glances out of the window. “You needed to sleep, so we drove around.”

“What time is it?”

“Past midnight.” He reaches to tuck a strand behind my ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“Did you go to the gala without me?”

He shakes his head.