Page 8

“Brandon—” Naomi starts.
“Mr. Milton?” A photographer approaches us, camera raised. “Could we get a photo of you and your girlfriend?”
Naomi stiffens beside me, her smile frozen in place. I can feel her reluctance, her desire to bolt.
“Make it quick,” I growl.
Connor and Sebastian step aside, but not before the latter throws me a knowing wink. Bastard always could see right through me.
The first flash blinds me, and I see spots dancing. What the—I wasn’t even ready.
I slide my arm around Naomi’s waist. She’s warm against me, her scent sweet and homey. It makes me think of quiet Sundays, soft pastries, and everything this cold, unforgiving world is not.
The camera clicks, capturing a moment that feels as fake as everything else tonight. Do we look like a real couple?
“Come on, you two,” he cajoles. “Let’s see some love! Mr. Milton, give her a kiss.”
I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against her ear. Her skin erupts in goosebumps, and I don’t know why, but it fills me with pride that I still have this effect on her. She can pretend all she wants, but her body desires me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. For what I am about to do? For being an asshole? For needing her this much?
I hope this doesn’t count against my one display of public affection.
The skin of her cheek is soft and warm beneath my lips, somehow grounding me in this chaotic moment. The flash goes off again.
Her head turns just slightly, a fraction of movement, and suddenly, her lips are a breath away from mine. The world narrows to this single point of almost contact. What if I close the gap?
Her eyes meet mine, brown and stormy and filled with something that makes my chest tight.
Fuck.
Just one more second. Let me pretend this is real for one more second, that she’s here because she wants to be and not because of the deal.
My hand tightens on her waist. One move. That’s all it would take. Press forward, claim those lips that are already parted, craving…
The camera’s still clicking away, but all I can focus on is how her breath hitches, how her fingers curl into my blazer, how she leans in, barely, but enough that I notice. Because I notice everything about her. Always have.
One public display.Her rules. Her boundaries.
I step back, dropping my arm. “Got what you needed?” My voice comes out rougher than intended, and I clear my throat.
The photographer nods, already on his next mission.
Naomi’s frozen in place, her lipstick perfect and untouched. Unlike the tremor in her hand as she reaches for another glass of champagne.
I want to say something, anything, but what comes out is… nothing. For the first time in a long timeIam speechless.
She downs half her glass in one go.
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” she says. “Stop it.”
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sebastian walks back over to us.
“Shut up.”