Page 53 of If You Claim Me

“I grew thorns.” He straightens, his expression shifting to arrogance. “Come on. Let’s get the hard part over with.”

Connor guides me to the entrance, his fingers pressed against the dip in my spine, keeping me grounded. The cameras flash as soon as the doors open. I shift my gaze away, looking up at him. He smiles down at me, probably as a reminder that I’m supposed to do the same. The way it softens his harsh, noble features makes my heart stutter and my own lips curve up.

He stops once we’re inside the hotel lobby, hand curving around my waist, pulling me closer. The media closes in, the frantic clicking and flashes overwhelming. When I’m out with Flip and the Babes, we usually go to the Watering Hole, where they’re treated like normal people. Even on club nights, we go straight from the car to the VIP entrance to avoid this nonsense. But there’s nowhere to hide.

This much attention is disorienting and uncomfortable. I fight to keep my smile in place, to not let panic take hold, to keep the heat from rising in my cheeks.

“Mr. Grace, can you confirm the rumors that your fiancée is pregnant?”

“Mr. Grace, is it true that your contract with the Terror is in jeopardy now?”

“Mr. Grace, will you be joining the Grace empire now that you’re about to be married?”

“Ms. Reformer, is it true that you’re also involved with Flip Madden?”

Connor pins the last reporter with a glare and makes a circle motion with his finger. Two security guards step in and remove the offender.

“I should not have to remind you that there areno questionsfor the future Mrs. Grace,” he calls out. Then his lips find my temple. “Just a few more seconds, darling.”

The cameras click furiously at the tender affection. I tip my chin up, and our gazes meet. Connor’s eyes search mine, soft and warm, full of secrets and a gentle apology. I wet my bottom lip and arch a brow. The media seem to like it when he’s exerting his dominance, followed by sweetness. His smile darkens, and then he bends, pressing his lips lightly to mine.

For a moment the world stops turning, and all that exists is him and me, the softness of his lips and the heat of his fingers tightening on my waist.

But it’s over just as quickly as it begins. I’m disoriented as he rushes me past the photographers and camera crews. He raises one hand as we pass, his other arm still wrapped protectively around me.

His mother stands on the other side of the mob, her expression remote as she waits for us to reach her. “Your fiancée needs media training.”

“Mildred did fine. Some warning that you’d invited the media would have been nice.”

“The media are always invited. You’re featured in the gossip rags often enough to know this.” His mother gives him an irritated look. “Quite the spectacle at the end.”

He smiles placidly. “Isn’t that what this was about, Mother?”

“Your father won’t be happy.”

“He never is.”

She sighs, her shoulders melting for a moment. “Why can’t you just make it easy for once? You’re a Grace. People are interested in your choices, good and bad.” She finally turns to me and adopts what I expect is supposed to be a smile, but mostly she looks tired. “I’m sure this is all overwhelming for you.”

I echo Connor’s smile. “I spend a lot of time in hockey arenas, which are notorious for being overwhelming, I can handle a few nosy photographers.”

Her expression softens for a moment, but then her phone chimes and she rolls her shoulders back, her face a mask of arrogant indifference. “I have a meeting. Everything has been arranged for your walk-through and tasting. Please do make selections so we’re not left guessing.” She air-kisses my cheeks and does the same to Connor before striding off.

“I apologize for my mother,” Connor mutters.

“She seems stressed more than anything.”

“It’s the effect I have on her. On all of them.”

I skim the back of his hand with my fingers. “I’m sorry they don’t understand you.”

“Come on.” He laces our fingers and guides me to the escalator that will take us to the second-floor event spaces.

Everything about this hotel screams luxury. We pass a conference center and head for the ballroom.

A man dressed in a hotel uniform approaches us, a smile plastered on his slightly panicked face. His name tag readsHenrick. “Mr. Grace, you’re early. I would have met you in the lobby and escorted you up here.”

“I know my way around my family’s hotels.” He inclines his head toward me. “This is my fiancée, Mildred Reformer.”