Page 11

“What the hell!?” I shout, slapping the pants over my lap and effectively covering almost nothing.

He swivels toward me, a stream of apologies already pouring out.

“Sorry to bust in. Ellie was in the lobby. I thought she had already—” His words halt as he takes in my bare ass cheek and strip of cream lace along my hip.

I twist uselessly in the seat, cursing myself for choosing a thong this morning.

His gaze lingers for a breath longer, flaring.

His fingers lift as if he’s contemplating running them up the silky skin of my thigh. I’m thinking about it.

I clear my throat.

“Shit, sorry!” In a jerky movement, Dalton twists away, smacking his face into the window with a loud thunk. “Ow fuck,” he curses, massaging his forehead and nose.

A laugh bursts free before I can stop it. “Serves you right for diving in on a girl while she’s changing.”

“Not entirely my fault. I would have given you more time?—”

“But she was headed this way.” I finish for him.

The crowd of people moving through the hotel’s lobby, snagging everyone’s attention, is impossible to miss.

Dead center is America’s favorite closeted hot mess.

Ellie no longer looks like the tattooed femme fatale who imploded in our hallway last night.

She’s back to the sweet, blonde bombshell the press adores and little girls idolize.

Every muscle in Dalton’s body tenses. He pulls back from the tinted window as if worrying she might still see who’s hiding behind the glass. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to reach out and touch him, to soothe the coiled tendons ticking in his neck. Instead, I opt for humor.

“You know, you could have just asked to see my ass.” I tease, reaching for my clean pants.

Dalton snorts, head tilting back in my direction. “Can I see?—”

“Eyes out the window, Romeo,” I warn, and he turns back to the tinted glass.

I catch his smile in the reflection, and it feels like a win.

With the dark tint, I’m pretty sure he still has a good view of my ass as I lift my hips to slide on the jeans.

His subtle shift in the seat, followed by the crossing of his leg, tells me I’m correct.

At least I know looking at my body has the same effect on him as his did on me last night.

“Done,” I say, fastening the top button.

Dalton raps his knuckles on the window three times, signaling Charles to abandon his post outside our door and slip behind the wheel.

Before we pull away, Ellie emerges from the hotel doors with a bubblegum smile and quaffed hair.

There’s an army of security guards and handlers surrounding her.

In previous tabloid photos, I had always thought the entourage was there for her protection.

Now, it’s clear they are equally there as her handlers.

Dalton keeps his gaze forward, only the tight set of his jaw giving away the frustration hidden beneath the calm surface.

I’d rock my coffee-stained pants all day in trade if it meant drowning out the paparazzi now screaming her name.

Mercifully, the driver seems to think along the same line, dialing up the car’s stereo.

Shouts fade as classic rock fills the car.

With one glance back as we pull out, I swear Ellie’s eyes narrow on our black SUV like she can sense us escaping.

“I should thank her,” Dalton says, aiming for humor and hitting something closer to disdain. “We wouldn’t be on this date if she hadn’t pulled that bullshit last night.”

“And because she’s now trapped you in a space with me twice in the past twenty-four hours? Once, where you almost got lucky.”

“You mean where I got blue balls?” He interjects. “Thanks, Anders.”

I ignore him. “And once where you got to see my bare ass.”

“Now that was a pleasant surprise not on this morning’s agenda.” His eyes drift back down my body as if remembering the view.

“You realize in honor of our agreement to keep things balanced, you now have to show me yours.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, there will be ample opportunities for you to see my ass today.

” He says with a wicked grin. All tension has dissolved from his shoulders and the confident slouch he’s perfected is sexy as hell.

His hand glides absentmindedly down his muscular thigh and I have to suppress the memory of it pressed between my legs last night as I ground against him. And subject change, please!

My eyebrow quirks. “What kind of date do you have planned?”

“Didn’t you read my packet?” He pulls a hurt expression, ruined by the curve at the corner of his lips.

I look down at my bag, where his file was stuffed in a packing tornado this morning. The seal never broken. “Wasn’t planning on attending, so nope.”

“Then it will be a surprise. We made some adjustments to meet the new privacy requirements, but the essence is still the same.”

“We?” I press. “I thought each bachelor was supposed to plan his own date.”

“Bullshit, we all have help. My sister, Stella, was the architect behind mine. She planned most of it, just a few parts are all me. Stella is blunt as fuck when it comes to my dating ability. She said I know shit about being romantic and there’s no way she was going to let me ruin some lady’s dream night.

Planning was her charitable contribution.

” He smiles to himself. “The truth is, I’m romantic as fuck.

” He leans in slowly, reaching out to sweep a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

His rough fingers skim over my neck, leaving a trail of pleasant chills in their wake.

I can’t decide if I want to lean into his touch or pull away.

I go with locking myself in place and throwing up a defensive wall.

“Cocky for someone who’s out of practice. I would think a dude who has ladies shoving panties in his pocket for sport doesn’t have to practice very hard at being romantic.” There’s a snort from the front seat. “See, even Charles agrees.”

“Fair.” He concedes. “There’s an ocean-sized void between making a woman feel sexy and laying back while an eager fan girl fucks your brains out, hoping to sex her way into your wallet.

But don’t doubt me, forty-eight. My skills may be a little rusty in the wooing department, but I still know how to make a woman feel adored.

You’re getting all the smolder today. It’s part of the package. ”

Dalton leans closer, eyes falling on my lips before raising to meet mine again with a sly wink.

My mind drifts to Anders and the rumored five orgasms that came with his package. Pun intended. I clench my knees tighter against the desire spooling between my thighs.

“I will be the judge of your smolder levels,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the huskiness now coating my voice.

His focus drops to my lips again, and I’m not sure who leans in first, but the inches between us are disappearing. His voice is low this time, keeping the question between us. “I meant to ask last night before we were interrupted. When was the last time someone made you feel sexy, Jenna?”

His green eyes dart up to meet mine, molten emeralds. A tidal wave of lust surges deep in my core, my skin flushing. My lips part, catching his attention again, but before I can reply, the car comes to a stop and Charles is out the door, headed our way.

A wicked grin blooms on Dalton’s lips as he says, “Hold that thought.”

The door pops open and Dalton hops out, leaning back in to offer me his hand. “I believe I owe you coffee and breakfast.”

I’m halfway across the seat, letting my fingers slip into his when I look up to see a cell phone in his hand pointed at my face. There’s the sound of a camera shutter and I freeze.

“You promised—” I start, but stall as Dalton’s fingers squeeze mine.

“Trust me. Your identity is safe with me.” His expression softens like warm butter.

The playfulness is gone as he pleads for my trust. With a flip of his wrist, the phone screen faces me.

In the photo, Dalton’s muscular arm is reaching into a dark car door.

An elegant hand reaches back, emerging from the blackness.

The woman’s red nails caressing his palm the second before she takes his hand.

Nothing else of her can be seen. She’s a phantom. And Romona will eat it up.

“I trust you,” I say before letting him pull me out to the pavement and toward our first part of our date.