Dirty Little Secret Page 7

  “Have you ever heard the saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’?”

  “Touché.”

  I was still kicking myself for revealing that much of myself. Why even tell her I was familiar with love? That wasn’t what we were embarking on, and confusing the issue could only complicate things. This book and this cover were a perfect match nowadays, and that was all she needed to know.

  I made a mental note to avoid such discussion in the future.

  As the limo slowed to a stop, I couldn’t help but notice the small smile playing on her lips. “We’re here. Are you ready to mingle?”

  She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  On the sidewalk in front of the banquet hall, I offered my arm to her, and after she placed her hand on my forearm, we made our way inside.

  The room was a wall of bodies, which was good. It meant a lot of donations were going to come in tonight. But it was also bad because it meant we’d be jockeying for position all night as I tried to make my way through the crowd.

  Emma’s eyes widened at the scene before us. The line for the bar was at least thirty people deep, and there was barely enough room for us to stand without bumping into someone. They needed a bigger venue next year. It was a good problem to have, though a little bit annoying for this year’s guests.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  Her gaze went to the long wait at the bar. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Something mild, then? Unless you want tea?” I was rambling, and I never fucking rambled. When she shot me a look, I placed my hand on the small of her back. “I have an idea.”

  I signaled an approaching waiter who was delivering cheap champagne on a metal tray, and slipped him a fifty-dollar bill. “Go behind the bar. Make the lady a Shirley Temple with grenadine and a splash of champagne. The good stuff, not this shit you’re serving out here. And I’ll take a glass of the best bourbon you have. No ice.”

  Emma glanced at me from the corner of her eye, but didn’t say a thing.

  “That okay with you?” I asked as the waiter darted away like my money was burning a hole in his pocket.

  “It’s perfect. Very sweet of you.”

  “That’s a new one for me.” I laughed.

  “No one’s ever called you sweet?”

  I thought long and hard about it. “Honestly, no.”

  “Maybe I bring out a new side of you.”

  She was being cheeky, and I added it to the growing list of things I liked about her.

  “Maybe you do,” I agreed.

  As we made our way slowly through the crowd toward the front of the ballroom and the stage, Emma’s hand came to rest automatically on my arm again. Another item on the list of things I liked.

  My extra donation had insured we’d have seats for tonight’s live auction. The event was standing-room only, aside from a few rows of white folding chairs in front of the stage. It was where the serious bidders sat.

  Before we could make it up front, our waiter returned in record time with our cocktails.

  I tipped him again. “Bring us another round in fifteen minutes.”

  He nodded, darting away again.

  I watched while Emma took a sip from her champagne flute, tasting her drink.

  “Well?”

  She broke into a grin. “So yummy. I think this is my new favorite drink.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was basically a kiddo cocktail with a splash of champagne. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me order it. Then again, there was something I liked about the fact that she wasn’t a drinker. After some of the shit I’d dealt with, it was a weight off my shoulders.

  I glanced at her smiling face as she surveyed the room, then noticed the pool of men who’d already noticed her. They looked at her like she was the biggest, juiciest steak they’d ever seen, and I placed an arm around her protectively, as if to show them she wasn’t for sale.

  Not this one.

  Except . . . wasn’t she? She’d essentially been blackmailed into coming here, and it was all my fault. Frowning down at her, I paused.

  “Do you really want to be here right now? I know I can be overbearing sometimes, and if this arrangement doesn’t work for you . . .”

  Her gaze searched mine. “I really want to be here.” Her tone was sincere.

  “Okay. We don’t have to stay long. Let’s find our seats for the auction.”

  As we weaved our way through the crowd, hand in hand, I realized there was already something that felt very different about this. I already knew I was intrigued with Emma, but now I knew that she was someone of substance, it seemed to matter even more what she thought of me. That was a first. I normally never gave a shit what someone thought of me, but with her? Somehow that mattered.

  “Kingsley!” a man’s voice behind us boomed.

  We turned, and I met the gaze of a man in his late fifties with a short graying beard.

  “Mr. Thornton. Good evening.” I turned and squeezed Emma’s hand. “Do you want to find our seats? We’re 6A and B. I’ll see you in just a moment.”

  She nodded and turned to saunter off.

  Thornton was a top-notch client. A huge moneymaker for our business.

  So then, why couldn’t I tear my gaze away from the sway of little Emma Bell’s luscious hips?

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma

  I’d fantasized about Gavin constantly for almost a year, but now that I had his attention, everything had changed. Sipping my drink, I let my gaze wander around the room. Gavin had directed me here to a chair near the stage and made sure I was okay, saying that there was someone he needed to talk to.

  As I sat waiting for the auction to begin, I enjoyed my sweet, fizzy drink and the atmosphere around me, marveling yet again at how different everything was from my everyday life.

  Any moment, I expected the clock to strike twelve and everything around me would dissolve, the limo turning back into a pumpkin, my dress turning back into my boring black-and-white work clothes. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  Tonight, I was freshly waxed, manicured, and wearing a fine gown. I’d had two nights like this in as many weeks with two sexy men.

  Was this real life?

  It certainly didn’t feel like it.

  Holding tightly to the stem of my champagne glass, I glanced back toward the crowd of people, hoping to spot Gavin. It took less than a second until I found him, still talking with the man from before.

  When we locked eyes from across the room, a shiver of raw heat pulsed through me. It reminded me so much of the way he’d looked when he dropped that card into the jar at the coffee shop, like there was an intimate secret between us.

  His eyes darkened with unmistakable heat, and his long fingers reached down to adjust a cuff link on his wrist while he continued to watch me. A hot shiver raced through me in anticipation. He exuded power and strength, and I was weak, unable to resist him.

  The way he looked at me—predatory and hungry—was like no man ever had. It wasn’t in that way other men might, leering and curious. There was no curiosity. Gavin knew. If he wanted me, he would have me, and I would be powerless to stop him.

  I was a doe and he was a lion, stalking toward me with determined strides that made my knees go weak, even as I sat in my chair.

  Heat spread from my face to my core, and for a moment I was worried Gavin could read me like a book. But then he smiled and another wave of traitorous desire rolled through me, making butterflies swirl in my stomach. I softened.

  Dear God, I like his smile. I wanted to make him do that again.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside me.

  “Yes, fine.”

  I took the final sip of my drink just as the waiter delivered our next round, and Gavin gave me an approving nod as I traded glasses.

  Again, he slipped a tip onto the waiter’s tray, and I watched as the guy sc
urried away, ready to jump at Gavin’s beck and call. Just like everyone else seemed to.

  That was when it hit me. Gavin was a man.

  I’d dated guys before. Their needs always came first, and I was merely an afterthought. I knew things with Gavin would be different. Maybe it was because his job was managing relationships with women, making sure they were safe and taken care of, but I wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, all my senses were humming. This man had my complete attention.

  “How was your evening with Cooper?” Gavin’s full mouth quirked up just a fraction. It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t refer to it as a date.

  “It was nice. We had fun.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “He took me to the drive-through on the way home.” I shrugged. “We shared french fries.”

  Gavin smirked and shook his head. “He really knows how to woo a woman.”

  “I don’t think he was trying to woo me.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Gavin’s expression turned serious, and for a moment, I didn’t understand the game we were playing.

  “What did you talk about?” he asked.

  Why were we even talking about this? Was he trying to set me up with his brother? If he wanted me to fall for Cooper, then why agree to go out with me himself?

  I shrugged again. “He mentioned something about your colorful upbringing.”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “Did he now?”

  I nodded. “He made it sound so fascinating. Not at all like the piano lessons and strict curfew I grew up with. Though, to be honest, I can’t picture you all growing up with hippie-type parents or something.” I grinned, imagining the Kingsley brothers younger and in some sort of drum circle.

  He let out a choked laugh and shifted in his seat. “Yeah, no. It was nothing like that. To be honest, things were pretty desolate those first few years.”

  Cooper hadn’t made it sound that way. Though, he had mentioned something about earning Gavin’s trust . . . God, I felt stupid now. I wanted to shove my words back in my mouth and pretend I’d never said them, but Gavin was glancing at the stage, speaking as casually as ever.

  “We were raised by a single mom, and times were tough. Not such an unusual story. But it made us determined to make something of ourselves.”

  Gavin rising out of poverty sounded so dashing. This was probably just his way of steering us away from a too-personal topic. But deep down, as much as I didn’t want to care about him or his childhood, part of me knew what he said was true, and my heart gave a squeeze.

  I took a gulp of my drink. There was a reason they called it liquid courage.

  Gavin’s hot gaze fell on me, appraising my reaction to his revelation. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, we grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. I’m sure my childhood was a far cry from the country-club lunches and tennis lessons you enjoyed.”

  I blinked. Ouch. I’d clearly overstepped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, but before I got the chance to explain myself, the lights on the stage went up and, just like that, the auction began, leaving a heavy silence hanging between us.

  The hostess began with an overview of the charity we were here to support. I suddenly felt foolish that I hadn’t researched the reason we were here. As I listened to the woman speak about the topic that was clearly so dear to her heart, my throat felt tight. It was an international charity that helped rescue women from prostitution and human trafficking. From the corner of my eye, I glanced at Gavin, trying to get a read on how he felt about being here, but apparently, this was a speech he’d heard many times before.

  A round of polite applause followed a few heart-rending stories about the work the charity had done, and as the auctioneer was introduced, I was tempted to lean over and ask Gavin about why in the hell Forbidden Desires would think this was their kind of crowd.

  I knew, of course, that their business wasn’t a prostitution racket—it had been discussed with me by more than one person in the past two weeks I’d worked with them. Still, it felt like that sort of distinction might be lost on the crowd at a gala like this.

  I shoved aside my apprehension and gave the important cause the attention it deserved.

  The items up for bid were introduced one by one. We watched intently as each was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Fifteen minutes passed, and Gavin hadn’t said a word. I wondered if perhaps he would just be a silent spectator, opting not to bid. Heaven knew the items were way out of my income bracket, as much as I might have been inspired to help.

  “The final item up for bid tonight is the luxurious seven-night vacation on a private yacht off the coast of the Seychelles islands,” the auctioneer said.

  Clearly, they had saved the best for last. The large flat screen on the stage showed a massive gleaming-white vessel in turquoise waters so clear and blue, it almost didn’t look real.

  I’d never heard of the locale before, but the map on the screen showed it was a group of islands in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Africa, and the auctioneer filled in the remaining details—that it was a playground for the rich and famous, and a favorite vacation spot for Britain’s royal family.

  “We’ll start the bidding at twenty thousand dollars.”

  Gavin surprised me by raising his hand, placing the opening bid.

  From there, the bidding went by at a dizzying pace. Apparently, Gavin wasn’t the only high roller waiting for the best item tonight.

  When the bidding surpassed fifty thousand, my head swam. That was more than I made in a year.

  When Gavin raised his hand to the auctioneer’s request for a fifty-five-thousand-dollar bid, a wave of nausea rolled through me. The bid went unchallenged, and I watched in amazement as the auctioneer counted down and finally pronounced Gavin the winner.

  “We got it.” He beamed at me, and I did my best to tamp down my shock and match his enthusiasm.

  We? I wasn’t going on his worldwide yachting adventure, but good for him. I was glad he was pleased, but I couldn’t deny that my head was spinning. This was all so far out of my league, I felt like I’d stepped into a dream.

  “There are a few people I need to talk to. That okay with you?” I vaguely heard him ask.

  I nodded. “Of course. That’s the reason we’re here. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  The people around us were filing from the seats but Gavin and I stayed put, his hazel gaze locked on mine.

  “I was just wondering. Do you really think this is a good outlet for marketing a business like yours? It’s none of my business, but—”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The people here, aren’t they here because they want to end prostitution?”

  Gavin frowned. “I can understand your point.” Depositing our empty glasses on the tray of a passing waiter, he cleared his throat and added, “But you’d be surprised.”

  I blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “What people fund and what they do . . . they’re not always the same. But, to be perfectly candid, I don’t really come here for the marketing. It’s secondary.”

  “Then why come?”

  He considered my question for a long moment. “This work is important to me. I know that the women we employ are strong and confident professionals, but that doesn’t mean that a few don’t slip through the cracks. It’s . . . personal. A sort of due diligence.”

  And then it hit me. Given what Gavin did for a living, it was even more important that he become involved with causes like this. His heart was bigger than he made it seem, and I found I respected him even more.

  Damn it, do not get soft, Emma. You know what happens when you get soft.

  My shoulders tensed and I looked at him. “I never thought about it that way.”

  “You would have no reason to. Come on, I have to say a few hellos before everyone has gone.”

  Still reeling from h
is surprisingly personal revelation, I followed him as we stood and headed back to the ballroom.

  Maybe this was another difference between Gavin and Cooper. Cooper had been all about the business, eager to talk to anyone and everyone about what he did. As we made our way toward the crowds of people, though, Gavin’s lazy pace made it all too clear he wasn’t here for that. Not really.

  For him, this was a charity event first and a business event second. It was strangely . . . endearing.

  What other surprises did this man have in store for me?

  We approached a group of older men and spoke with a few corporate bigwigs. Gavin was smooth and in command, mesmerizing to watch. He didn’t have the easy charm Cooper did, but his confidence more than made up for that fact.

  “Gavin.” A younger man with a crooked smile reached for Gavin’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You, as well, Mister . . . ?”

  The man chuckled. “It’s Dave.”

  “Right. It’s good to see you. Let me know if I can help with anything.” Almost imperceptibly, he handed the man a card and then ushered me to a new crowd of people.

  After several similar brief conversations, we came to yet another group of men old enough to be my father.

  “Dr. Barton,” Gavin said, extending a hand. “I trust you’ve been well.”

  “Not as well as you’ve been, I see,” the older man said, eyeing me eagerly. He had a short goatee and glasses, but his silver hair was the only thing distinguished about him. He leered at me, sizing me up. His gaze roving over my skin made me want to crawl out of it and hang it elsewhere like a suit. Anything to get him to stop staring.

  “Not still rooting for the Bruins, are you?” Gavin asked Dr. Barton.

  “Of course.” The man laughed.

  “That’s a damn shame,” Gavin joked.

  They continued teasing each other for several minutes while I stood beside Gavin, smiling politely and trying to blend into the background. But I couldn’t escape the unfamiliar and somewhat creepy feeling. Even as he spoke to Gavin, the man’s gaze hardly left me . . . or my cleavage.