Blindsided (28 page)

Her dress left even less opportunity for hiding places. She wore a strapless, midnight-blue evening gown that molded to her figure like a waterfall and flowed out like a river in the back. He’d seen more risqué dresses, but none did as much for him as this one. Sure, all the important parts were covered, leaving only a slight swell and dip to emphasize her cleavage, but the way it plastered itself to those curves…
 

It was the fact that he had to slide his hand down said cleavage to clip on the transmitter that had his eyes spinning back in his head as he tried to avoid ogling. A groan of agony threatened to erupt from his throat whenever he brushed up against the soft skin. The gentleman code stated he wouldn’t acknowledge the intimacy of this act. Professional, businesslike. Anchoring the sound transmitter between those creamy perfections was just part of the job, it wasn’t
his
fault the damn clip was being stubborn.
 

He tried twisting the little pea size bug another way, his knuckle succeeding in prodding her dangerously close to where he imagined her nipple to be. Her sharp intake of breath ensured that her breasts rose in concert, trapping his fingers more tightly between them and the tight fabric of the dress. Fuck gentleman code. He looked.
 

Shit. Shouldn’t have done that. He was doomed to spend the entire night thinking about how his large hands looked dipped down below the rim of her gown, how the nicely proportioned mounds were the perfect size to cup in his palm if he just
turned his hand slightly
.

She cleared her throat, blushing furiously. “Um, maybe I should give it a try again.”

Her hand came up, clasping firmly around his wrist and giving it a slight tug. The same cave-man instinct he’d been trying to fight had him resisting. Luckily he had enough brains left to say something savvy to cover. “I think I got it now, there was this cable-thingy in the way.”

Cable-thingy. Yeah, real savvy. Maybe now is the time to warn her that your suaveness extends to having two left feet.
 

Didn’t it just figure, their first date would have to be some big party for all the movers and shakers of the recording industry. There would be dinner, and mingling, and yup, dancing. And he doubted it would be the traditional waltz or foxtrot he’d spent countless hours in the ballroom training for. This event would feature the latest and greatest in pop culture, and therefore would reflect the eerie memories of high school dances where he spent long awkward hours in the corner of the room, watching his date dance with some guy who seemed to instinctively know how to grind his body to the thumping, straining music Teigan found no rhyme or reason in.

“You mean the underwire.” Her lips curved in a smile that said she knew what he was up to.

Yeah, maybe, but it was such a fun and rewarding game
. A few more seconds of fumbling—during which he half expected Aria to get sick of his bumbling efforts and flip him onto his face—and the bug finally clamped down around the material. “There. I’ve fought with technology and won.”
 

“My hero,” she teased, batting her eyes.

He figured the few extra seconds of close proximity had been worth the risk. Keeping his eyes on her face, he slid his hand out, letting the fingers trail along the gentle slope of her breast, the pad of his ring finger skirting dangerously close to her nipple. The amused smile slipped, straight white teeth clamped down on her lower lip and the hand clamped around his wrist fluttered, as if undecided as to how it should react to the daring move.

Now’s your chance, move in, claim those lips, mark her as yours without the prying eyes of the public watching.
 

He shouldn’t have kissed her yesterday at the reflecting pool. It was his fault she’d gotten dragged into the current mess. He hadn’t meant to, been determined not to, but then the moment had happened and he’d forgotten all his reasons for
not
kissing her. Her mention of Byron had brought him back to reality quick enough. And then she’d kissed him again and he’d let her, partly out of concern for his brother—her aid might very well be what gave them the edge—but mainly because damn, that first kiss had been amazeballs.
 

But as she’d kissed him that second time, her movements precise and measured, no heat, he’d realized she was merely playing a part. Any attraction she’d had for him had been neatly compartmentalized and tucked away, and he’d realized that she thought he’d kissed her not because he was attracted, too, but on Whitesman’s orders.

His efforts to explain his actions had fallen flat. The damage already done, he’d let her think what she would and hoped there would be time later to prove her wrong.
 

Now seems like the perfect time.
 

He shifted closer, watched the bottom lip pull through her teeth, her mouth parting open slightly as if anticipating what was to come. He remembered how those lips looked after he’d kissed her: Red, like sweet burgundy wine. He wanted them to look like that again. He wanted to prove to her that the first kiss had not been calculating and cunning, but occurred because he was fucking going out of his mind whenever he was around her.

“What does the mutt want?” John’s whine drifted through the open doorway that led from the small parlor and into the dining room. Teigan had almost forgotten about the others, and judging by the fact that Aria abruptly jerked away from him, stepping back so there was a good three feet of air between them, she’d forgotten about them, too.

Fuck. Would she think this had been another attempt at manipulating her? Softening her into complacency?

She moved around him, easily maneuvering the familiar path of her family home to where the rest of the team was fortifying themselves on an impressive spread of food the staff had managed to produce upon their arrival. Teigan followed but stopped in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the frame. Better to keep his distance from John who was stuffing huge hunks of a juicy rib-eye into his mouth. The tech obviously didn’t know what was healthy for him—given his tendency for high cholesterol. But it was nothing to what Teigan wanted to do for interrupting them just now.

“Probably your steak,” Aria replied, turning her nose up in distaste as John noisily scarfed down the delicacy. She homed in on Willis and crossed the room to him, linking her arm through his. Willis was scowling. Teigan would’ve thought it had something to do with the extended amount of time he and Aria had just spent alone in the parlor, except he’d seen the same expression etched into the chauffeur’s face all afternoon as they prepped for the operation tonight.

“I still don’t think you have to go through all this,” Willis grumbled to no one particular. “Teigan, or should I say
Garret
, is already on Byron’s radar.”

Teigan thought Willis was probably right. Pictures of himself and Aria had started to appear everywhere. The daily download had an image of them at the pizza place, his hand over her arm, his eyes riveted on her face, and a look of confusion, or possibly longing, on her own. Beside it was a short clip of them together by the Reflecting Pool, locked arm and arm in a kiss that, admittedly, had been way too hot for public. Speculation was running rampant as to whom the mystery man was. Teigan figured by tomorrow either Garret’s boss or an enterprising co-worker would rat him out to the press and the world would no longer be speculating on who, but
how
the couple met and
what
they saw in each other.

“Possibly, but tonight will be akin to throwing pie in his face,” Garret said to Willis. He’d taken up his usual position in a corner of the room, back to the wall, eyes watching all the entry points and everyone else as well. Like the other V-10s, he was decked out like a poster boy for the NRA right now. Unlike the others, there was no glint of anticipation in his eyes. Teigan was struck with a thought: Garret didn’t enjoy the hunt, no matter how much the prey needed killing.

No wonder he left the program.

“We’re going to be late,” Aria said, drawing on her matching gloves. Stunning. Gorgeous. Regal. Ding: Things you’d call a Princess. She was certainly playing the heiress tonight.

A trail of sweat dribbled down his spine where it was soaked up by the crisp white shirt tucked into the waistband of his tuxedo pants. What had ever made him think he had a chance with her? “All right, let’s do this thing.”

Carthridge, Nolan, and Morris filed out. John made a grab for a couple more stuffed pastry concoctions and scrambled to follow.

“Aria, can I have a private word?” Teigan asked before Willis could sweep her out of the room.

She halted, angled back, an imperial eyebrow raised in question. Willis caught Teigan’s eye with a hard, warning stare.
 

Undeterred, Teigan returned the gaze. “It will only take a moment.”

Willis nodded, gave Aria’s arm a pat. “I’ll have the car ready.”

She tipped her head toward Willis. “The Lincoln.”
 

Not the flashier Odyssey? That’s right, Teigan remembered Willis mentioning to them all that the Lincoln was beefed up with added security measures.

“Of course, Miss Idyllis,” Willis assured her and moved out of the room. With a last glance at Teigan, Garret followed.

Teigan waited until the footfalls had completely receded down the hall before crossing the room to Aria. He stopped just before the toes of his shoes bumped up against her strappy pumps, allowing his looming presence to announce his proximity. Aria was fiddling with the tips of her gloves and didn’t give any indication that his company affected her one way or the other.
 

He’d just see about that.

Without warning he swooped down, his hands knuckling around her shoulders, drawing her into his body as his mouth covered hers. She gasped, but didn’t struggle as he pressed his advantage, testing the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, demanding she taste him, too. For a moment she relented, the tip of her tongue hesitantly exploring the corner of his mouth, but just as quickly she withdrew, breaking off the kiss and stepping back.
 

Damn it.

“Aria—” he started.

“What was that for?” Her tone was accusatory, as if he’d betrayed her in some way.

He shrugged, unsure what was supposed to be the right answer and said the first flippant thing that came across his mind. “Just practicing.”

Brilliant, Einstein. And now she’ll either hit you or tell you to save your practice for in front of the cameras.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
 

Then again, maybe he hadn’t fucked this up so badly after all. He was glad she sounded disappointed. He didn’t want her to be content in the role they were playing. He wanted more. Much, much more.

He stepped in, kissing her again. Only this time he took his time to explore every sensation. He teased her lips; full and soft against the chapped skin of his own. He didn’t deepen the kiss, but gave them his full attention, enjoying how they swelled and plumped under his ministrations. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, which sounded more like a feminine growl of frustration than anything else. Her tongue darted forward, demanding entrance. It was what he’d been waiting for. He opened. Their tongues eagerly engaged in play, rasping over and under, tangling with one another. She won, and a moment later he felt the sting of her teeth greedily gripping his lips, as she rubbed herself against his thigh. God, she was like fire. And too damn hot to be handling now.

It took a lot of willpower, but he managed to ease her away. Her chest rose and fell: Breathless. He couldn’t help but smile, then immediately wished she could see what she did to him.

“And that,” she asked between gulps of air. “Was that for practice?”

“No,” he told her, stroking her jaw, “that was because I wanted to.”

“Thank God,” she huffed. “I was hoping I wasn’t the only one losing my head. I wasn’t, was I?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think there’s a drop of blood left in my brain. It all went elsewhere.”

Color spread across her cheeks, but she defiantly lifted her chin, as if daring the blush to travel further. “Good. I would hate to be alone in my insanity.”

“Me too.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Come on. Let’s go see if we can give them something to talk about.”

***

The evening went better than he’d expected, but worse than he’d hoped. His fear of dancing was unfounded. Only the party animals, like the sound techs, production crew and artists themselves did that, not the business execs. Another bonus was people found Aria’s new fame as a Viadal child intriguing rather than frightening. Add in the fact that Aria had actually come with a date, and it was less than five minutes after entering the Liaison’s ballroom that they were dubbed celebrity couple of the evening by the press. They couldn’t have hoped for better exposure.

What completely ruined his evening was the fact that every prospective suitor in the room seemed to consider this breach in the Aria’s previously icy barriers to mean it was open season on hunting her for the grand prize—i.e. marriage to the most eligible bachelorette in town. And given that Teigan—aka Garret—was merely a security guard, the competitors considered him chump change in the race for her hand.

I’m going to kill the next bastard who comes up to paw her while I’m standing right fucking here.