“Ms. Carmichael.” One of the parking attendants greets me with a warm smile.
“Good evening.” I return the smile while a jolt of euphoria zips along my skin as he stares a second too long at my outfit. Darby – Rebel Child! It feels good to be back in my old shoes.
If Trick’s in any sort of awe from his surroundings he’s not letting on. I imagine Grady, salon guru to the stars, has taken Trick to some pretty posh events. Tonight is just a political schmoozing dinner. Trick grabs my hand and leads me to the front door like he owns the place. His sexy confidence has my skin sizzling with heat and my nipples popping out to say hello! The crowd at the front door funnels into single file as every guest is marked off the list and taken through security.
“I’m sorry, sir, you’re not on the list.” The gentleman with the iPad gives Trick a disapproving look without actually checking the list.
Trick squeezes my hand and pulls me in front of him, my back against his chest. Then he takes a shotgun and blows my mind. Sliding his arms under mine and resting his hands on my belly, he pulls me closer and kisses my neck! There’s no longer a distinguishable difference between my red shirt and my skin.
Mr. iPad nearly chokes on his own tongue with a who-the-hell-is-this-tattooed-guy-kissing-the-senator’s-daughter look. He clears his throat—of his tongue. “Ms. Carmichael, I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” A nervous smile pulls at his lips. “Please …” He gestures for us to go inside.
I slip past security with ease, but they hold Trick back.
“No need. He’s with me.”
Trick frowns at the security guards; the security guards frown at me, but let him through. My heart jackhammers in my chest and my neck still feels the heat of his lips. Why did he do that? Now I know what those lips feel like. I know the way his thick stubble elicits a prickling chill of goose bumps along my skin. And now I can feel his lips everywhere and it wrecks me.
“Darby Lucille!” I turn just as Trick grabs my hand again, reminding my nipples that they are out to stay for the evening.
“Nana! What are you doing here?” Trick releases my hand, and I hug Nana dressed to the nines in a green lace embroidered dress—a Rachael Hart original.
“I decided to come for moral support. But it looks like you brought your own.” She raises her brow at Trick. “You must be the infamous Trick.” She holds out her hand, but not for a handshake.
To my surprise, Trick doesn’t hesitate. He takes her hand and presses those lips to the back of it. Lucky hand. “Trick this is my nana, Grace McDermot.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Nana blushes and winks at me. God! Could she be any more obvious?
Trick’s ego has to be ready to burst: guys love him, girls love him, even elderly ladies go weak in their artificial knees in his presence.
“Where’s Daddy Dearest?”
Nana’s still batting her eyelashes at Trick. So that’s where I get it.
“Nana!”
She frowns and looks at me like I’m a four-year-old rudely interrupting the adults. Her gaze falls past my shoulder to the grand split staircase. I turn. My father walks down one side and some ‘bimbo’ walks down the other side. Yeah, like that isn’t obvious!
“My lovely daughter looks like she’s dressed for a concert in the park. Why is this?” He grits between clenched teeth and a fake smile before kissing me on the cheek.
“I didn’t want one of your rich donors to mistake me for one of the expensive call girls you’ve invited to the brothel.” I grit back.
He grabs my wrist and squeezes it so tight tears sting my eyes. “Enough!” He grinds close to my ear. “What has gotten into you?”
I feel Trick’s hand take mine, forcing my father to release me.
“Trick, this is my father, Calvin Carmichael.”
Trick forces an amicable nod, but my father just gives him a quick glare with a disgusted head shake before turning a cold shoulder to go greet his more important guests.
“Well, shall we?” Nana grins, obviously amused by the power struggle that’s ensued this evening.
We follow her out back to the large white tent sparkling with elegant illuminating chandeliers, round tables adorned with candles and fancy stemware, and an orchestra playing in the far corner. The socialites mingle in their cliquish groups. It’s my prom all over again.
“Oh, there’s Cynthia Kane. I’ll catch up to you two later.” Nana grabs a flute of champagne from a server and sashays away.
Trick grabs two flutes off the tray and hands me one. I eye his.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He’s not even staring at me, so how does he know what look I’m giving him? “It’s for you when you’re finished with that one. Something tells me you’re going to need it.” Trick continues to survey the crowd and the rest of our surroundings.