Is he saying he loves me? An excruciating burn swallows my chest and pricks my eyes. “I want that. I do. But I’m scared.”
“I know, baby, but you’ll do it anyway.” His arms encircle my waist and pull my back flush with his chest. “You’re going to look fear in the face and make it your bitch.”
CHAPTER 21
LAYNEE
The next night, I exit the bedroom and walk down the stairs in sky-high stilettos, following the deep rumble of Decker’s voice. My nerves are through the roof as I curl my fingers in the silver fur around my arms and curse it for the hundredth time.
He might not have made the decision for me, but in his usual controlling, arm-twisting fashion, he’s made it painfully hard to not consider his demand. If I remove the shawl, I risk a damaging blow to my public image. If I keep it on, I face his disappointment. The former shrivels my insides, but the latter is more than I can bear.
As I reach the bottom step, I spot him near the front door immersed in conversation with Reese. Since Decker got ready for the charity ball in the guest bedroom, we haven’t seen each other yet. They don’t notice me standing around the corner, so I take a minute to appreciate the view.
Fingers tucked in their front pockets and postures relaxed but strong, they wear black tuxedos and easy smiles. Decker’s at least an inch taller, and his chest and shoulders are broader. Reese’s perfectly-plastered hair looks blonder than normal beside Decker’s brown finger-raked mess of sexiness.
Sweet hell, they’re gorgeous beyond words, but Decker’s the one who steals my focus and quickens my breaths. Flawlessly tailored black pants stretch enticingly across his groin, and the crisp white collar shirt deepens the glow of his tan complexion. Plump lips crook with cocky arrogance, and dark brows maintain that roguish look I love so much.
His eyes lift, and I’m consumed by the intensity that dominates his expression. Affection, desire, wicked intent—it’s all there as he peruses me from tits to toes and back again before landing on my face.
“Fuck, Laynee.” Hooking a finger beneath his collar, he tugs at the silver bow tie and goes back for another full-body scan that makes me feel naked and overdressed at the same time. But more than that, he makes me feel beautiful.
“You look like…” He wets his lips. “A movie star.”
“She is a movie star, asshat.” Reese squints at him. “You can do better than that.”
“I know.” Decker rubs the back of his neck, his attention glued to the vicinity of my satin-covered crotch. “I’m thinking with the wrong head at the moment.”
The iridescence of his golden-brown eyes and the sultry smile occupying his lips burns me up from the inside out. I step toward him, devouring the trim fit of his tux, the day-old stubble he rebelliously left on his face, and the taunting way his straight white teeth sink into the corner of his bottom lip.
When I reach him, he curls strong fingers around my hips beneath the fur, stroking his thumbs against my abs. “You’re exceptionally beautiful. Sinful. Peerless.” He leans in, brushing his mouth along my jaw. “And mine.”
His silken tone shivers through me and settles into a deep pulse between my legs.
Pulling me closer, he feathers the backs of his fingers over my breast and groans into the space beside my ear. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
“Didn’t have a choice.” Someone sacrificed the back out of my dress.
“Gorgeous as always, Laynee,” Reese says. “I’ll be waiting in the limo.” He looks at Decker. “Try not to do any more damage to her gown.”
The front door closes behind him, leaving me alone with Decker and his spicy masculine scent.
“You told him?” My breath hitches at the electric caress of his lips on my neck.
“I mentioned it while we were waiting.” He fingers a blonde ringlet dangling from the complicated twist of my vintage-inspired updo. “Ready?”
He’s not going to jump on the topic of my dress? I’m wearing the shawl with growing certainty that I won’t have the courage to remove it. But if he pushes me, I might cave. Luckily, he doesn’t bring it up.
He doesn’t mention it during the twenty-minute ride to the Mansion on Forsyth Park. Doesn’t say a thing when we exit the limo at the hotel and pose for the strobe of cameras flanking the red-carpet entrance. Without a word, he releases my arm and joins Reese near the front doors while I answer questions about the event.
My security team drove separately. They won’t be entering the building, but they’ll have eyes on every exit point.
Only a few selected members of the press are allowed inside. The hotel is completely sold out, every room purchased on my dime to ensure exclusivity to the attendees. No one gets into the hotel tonight without a ticket.