Page 105 of Surprisingly Us

My feet hurt, and I’m too tired to wait for the winner of the stand-off, so I start walking toward the exit.

I’d planned to make an effort of thanking everyone for coming before I left. I would have liked to make a final round to chat with guests and encourage donations to Leg-Up, answer any questions they may have about the program, but no one wants to talk about Leg-Up right now. They only want to talk about the big fat diamond on my left hand and I can’t stand to be here a second longer.

I push through the gold-plated doors and into the warm night air. After the air-conditioned theater had started to give me a chill, the temperate air feels like a warm hug. Beforedescending the stairs, I glance toward the street, and wonder what the odds are of finding a taxi right now.

When I wobble on the first step, my body nearly pitching forward and sending me into a free fall down the stairs, strong hands grip my waist, pulling me upright.

I don’t even need to look up to know it’s Rhys. His alluring scent gives him away. Also, those firm hands and long fingers I’ve become accustomed to touching me.

“Oh, look, it’s my fiancé,” I grumble. “A sneak attack from behind, how original.”

Rhys doesn’t say anything, only holds me around the waist and helps me down the stairs. I could fight him on this, it’s what my ego wants, but between the alcohol I consumed and my tired feet, these heels are starting to give me trouble. And he’s delivering me from this nightmare of an evening and closer to getting home, so I allow myself to be guided to a black SUV.

Rhys tucks me into the backseat, then goes around to the other side to get in.

“Good evening, Miss Davenport.”

It’s Wanda. She’s got to agree with me on this one.

“Wanda, we’re engaged,” I lean over the front seat to tell her. I’m hoping for some commiseration, but since I’ve failed to give her any context of the situation, she gives me the appropriate response.

“Congratulations, Miss Davenport.” She nods in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Spencer.”

“No, it’s not, Wanda. And remember, I asked you to call me Lettie.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Davenport, it’s a habit.”

I know I’m a mess, but I can’t help it. This night has been a rollercoaster. From the high of nailing my performance showcase with Sebastian, to Rhys’s sneak attack proposal and having to pretend everything is peachy in front of friends andfamily. Now, I’m fake engaged and my phone is buzzing with texts from my mother who is already throwing out wedding venue ideas.

“Lettie.” With both hands wrapped around my waist, Rhys pulls me backwards. The quick motion and my inability to get my muscles to function properly finds me landing helplessly in his lap.

I expect him to move me aside, but instead, he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me to him. It’s like the night of Hannah and James’s wedding when we took Aunt Maggie home and there wasn’t room for both of us to sit so he pulled me into his lap.

For a moment, I forget that I’m mad at him and nestle my head into the space between his shoulder and chin. His warm, solid body beneath me sends a familiar ache between my thighs.

Traitorous vagina.

It’s a sensation I’ve become familiar with over the last few weeks with Rhys. Lust. Desire. Want. But tonight, I find it surprising that despite my anger with him, my body still reacts to his.

I carried that emotion with me as I talked with friends and fellow dancers. Every congratulations fueling my frustration even more. I’d felt his eyes on me. When I reached for another glass of champagne, our gazes caught across the room and a wave of lust had crashed into me so hard, I’d nearly reached for the waiter’s arm to steady myself.

It was like a taut thread, opposite emotions pulling from either side. Anger and lust battling it out. Watching that thread snap would be so satisfying. I’d never understood the concept of hate sex. How you could want to be intimate with someone who you disliked so much. In this moment with Rhys, I get it.

I press my ass against him. His hands tighten around my waist. I can’t tell if he’s holding me away or to him.

I extend my left hand out. “Look at how it sparkles.” Rotating my hand, the diamond on my finger shimmers with the lights of the city as we make our way down Broadway. “I feel like a little girl playing dress up.”

The diamond is obnoxious. A show piece. As if Rhys thought the larger the diamond the more believable this ruse would be.

“It’s almost like you’re compensating for something, Rhys. Large diamond, small—”

Wanda opens the door. “Goodnight, Miss Davenport, Mr. Spencer.”

I wasn’t even aware we had stopped.

Rhys shifts me off his lap, then helps me out of the car, before Wanda shuts the door behind us.

“Goodnight, Wanda. Goodnight, you.” I wave in Rhys’s direction. Wanda gets back into the vehicle and drives off, but Rhys stays put. “If you think I’m going to let you up, you’re sorely mistaken, pal. And it’s past Mrs. Donahue’s bedtime so you better not try to wake her up.”

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