Page 35 of When You Are Mine

“A narcissistic, mercenary douche bag.”

“I can see that.” She nodded, teasing him with a smile.

“Oh, you can? How about this?” He ran his fingers mercilessly and surreptitiously up her ribs, making her erupt in laughter. “Can you see this?”

She dipped her head to his shoulder, still fighting laughter. Several dancers turned in their direction.

“Stop, Walsh.”

He refused, leaving her gasping, wriggling, and squeezing her eyes shut.

“People are looking at us.”

“They can’t help themselves. You’re the most beautiful thing in this room.”

Kerris sobered, standing still and pulling away when the music conveniently stopped.

“I’m sorry.” He was only sorry because he’d made her pull away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” She offered a papier-mâché smile, fragile and stiff. “Every girl loves a compliment.”

“What was so funny?” Jo stepped into the conversation like she owned it, followed closely by Sofie.

“I was telling Kerris about my father.” Walsh took half a step back from Kerris, governing his features before looking at Jo and Sofie.

“What a great man.” Sofie twisted the diamond bracelet around her narrow wrist. “I’ve always loved Uncle Martin.”

Jo snorted, exchanging a quick look with Walsh. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Sofie wouldn’t score any points with him complimenting his father.

“Walsh, that man over there wanted you to come see him after you were done…dancing.” Sofie said the last word as if Kerris and Walsh had been grinding in the middle of the ballroom dance floor, her mouth twisted with distaste.

“Which man?” Walsh followed the direction of Sofie’s finger. “Oh, Mr. Donovan. He’s a big fish. Let me go over there and see if I can close this deal. I’ll be back, ladies.”

Walsh didn’t allow himself one last look at Kerris. He didn’t want to see the mask she’d pulled in place now that they weren’t alone. He hated what she was hiding. Hated it because he had to hide it, too.

Chapter Fourteen

Walsh walked toward the silver-haired gentleman Kerris had seen him talking with during dinner, leaving her alone with Jo and Sofie. Jo had been watching Kerris like she was the last clue on the crossword puzzle you could never figure out. The tickle session on the dance floor with Walsh probably hadn’t helped. Jo had eyes you couldn’t hide from. Not for the first time, Kerris wondered if everything she was trying to hide, Jo could clearly see.

“That dress is lovely, Kerris.” Sofie addressed the words to her French manicure. “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s vintage.” Kerris hated the note of uncertainty she heard in her own voice. She lifted her chin in a show of pride she didn’t feel.

“Is that what they call it? So quaint.” Sofie tossed a chunk of silvery-blond hair over one shoulder. “And how bold of you to wear something that…modest when all the other women are dressed…differently. I just admire you. I mean, you obviously have never been in an environment like this, and you’re just conducting yourself so well.”

Kerris noticed Jo widen her eyes at Sofie’s insulting tone and comments. Kerris zipped her mouth into a fine line, holding back her own retort. Her palms itched to smack Sofie. She balled her fingers into the delicate fabric of her second-hand finery, crushing the material.

“Thank you.” Kerris looked around the room for an escape, not sure if she was saving herself or the rude woman standing in front of her. “I think I’ll go find Cam.”

“He was talking outside with some of the guys smoking cigars,” Jo said, sympathy apparent on her face.

Kerris didn’t want sympathy or pity or whatever had her cheeks burning. She wanted out. She slipped off, stiffening her back against the urge to slump her shoulders. She had survived too much for someone like Sofie to break her, but she still felt the blows and wanted to lick the wounds in private.

She walked through the French doors, stepping down onto the dew-moistened lawn and heading for the gazebo. She slipped off her shoes, hooking the flimsy straps over her index finger. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the clusters of glittering people chatting and laughing with one another in the makeshift ballroom. Her insides still stung from Sofie’s acid-tipped talons. She’d painted Kerris as some shabbily dressed misfit.

Who was she kidding? That’sexactlywhat she was.

Kerris wanted to go home, take off her Goodwill dress, curl up in her kimono, and fall asleep with the scraps of her dignity and confidence. She settled onto the bench inside the gazebo, leaning back to admire the delicate latticework trimming its frame.

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