Page 27 of Mismatched Mates

“There’ll be lots of cameras tonight,” he said, turning my hand so he was whispering the words against the delicate skin of my wrist. He inhaled, and another bolt of desire went through me. I shifted in my seat, although as a shifter—he could probably smell my arousal.

Maybe that was what he wanted. After all, his pack would be there, and his Father was a wolf. I was his statement piece.

“Pretend like it’s us against the world,” he said.

How did he make that sound so good? We were sitting in the dark, barely touching, barely speaking, and I could feel my pulse thrumming between my legs. I drew in a sharp breath, bringing with it the scent of musk. “Okay. Won’t your driver tell?”

“Winslow knows how to keep a secret, believe me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Winslow called from the front. “As far as I’m concerned, I see nothing, hear nothing.”

“Plausible deniability.” Grant grinned.

“Exactly,” Winslow concurred, and I caught a flash of his smile in the rearview mirror. This relationship was so different from what I’d been expecting—familiar, friendly even—that I didn’t know what to think. Rich guys were supposed to be assholes. That was the rule, and it was certainly the game Konrad had ended up playing with Heather back when they were dating.

But Grant seemed different.

My heart did a little flip, and I cursed inwardly. This man was dangerous in ways I hadn't anticipated.

The car rounded a corner and the momentum swung me into Grant. His laugh flowered across my cheek. “Easy, sweetheart.”

Flushing, I drew back, but the bear inside me growled in delight. She wanted him to call me sweetheart, and by the feel of it she wanted a whole lot more than that, but I clamped down on the sensations before they could progress any further through my body.

Business. Businessonly.

The car glided to a stop, and my stomach lurched with it. Show time.

"Ready?" Grant's voice was low, his hand warm on mine.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The door opened, and suddenly, the world exploded into chaos.

Flashes erupted like lightning, momentarily blinding me. The roar of voices hit next—a din of shouted questions andexcited chatter. I blinked rapidly, trying to orient myself as Grant's hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward.

His touch on my bare skin sent a jolt through me, grounding and electrifying all at once. I fought the urge to lean into him, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes on us.

"Smile," Grant murmured, his lips barely moving. "You look stunning."

I plastered on what I hoped was a confident grin, channeling my inner Victoria. Fake it 'til you make it, right?

This certainly didn’t feel just like business. Not when his gaze traveled up and down my body with the slow assurance of a man who doesn’t mind who knows that he likes what he sees.

Not when he took my hand and laced our fingers together. The place stank of wolf, and under ordinary circumstances, I’d have rebelled against it. Found it disgusting, maybe. But my nostrils were filled with Grant’s scent, masking musk from the wolves, making it bearable. Almost pleasant.

We ascended the grand staircase, passing under an archway dripping with crystal chandeliers. The opulence was staggering—it felt like stepping into another world.

As we entered, a murmur of whispers followed us. I felt a prickling along my spine, my bear restless. A few wolves send us appraising glances, making no attempt to hide their contempt.

This should be fun.

“I’m going to introduce you to my Father first,” he murmured. “Then I’m going to take a seat and you’re going to look at me like you can’t wait to get home and fuck me.”

Fuck me.

It felt as if his words carved themselves into my skin. The crude term bounced around my brain as he led me to his father, and I almost forgot to be afraid of the alpha as he looked me up and down.

Vince Elston was every bit as intimidating as I'd imagined—tall, broad-shouldered, with steel-gray hair and eyes. Eyes that Grant had obviously inherited. There were deep, pale crow’s feet around his eyes, and his mouth was bracketed by lines. Even so, his broad shoulders intimated he could probably beat me in a fight from willpower alone, if he wished.

“Father,” Grant said, and the sound of his voice grounded me. “This is Jane. My girlfriend.” How he managed to sound possessive with that title, I didn’t know, but it made my stomach flip.

---