Page 13 of Heartbreaker

“Only by reputation. I’ve never met him.”

“He’s a good guy. One of those people I think I can trust to be in my inner circle.”

“Good to know.”

My driver, John, pulls to a stop and then gets out and opens the door for me. He helps me out of the car, and Royal is right behind me. My pulse speeds. I’m acutely aware of his closeness, and I can’t help but shiver when he casually puts his hand at the small of my back as we walk toward the entrance.

This is what it feels like to be Royal Ewing’s center of attention.

I don’t know how long it’s going to last, but it’s magical. Far beyond anything I could have imagined in my fantasies.

“There she is—the lady of the hour!” Rico is short and slight but what he lacks in physicality he makes up for in personality. He has a loud, booming voice and a huge, infectious smile.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” Rico’s husband, Marcel, has a more subdued greeting but pulls me in for a warm hug. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” I hug him back. “Guys, this is?—”

“Royal Ewing.” Rico doesn’t hesitate to hold out his hand. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be an uninvited guest.” Royal is smooth as he shifts the handshake to his left hand—as if he’s done this a thousand times—and my heart breaks a little. I don’t know the extent of his injury, but from what I’ve read, they almost had to amputate. He’s lucky to have the hand, much less any use of it.

It has to be devastating for a guitar player—one of the best guitarists in the world—to lose not just his ability to play, but his career.

I have so many questions, but he’ll tell me when and if he’s ready.

I don’t want to push him.

“Any time,” Rico says. “I’m a big fan.” Royal seems at ease now, as if he’s attended parties like this a million times.

He probably has.

“Appreciate that.”

More introductions are made and then Rico points. “Everyone has gathered out back by the pool. There’s food and champagne. We’ll do a toast later, but in the meantime, make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you.” I slide my hand through Royal’s left arm and whisper, “I’m starving. I didn’t eat all day to make sure I looked as good as possible in that dress.”

“Doesn’t matter how much you eat—you’d still look drop dead gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing.”

A flush tinges my skin but a wave of happiness hits me at the same time.

When was the last time I felt so comfortable on a date?

Even if it’s not arealdate, he practically saw me naked in the car.

And as far as I’m concerned, that’s close enough.

There’s a huge spread of food on a row of tables set up outside, and I sigh happily.

“Shrimp cocktail,” I murmur. “And caviar.”

“This is quite a feast,” Royal says.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with the situation with his injured hand, because I notice that he hasn’t grabbed a plate, but I figure if I treat it like it’s not a big deal then it won’tbe. I pile some shrimp on my dish and glance at him. “You want to share with me?”

“Sure.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

I take a little of everything—except the shrimp. I take a lot of that. Then I proffer the dish to Royal. “You carry this while I get us two glasses of champagne.”

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