Page 6 of Caged Captain

The next two hours are filled with hairspray, bobby pins, eyeshadow pallets, and a dozen people taking my measurements. I’m breathless by the time Maria, the younger of the two women in the SUV, zips up the back of my dress.

She stands behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’m speechless. I’ve never worn a ballgown, and certainly not one with Swarovski crystals embedded in the bodice. My dark hair has been curled, teased, and swept to the side in an elegant, twisted bun with a few strands framing my face. The dark blue smokey eye matches the royal blue skirt of the gown while also making my light blue eyes sparkle. The deep red matte lipstick is sexy, seductive, and pretty much the opposite of who I am, but I don’t hate it. In fact, it’s exactly the disguise I need to pull off this whole thing.

“Wow,” I whisper more to myself than anyone else.

“We do good work, don’t we?” Maria asks, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I nod. “I can’t believe it’s really me under all this.”

“Now, now. None of that self-deprecating talk. An artist is only as good as their subject, and you, my dear, are beautiful. We simply enhanced certain features and brought your best assets forward.”

I can’t help the giggle escaping my lips when I look at myself in the mirror again. Mybest assetsclearly refer to the cleavage spilling out of the top of my dress.

“Oh, hush,” Maria says with a playful grin. “You know what I mean. Now, go on and get into the limo waiting outside. Your Prince Charming awaits!”

I thank the team of people who managed to make me gorgeous and head out through the back door. I may be Cinderella, but I’m not sure Marco is Prince Charming. He’s way hotter.

Ten minutes later, the limo stops in front of a large historical building that appears to be decked out for a fancy event. I shuffle over to the right side of the vehicle, about to open the door when it opens by itself. Standing there, in all his muscled, olive-skinned, sharp-featured glory, is Marco.

I peer up at him, noting he has his shoulder-length hair pulled half-up, revealing more of his face. I don’t know how, but it makes him even more attractive. Marco wears a well-tailored charcoal suit with a royal blue tie that matches my dress. How does he get sexier every single time I see him? It’s not fair.

He holds out his hand to help me out of the limo. I take it, and just like the last time we shook hands, a surge of energy rushes up my arm and spreads throughout my body, making me gasp.

Marco squeezes my hand and pulls me the rest of the way out, pausing to look at my outfit. I squirm under his scrutiny, wondering what he’s thinking. His jaw tenses as his nostrils flare, and for a moment, I think he’s upset. Is it my boobs? I knew they were too much for this dress. Or maybe the crystals are too much. I’m not used to wearing anything so flashy.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, lifting my hand to his lips. Our eyes lock, his dark gaze holding me captive. He presses his lips to the back of my hand ever so gently, and I hold my breath, not wanting to ruin this intimate moment.

“And who is this?” someone asks from off to the side.

Marco straightens up and wraps an arm around my waist before addressing the man. “Grayson, how are you? I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.” The two shake hands, though Marco keeps a secure hold on my waist, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to run away. Or is it possibly… a possessive move?It’s part of the act, you idiot,I remind myself.

“I’m glad I came,” Grayson says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these fundraising events with a woman.”

“This is Imogine. My girlfriend.”

I know this is the deal and that it’s all fake, but hearing that word in reference to me has me feeling some kind of way. A shiver runs down my spine, making my toes twitch. Or maybe that’s just the four-inch heels I have on. How do people wear these things on a regular basis?

“Girlfriend, eh?” the man responds. He offers his hand to me, which I take to be polite. I swear I hear Marco growl under his breath, but I’m not sure what’s upsetting him. “Imogine. Lovely to meet you. Marco and I have worked on many contracts together over the years. You must be something special.”

I give him a smile even though it feels like I just got punched in the gut. I’m not special, however much I’d like to believe in that fantasy. I’m desperate, and so is Marco. I suppose this is what I signed up for.

I steel myself for more conversations like this as Marco leads me up the stairs to the building and through the double doors. Inside is a foyer leading to a grand ballroom with chandeliers, live orchestra music, golden decor, and an immaculate spread of food that no one is even looking at.

“Seems like such a waste, doesn’t it?” Marco whispers into my ear. His warm breath cascades over my skin, making my breath hitch in my throat.

“Wh-what?” I murmur back.

“The food,” he says in his normal voice, straightening up and gesturing toward the banquet table lining one side of the room. “I mean, there’s a goddamn chocolate fountain, and no one is even batting an eye. I’ve been to hundreds of these events over the years, and I honestly can’t remember seeing anyone eat anything.”

“I will if you will,” I offer, peering up at the man who is full of surprises. I didn’t think he’d care or notice such details.

“I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.” He gives me a sexy little smirk that makes his dark eyes gleam. Good Lord, this man is lethal.

Marco leads us to the long table filled with savory and sweet delicacies. He slips his arm from where it was anchored at my waist and grabs a plate and a cloth napkin. I teeter a bit in my shoes, still not used to being up this high and supported by a flimsy heel.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, resting a hand on the small of my back to steady me.

“Still getting used to the uniform,” I tease, trying to make myself feel less awkward. “I’ve heard beauty is pain, but these heels…” I sigh and shake my head.

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