Page 127 of Wild Love
He doesn’t respond to that—just slides his hand over the silk covering my leg and mirrors my motion.
“I feel like a princess,” I murmur, watching the setting sun over the peaks of Emerald Lake.
“You are one.”
I sigh.
The things he says are just subtly elevated. He doesn’t tell me Ilooklike one. He tells me Iamone. Such a simple differentiation, yet so profound.
We ride in silence the rest of the way, taking in the low-lying mountains and arid landscape. Where Rose Hill is craggy and wild, Emerald Lake has a certain polish to it. A college town rich with wineries and orchards. It’s a place where NHL players and politicians keep their summer houses.
It’s small enough to be charming, but ritzy and close enough to Vancouver that it plays host to an event like tonight’s.
When we pull up in front of the lakefront resort, it’s brightly lit, with tall pillars and a grand entrance.
I feel like I should be working here, not attending an event. I keep that thought to myself and just soak it in, leaning into the firmness of Ford’s strong body at my side, lending support.
The tips of his fingers graze my neck as he reaches across and pushes my loose hair behind my shoulder. His head inclines toward me. It feels a bit like that moment in the movies where Dracula is about to bite the girl, but there’s also something really horny going on.
“You ready?” he whispers against the shell of my ear before dusting his lips across the curve of my neck.
“Honestly, if this dress wasn’t so pretty, I’d tell you to take me back to that absurd suite overlooking the water and rip it off.”
He smiles against my neck. The way his lips tip up and the light dusting of stubble on his face tickles my skin. “I can still do that, you know.”
I whip my head to him, giving his chest a little shove. “If you ruin this dress, I’ll break up with you.”
Break up.
My eyes widen because I feel like I just prematurely slapped a label on us.
God. How many girls must try to attach themselves to him? And who could blame them? I’m there too. I have puppy-dog eyes for childhood dickhead, Ford Grant.
I flush and turn away, scrambling out of the car before he can make fun of me. Although I ask him to do it all the time, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take his mocking over this particular slipup.
The driver holds the door open, and Ford says nothing as he slides out behind me. He just presses his hand to the small of my back and guides us toward the red carpet near the entrance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
FORD
Doesit make me a dick that I’m grinning over Rosie’s slip of the tongue?
Maybe. But I made peace with who I am a long time ago.
She’s got her head held high, the light shimmering on her collarbones as she walks at my side, refusing to make eye contact.
I think the most satisfying part is that for all her sass and confidence, it’s something as simple as implying we’re together that has her freaked out.
That’s my move. I’m the one who blurts things out and then has to retreat awkwardly or say something mean to cover for it. So I’m not sure what she’s all stressed about.
It’s almost like she hasn’t been paying attention.
If she had been, she’d know I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time. Wantedherfor a long fucking time. So, yeah, she can bet her sweet ass we’re together.
I slide my hand over her silk dress, savoring the feel of her lower back and lack of panty lines, before I slip it over her hip possessively as we follow the red carpet around the corner toward the courtyard. It’s a sweeping paved area on the lake with twinkle lights strung through the palm trees that aren’t remotely indigenous to the area. Set back is a pair of big sliding glass doors that open into the ballroom.
I’m about to direct us off this over-the-top red carpet when a bright flash stops us in our tracks.
