Page 78 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“And who’s this lovely creature?” Nathan’s attention shifted to Dahlia, his predator’s smile turning charming. “Don’t tell me Christian Valentine found someone who can keep up with him.”
Dahlia practically glowed under his attention. “Dahlia Morris. And I like to think I can keep him on his toes.”
“I’m sure you can,” Nathan chuckled. “In fact, I bet you could get him to do all sorts of things. Maybe even get him back to your place after this is over.”
Dahlia laughed. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
The innuendo charged the atmosphere, and I saw Naomi’s jaw clench almost imperceptibly. Her smile had become a mask, painted on and lifeless, but she didn’t say a word.
“Naomi’s equally talented at... motivation,” Nathan said, his hand sliding lower on her back. “Aren’t you, sweetheart? I have a feeling we’ll be having our own private celebration tonight.”
The possessive way he spoke about her, the casual assumption that she belonged to him for the evening, made my vision blur with rage. But it was Naomi’s lack of response that cut deepest. She stood there, beautiful and silent, letting Nathan stake his claim without a word of protest.
“Well,” I said, “I hope you both have a memorable evening.”
Nathan’s smile widened. “Oh, we will. Naomi always makes sure of that.”
The lights dimmed, and the master of ceremonies took the stage. It was my cue to shift before I said something I would regret. The moment was broken, the crowd flowing toward their tables, but the damage was done. I’d seen Naomi with another man, and it had shattered something inside me I hadn’t even known could be broken.
I hardly heard any of the conversation surrounding me. Dahlia chatted easily with the other guests at our table, her hand occasionally finding mine, and her laughter warm.
My attention kept drifting across the room to where Naomi sat beside Nathan. Watching them tortured my soul. Nathan had everything I wanted and couldn’t have. Public affection and recognition. I was quickly coming to the realization that maybe I wasn’t that guy for her, and it was taking everything inside me to keep it together.
When the dancing started, I watched Nathan lead Naomi onto the floor. They moved together, his hand spanning her waist, her fingers resting on his shoulder.
“Dance with me?”
Dahlia’s voice pulled me back to the present. She was standing beside my chair, one hand extended, her expression hopeful.
“Of course.”
I led her onto the dance floor, pulling her into my arms as the band played a slow, romantic tune.
“You seem distracted tonight,” she murmured against my ear.
“You’re right and I am.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
She pulled back to study my face, her expression concerned. “Christian, if there’s something?—”
“I’m fine, Dahlia. Really.”
I didn’t mean to dismiss the conversation, but I couldn’t very well have a therapy session with my assistant. I wasn’t fine. I was watching Naomi dance with Nathan Bullard and trying not to think about what would happen when the evening ended. Trying not to picture them in his penthouse, her dress pooled on his bedroom floor, his hands on her body where mine should be.
The song ended, but instead of returning to our table, I moved toward the terrace doors. I needed air, space, somewhere to breathe.
The night was cool, the terrace mostly empty except for a few couples seeking privacy. I leaned against the stone railing and tried to sort through the mess in my head.
“Christian.”
Her voice made me turn. Naomi stood in the doorway, her dress a dark silhouette against the golden light from the ballroom. She’d left Nathan inside to follow me out here.
“Naomi.”
She stepped onto the terrace, the door closing behind her with a soft click. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the space between us charged with everything we weren’t saying.
