Page 96 of A Secret and a Lie
I spin, gliding smoothly from the backseat, abandoning Ford to wrangle his violent erection that’s now tenting his suit pants.
Placing my hand in Drake’s, he steadies me as I gracefully exit the SUV. The moment my feet hit the thin red carpet, the shouting and camera bulbs flashing ratchet up a notch. I smile inwardly—and perhaps a bit outwardly—at the attention I’m garnering. This is exactly the splash I was hoping to make.
“Where’s your husband?” Drake asks, dipping his head so that he’s speaking directly into my ear, or at least into my hair.
My short bob is styled into voluminous, retro Hollywood-style curls but with a modern twist that softens the look.
I ignore the rush his comment about my marital status gives me and smile, knowing a million pairs of eyes are watching. I whisper back, “He’s…dealing with a situation.”
Drake’s nose scrunches, two lines forming between his eyebrows, just as the back door to the vehicle opens once more, revealing Ford.
His features are stoic and hardened, giving nothing away, but I know a man battling lust when I see one. It shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does that it’s happening to myhusband.
Ford offers me his arm once again, and as I take it, Drake follows behind us, giving me the sense that he might be here in a security capacity, though I can’t be sure.
My name echoes around me like shots ringing out in varying octaves as our trio navigates the media frenzy. Subtly glancing around, I find the carpet mostly abandoned by the more elite guests in attendance. Nudging closer to Ford, I stop, and his feet cease to move as he glances down at me.
He’s exceptionally handsome tonight in his black tuxedo. While I called him out for gaping at me like he wanted to eat me for dinner, I’m the one struggling to stay on my feet instead of my knees around him.
Telling myself it’s for show, I lift my hand to the side of his neck, my thumb resting over his pulse point as I step in closer. Even as his body stiffens, I feel his heartbeat accelerate, and my lips spread authentically as his face remains unreadable.
Is there a bigger rush than knowing you affect someone?
Submitting to someone you trust. Banishing that unhelpful thought, I press onto my toes, breathing in his intoxicating scent, and smile lovingly up at Ford. I’ve done this move a dozen times with Julien, playing the part of adoring girlfriend, but it’s different this time.
“Loosen up, you could at leastpretendto like me right now,” I whisper, tossing his words from the car back at him, hoping he’ll release the tension.
He doesn’t, but he does snake his arm around me. The back of my dress has an identical plunge as the front, and his hand presses over the point of the vee just above the base of my spine. When his palm connects with my bare skin, heat radiates through me as if I’m soaking up summer sunshine, and I work hard to stifle my delicious shudder.
I pull back slightly, dropping my hand as I search his face. His lips part, and I hold my breath, anticipating his words, but they never come. A flash of something akin to agony contorts his features forthe briefest of moments before his mouth shuts like an iron gate, his expression evening back to his usual rugged, unyielding mask.
Why did he look so hurt? I didn’t imagine that…right?
As we continue down the carpet toward the entrance, reporters squawk and yawp like the obnoxious birds of prey they embody. I ignore them. There will be plenty of carcasses for them to feast upon by the time the night is over.
Ford’s hand is still glued to my back, his touch making my stomach writhe, and I hate it. I’m here with a purpose; to execute a plan and collect intel as I reestablish myself as the queen, reminding the world that I’m no pawn. I shouldn’t be losing myself in the way his hand feels on my body as though I can sense each swirl of his fingerprint.
When we ascend the steps, I take the moment to center myself, determination and vengeance wrapping my mind in an invisible silk. The doors are held open for us, and we enter, my shoulders set and a soft smile on my face.
This party is a fire, and I will walk upon the coals and will not burn, for a campfire is no threat to a raging, unstoppable wildfire.
A kaleidoscope of lust, disgust, envy, and awe track my every move in a variety of hues as if I were a lamb that’s just entered the lion’s lair. But I’m no innocent, and this party seems to have forgotten the danger they’re in.
I was prepared for this. I want the city to buzz with chatter about the woman who rose from the dead. The more they’re talking about me, the more salt is sprinkled into the gashes I plan to slice open with my barbed tongue tonight.
Viewing the attention differently, Ford inches closer to me, his fingers digging into my back, the sensation prickling my skin. Drake moves silently to my other side, muttering, “You’re popular, Mrs. Crawford.”
After snagging a flute of champagne, I clutch Ford’s firm bicepas we cycle through the room, speaking politely, albeit coolly, to the various guests, all of whom I either know of or have a personalrelationshipwith. We lose Drake after only twenty minutes, and I’d laugh to myself about the fact that he’s the world’s worst security guard if I wasn’t otherwise preoccupied.
Lingering gazes crawl over me like the spindly legs of spiders, but I spurn the urge to return the glances, keeping my attention fixed on my husband like a doting wife.
When we reach a small faction of men, the anarchical embers in the pit of my stomach flicker.
Julien leans forward to brush a kiss across my cheek. “You look lovely,” he says, but there’s a quiver in his voice that’s never been there before, and I smile, touching Julien’s forearm affectionately.
Next to me, Ford shakes the hand of a federal judge from Iowa who’s having an affair with the CEO of one of the nation’s top pharmaceutical companies. The fact that she can’t keep her eyes off him, even from across the room, only reaffirms that. Not that it was necessary, seeing as the confirmation has been etched in my mind—and journal—since the moment he paid his deposit six years ago, even if he was only Carissa’s client for a handful of months.
“Judge Atkins,” I remark sweetly. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
