Page 21 of Always Earned, Never Given

The limo jerks, causing me to brace myself by grabbing the seat. At least I try to grab the seat but instead, end up grabbing Dec’s thigh. Jesus, it doesn’t budge. The seat would have been softer. And that thought has my mind going to a completely different part of his anatomy I’d love to grab, that I’m pretty sure would feel like steel wrapped in velvet. I guess my vibrator is going to get a workout tonight. My face flames as the temperature in the limo rises. I slide my hand to the space next to him, whispering, “Sorry.”

We hear the driver’s voice through a speaker, “Sorry about that, Mr. Sinclair. We hit a pothole. We’ll be pulling up to the Union League in just a moment. Please leave anything you’d like in the vehicle. I’ll be the only one with access until you’re ready to leave.”

Slipping my coat off my shoulders, I lay it on the bench seat across from the bar area and place my clutch in my lap.

As the limo starts to slow, Dec turns to me. The confidence he had moments ago has faded, leaving discomfort in its place. “Is my tie straight?”

I reach up to fix his black bowtie. My hands grazing his chiseled jaw. “Have I told you how incredibly handsome you look tonight, Mr. Sinclair?” A beautifully cut suit on a beautifully built man is my personal kryptonite.

His hand grips my wrist gently before he turns his head and places a kiss on my open palm.

I swear to God, my heart skips a beat. Indigo blue eyes lock on mine and refuse to release me. “You call my dad ‘Mr. Sinclair,’ Belle.” Ohmygosh... That deep voice. It’s dropped lower. Sexier. “When you’re with me, I want to be the only Sinclair you’re thinking about.”

Oh. My. God.

The door opens, causing Declan to pull away briefly. He flashes me a quick megawatt smile. “Showtime, Belles.” Dec steps out, stands to his full height, then turns, offering me his hand.

He’s a perfect gentlemen, but I’m beginning to think there’s another side to Declan that I wouldn’t mind getting to know better.

Lordy. I’m giving myself whiplash with my warring emotions.

I slip my hand in his and clutch my purse to my chest, so no one gets a peep show as I get out of the limo. I learned that move years ago. If you ever need etiquette lessons, just watch British royalty. They know all the tricks.

I’m momentarily blinded by the flashing lights once I’m out and standing next to Declan. A few reporters stand off to the side of the golden ropes lining either side of the black carpet running from the drop-off spot to the beautifully curved staircase that leads up to the gorgeous brick building where the fundraiser is being held.

Declan moves his hand to the small of my back as we start to walk the carpet, and dear God, the heat emanating from his big hand feels divine against my sensitive skin.

This part is a piece of cake for me. I’m a trained ballerina. Walking an event carpet is nothing new. Maybe not something I’ve done recently, but my muscle memory kicks in. My job tonight is to smile and follow Dec’s lead. The problem is that he hasn’t stopped to answer any of the questions being thrown his way. I’m fairly sure he’s supposed to be working this a little.

I try to whisper out of the corner of my mouth so I don’t draw too much attention. “Dec, you need to answer a question or two. This is all PR.”

His eyes meet mine. They’re hard to read, but he stops. I decide to help out a little and take a step closer to one of the reporters on our right. Declan follows.

The reporter’s eyes light up like the Fourth-of-July fireworks they set off over the Delaware River each year. “Declan Sinclair. Great to see you here tonight. Are you a fan of Senator Cabot’s? Who’s this beautiful lady with you? Should you really be here tonight when we’re playing Dallas tomorrow? Are you ready for the game? Are we gonna win?”

“Slow down, man. Take a breath.” Okay, not bad. He’s trying. “It’s great to be here tonight to support Senator Cabot and the Kings. Max Kingston himself invited me, so I’m fairly certain I’m safe for the night. And yes, we’re ready for Dallas. It should be a good game.” Declan laughs, but I can tell it’s forced.

A mic is shoved in my face, causing me to take a step back and Declan to slide his hand to my hip to steady me. “Declan, who’s your date? Is this your girlfriend? Is it serious? How long have you been together?”

I feel Declan’s hand squeeze ever so gently, before answering. “This is Annabelle Hart. She’s an extremely good friend.”

More flashes go off. Someone else yells over, “Is she your girlfriend, Declan?”

His calloused palm slowly slides back to the small of my back before he offers them a smile. It’s real this time and reminds me of his sister’s. Mischievous. Beautiful. “Have a nice night, folks.” Dec leads us to the end of the carpet and then, takes my hand in his and guides us up the stairs.

With one hand in his and the other holding the small train of my dress, we ascend the beautiful historic winding staircase. “Declan,” I say admonishingly. “They’re going to think we’re together.” Damn. Maybe I should have looked this place up before I decided to wear four-inch heels to walk up a million stairs.

“Let them think whatever they want, Annabelle.” When we get to the top step, he lifts the hand he’s been holding to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

Flashes go off in the distance, and my heart skips another beat.

Damn, Declan Sinclair isn’t what I was expecting.

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