Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(91)
Ford drops his head in through the open car door. “If you barf on that dress, you’ll damage it. Hold yourself together.”
“Ford, this dress is worth as much as I make in a month.”
His brows scrunch together. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s appalling,” he says as he stands. “Remind me to give you a raise when we get back home.” He slams the door and rounds the vehicle to the other side.
When he slides in, I start to protest yet another raise, and he pulls his phone out to check if there are any messages. “Don’t even open your mouth to argue with me about this, or I’ll shove something in it to keep you busy.”
The driver starts the engine, and I press my lips together as I stare out the window over the arid mountains and sloping vineyards that lead to the lake’s edge, trying not to laugh at how rude Ford can be and how scandalized this poor older man looks.
Rather than take the seat behind the driver, Ford slides over into the middle and buckles himself in next to me without even glancing up from his phone.
Ford’s thumbs tap endlessly as he sends message after message. He hasn’t said it out loud, but I can tell he’s nervous about leaving Cora. He texted his mom asking about her, and she told him to take a Xanax and go enjoy himself. Based on how quickly his fingers are flying over the screen, that was the wrong thing to say.
I reach for him and slide a hand over his muscled thigh. He looks edible in a tuxedo. I’m so used to seeing him in jeans, chunky sweaters, and rugged plaid shirts that I nearly fainted when I walked out of the bathroom to see him in this midnight blue getup.
Then when I saw the receipt for my dress in the trash bin, I almost passed out all over again. The dress is… otherworldly. I feel like a glowing Greek goddess wrapped in dusty, pale pink silk. The neckline dives deep, and the fabric gathers at the waist, where it ties in a knot, the ends of the sash tumbling to the floor like waterfalls. It has long sleeves, but the wrist cuffs stretch high up my forearms, dotted with round silk buttons.
The dress screams femininity and the nude suede pumps with ankle straps and a bow over the toes don’t hurt either. I’m wearing simple gold hoops and my hair is half up in loose waves. This dress needs nothing else.
I’ve never been this dressed up before. But even I wouldn’t ruin this outfit with socks and Birks only to piss Ford off. It would be an affront to all that is right in the world.
I squeeze his leg gently, trying to reassure him that Cora will be fine. “She’s going to have a blast with them.”
“I know.” He sounds tense, and my lips twitch. Watching him in dad mode is a kink I never knew I had. Like, Ford was hot before, but make him all concerned and hyper-protective of a little girl who I’m also a huge fan of, and he becomes downright irresistible.
“They raised two really amazing humans.” I squeeze again. “She’ll be lucky to spend time with them too.”
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 I look like one. He tells me I am one. 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.