“Should I get back in the car? Were you expecting someone else? Clare perhaps?”
“You look . . . lovely,” he said. “You take my breath away.”
I immediately forgave him his lapse. I’m generous that way.
“Thank you for taking care of the bill. I met Clare. She wants you to give her a call.”
“Umm-hmm.” He pressed his hand against my lower back and gently urged me forward through the throng of people and cameras. I was getting strange vibes about his relationship with Clare—more ex than current. Or was that just hope?
“You clean up nice.” I didn’t want to tell him he looked gorgeous in his tailored tux and black bow tie. He’d done something to his hair that made it look almost conventional, and the scent of his cologne was playing havoc with my hormones.
Jack gave me the briefest of nods. He took us on a circuitous path to the front entrance, dodging and weaving when we could have just walked straight ahead. “Did Chloe get your wedding planning website and social media set up?”
“Yes, we’re online. Her daughter, Olivia, designed the graphics and made a logo. I had some business cards printed up before I came.” I carefully pulled a card from my new gold beaded clutch. I planned to sell the bag if I couldn’t pay my rent. “We’ve called it Simply Elegant Events. Olivia came up with that name. We tried C & S, Chlosim, Simchlo, Simpliteevent . . .”
Jack’s fingers dug into my hip, and I trailed off mid-recitation of all the failed names we’d come up with. “What’s wrong?”
“Kiss me.” He turned to face me, his arm going fully around my waist.
I’d never looked so good that a man was overcome with passion and demanded a kiss in the middle of a crowd, but it was a fabulous dress, and I did look amazing. I licked my lips and leaned in to oblige.
Usually, I’m a pretty good kisser. Chloe and I practiced on our plushies in high school and, a few times, on each other. We watched YouTube videos to learn proper positioning, how to breathe, what to do with your tongue, and how to tilt your head. I put my research into practice when I started dating and I’d never had a complaint. But then I’d never been taken by surprise. Jack went straight in for the kill without even a hint of foreplay.
“Ooooph.” Our lips mashed together. Teeth clacked. Tongues smooshed. I tasted blood. Somehow, I’d managed to bite my own lip.
I pulled back for a breather. Jack wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed on someone behind me and slightly to the left.
“Again.” His arm tightened, and he pulled me so close, I could feel every inch of his hard body against mine through the thin fabric of my dress. Every button on his shirt. Every edge of his belt buckle. Every. Damn. Thing.
Oh hell.
This time I was prepared. I parted my lips and his mouth grazed mine. Nice. More than nice. His lips were soft, sweet, his tongue skimming past my teeth. My fingers slid into his hair and he groaned, a low rumble that vibrated through my body. I arched into him, tipped back my head, and breathed through my nose the way Kimmie4729 had demonstrated in part 3 of her YouTube Seduction Education series. A few more seconds and he would be putty in my hands.
“He’s gone.” He released me so suddenly, I stumbled back a step, mouth gaping in readiness for Kimmie’s trademark “Swoop ’n Slide.”
“What . . .” I swallowed hard, blinking to clear the haze of lust from my vision. “。 . . just happened?”
“Photographer for the Chicago Tribune.” He clasped my hand and led me up the steps. “I try to stay out of pictures. I needed you to hide my face.”
Not really what a girl wants to hear after a kiss that leaves her knees weak. “Next time give me more warning when you need me to ‘hide your face’ so I can be better prepared.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my tone, but if he noticed, he didn’t let on.
Instead, he said, “Will do,” and led me into the hotel.
Chicago boasts hundreds of world-renowned museums, hospitals, and nonprofit institutions—so it’s no surprise that some of the most spectacular galas in the world take place in the Windy City. I had never attended a formal ball, but I had attended weddings at the InterContinental Chicago, so I didn’t gape when we walked into the Renaissance Room ballroom. With its frescoed ceilings, massive crystal chandeliers, artistic wood carvings, and ornate interior, the room transported me back in time to the days when men wore wigs and tights and ladies swished around in puffy dresses.
We took a turn around the ballroom. Small groups of couture-clad upper-classers huddled around standing tables covered in gold-and-green brocade. I sampled from the trays proffered by tuxedo-clad waiters and drank too much free champagne while Jack searched for our target.
I excused myself to visit the restroom and stopped on my way out to reapply my new Ruby Red lipstick, which I’d managed to eat off my lips between the vol-au-vents and the Coquilles St. Jacques.
“Love your dress.” A woman with a thick Southern accent fluffed her blond hair in front of the mirror. She wore a sparkly gold sheath dress with an emerald tiara and a massive gold-and-emerald necklace.
“Thank you.” I beamed at her in the mirror, trying to think of a way to repay the compliment. “I like your necklace.”
Her hand went to her throat. “I didn’t want to wear this tonight. It’s ugly as sin and weighs a ton. We had to get special insurance just to take it out of the safe, but Wade insisted. It’s been in his family for generations. His great-grandfather was an archaeologist and he excavated it from a dig in Serabit al-Khadim, in southwest Sinai. You know how it is.”
I smiled and nodded as if I, too, had a rich husband who insisted that I wear a hideous antiquity to a charity gala.
“I’m Simone Du Post,” she said, smiling at me in the mirror. She didn’t seem to notice the women behind us trying to find a space to touch up their hair.
“Simi.”
“We’ve got the same Judith Leiber clutch.” She held up her gold embellished bag, identical to my own. Clare had picked it out along with the wrap and a pair of “internalized patriarchy” gold stilettos. “I’ve seen three other people with the same bag here tonight,” Simone said. “I’ll have to get rid of it. If three people have it at this event, thirty will have it at the next. It doesn’t even close properly.”
My hand tightened on the bag. No way was I casually tossing a $2,000 clutch in the trash. “There’s a little hook that goes over top.” I showed her the trick Clare had taught me to get the bag closed.
“Marvelous.” She unclasped her necklace and dumped it in her bag. “You’ve saved me from having to wear that dreadful necklace all night. How can I return the favor?”
“I’ve just started a wedding planning business.” I handed her my card, trying on the pitch for size. “I haven’t had any clients yet but—”
“How many cards do you have?” She studied the bright modern design Olivia had created for us.
“Fifty. I just had them printed this morning.”
“Fifty?” She gave a light laugh. “For an event with over 800 people?”