From Enemies to Expecting(15)

Rules gave him that out.

And really, this is all fake was the only rule he needed. She apparently needed a few more, but he’d lost the battle over her outrageous dress and didn’t expect he’d win any others—not tonight, anyway. He’d be a hell of lot more specific the next time they appeared in public together.

Rule number two—dress like a woman dating a billionaire who owned a wholesome sports team.

In all actuality, he’d never imagined such a dress existed. Her whole back was bare, dipping low enough to give a guy a tempting glimpse of her rounded bottom. The front wasn’t much better, cinching in at the waist to reveal wide panels of her trim waist and abs, and rising over her breasts to cover her to her collarbone. Oddly, the lack of cleavage made his mouth water to unclasp the catch at the back of her neck and let the fabric spill to her hips to reveal the hard nipples tenting the fabric.

He could not get out of this vehicle fast enough.

The limo snaked toward the hotel where the charity ball was being held. When it was their turn to emerge, he got out first and held out a hand to her. He would not have been shocked if she’d refused, but this was it, their first appearance in public together since the kiss clip went viral, and they needed to make it work.

Her hand disappeared into his and he helped her from the limo, happy that she hadn’t chosen this moment for their first public fight. Photographers lined the ropes on both sides of the entrance. Instead of beelining for the door like he normally did whenever someone with a camera was around, he paused and slipped an arm around Trinity. His date, for better or worse.

He nearly groaned as his fingertips hit the silky expanse of skin at her hip bone. She might as well be wearing a swimsuit for all the coverage the dress provided. It would take no effort at all to slide his hand inside the fabric and keep going, because there was no way she was wearing underwear. He had the strongest urge to verify.

“Smile,” she hissed and snuggled into his embrace far too cozily.

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t fighting an erection.

So far, the enormous effort associated with this plan far outweighed the benefit.

A million flashes proved him wrong. More people clamored at the rope than Logan would have ever credited, and every one of them had a lens aimed in his direction. Other couples walked into the building with zero fanfare. Completely ignored.

“Told you this dress would be the ticket,” Trinity murmured out of the side of her mouth. “Trust me next time. Kiss me.”

“What? Now?”

“What did I just say, Logan?” She smiled up at him, but the curve of her lips was strictly for the audience, because her gaze glittered with challenge. “Don’t make me dare you.”

He rolled his eyes and laid a chaste kiss on her lips that shouldn’t have pumped up the erection in his pants as much as it did. But the score of flashes in his peripheral vision told him her instincts had been dead-on. So he didn’t complain. Out loud.

He’d had enough of the spots dancing before his eyes and steered Trinity through the crowd and into the hall, refusing to think about how disappointing that brief kiss had been.

“What is this shindig again?” she asked, eyeing the decorations with enthusiasm.

“It’s to benefit Roost, a foundation that helps families relocate and rebuild after a natural disaster. I’m on the board. I took my father’s place.”

His dad had established the foundation a year before his unexpected death, and Logan had gladly stepped in as the head of the board. It meant something to him to continue Duncan McLaughlin’s legacy.

Of course the real heroes were the people doing the heavy lifting; Logan just funneled money into the coffers and ensured Roost’s logo appeared regularly during baseball games. Occasionally, he showed up at a fancy deal like this one and gave a speech.

Her gaze cut to him and held far more appreciation than it should. “I’ve heard of Roost. I didn’t know you were involved in it. It’s a cause you’re passionate about or is this just a family obligation?”

The offhand question dug at him, tripping more than a few wires inside. “Why can’t it be both?”

She shrugged one bare shoulder. “I guess it can be. Just seems to me that if you’re going to champion a cause, it should be your own. Not your father’s.”

“My father was my role model. I would do well to emulate him. So would a lot of people.”

“Of course.” But he didn’t mistake her comment as agreement, and it did nothing to cool his suddenly boiling temper. “And you’d also do well to be yourself instead of a carbon copy of someone else. A philosophy you might guess I readily subscribe to.”