She smiles, big and bright. Acting on impulse, I pull her towards me and hold her tight, tilting her head up and kissing her on the lips.
There’s a long pause, but I just let my words rest. I’ve said it now, so there’s no reason for her to doubt my intentions, no reason for her to think I’m a man that’s just trying to play her, or a boss toying with her emotions.
***
When I step into the Foundation with Cadence by my side, I grip her waist and pull her close to me. There’s warmth spreading through my body, electricity sparking between us. It occurs to me that it’s nothing like I ever felt with Joanna. Hell, I couldn’t even compare what I felt for Joanna to what I feel for Cadence.
I look to the woman next to me, the light blue contrasting against her dark skin, a spark in her deep golden-brown eyes, a dark red blush rising in her cheeks that she thinks I can’t see. She smiles, lips turning up at the corners, and she turns to me. It looks like she’s about to say something, some kind of protest against the kiss, some kind of question about me dragging her here as my date. I can almost feel those damn words forming on her lips.
“What will people think, Rowan? We’re so different.”
Yes, we are. But dammit woman, there’s not a woman in the world that’s sexier than you right now.
I let the words rest in my mind, don’t risk saying them even though I think maybe I should. Instead, I draw her into me and kiss her on the lips again, biting the lower one just enough to make her squirm. Just enough to let her know that I mean business, and I’m serious that she’s my damn date. She pulls away, her lips parted, deep red from whatever gloss or lipstick she’s wearing. The color stays there through some magic of modern womanhood, and it looks hot as shit. There are a few people looking over at us, probably because I’m the president of this damn thing and they all know I was with a bored, rich-looking blond toothpick four months ago at the last fundraiser.
But they keep their mouths zipped. That’s the thing about being a billionaire. No one’s planning to come up to me and ask why I’ve got a different woman on my arm. She might be sweating the load about us showing up together. But by the end of the night, she won’t give a damn about anything but me.
She leans into me and whispers in my ear. “Rowan, you can’t just--“
“What?” I whisper back, nodding at some of the government officials and shaking hands with donors as I walk through the lobby. Everything is decked out in Christmas lights, and the caterers have really gone all out with the food. It smells like a damn five-star restaurant, and I’m proud to be the man with the best-looking woman on my arm. “What can’t I do? I can’t kiss you again? You don’t want me to? I just want to make sure I’m not crossing a line--“
“People will think--“
I turn to her and put her hand in mine. “Cadence,” I start, and then look around to make sure that no one is listening to us. “People will think you’re my date. Are you okay with that?”
She nods and purses her lip. Even though she’s continuing to nod, there’s a worried expression in her eyes. I know she’s thinking about all the things she’s told me--her bills, her apartment back in New York, her position as the resident artist for the month. And the thing she won’t mention, the thing that she thinks makes her different from me.
“Yes--like I said, I like you too, Rowan. But--“
“No buts then. It’s settled.”
Cadence smiles and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, looking down for a moment before turning and smiling at me again. A shock runs straight through my body, and I feel like scooping her up, dragging her to the back room, and unzipping that gorgeous dress, letting it fall to the floor. But there’s a petite woman in a blue suit walking my way, so I just grip Cadence’s hand and walk with her, head held high, toward the governor of New Mexico.
“Governor Martinez, this is our new artist. And my date to the first annual Coming Home Foundation fundraiser,” I say. Cadence’s jaw drops for a second, but then she’s shaking hands and walking through the crowd like she’s an old pro at the fundraising game. She laughs and throws her head back at the mayor’s jokes, and she chats with the families who live here. Her laughter is infectious, and after a while, I just stand back and watch her as she walks through the crowd and glances back at me every once in a while. Once she’s had a few glasses of wine, she’s completely at ease, talking about her mural and joking about living at the house with a billionaire. I watch her ass sway back and forth as she talks with one of the members of the State Senate about the Coming Home Foundation and her plans for the art she’s creating. Star joins her and takes her arm, leading her like an old girlfriend over to some of her friends from the reservation. Several times, I try to make my way over to Cadence so I can touch her, feel her hot, sweet skin touching mine. I still have half a mind to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my office. But instead, I keep getting caught up with donors whose names I don’t remember--and once a man who doesn’t know jack shit about the foundation. Usually I’m happy to talk about business, but now there’s something else on my mind. There’s a woman distracting me more than my chosen profession ever could. As the party starts to wind down, I take a place near the door, sipping on a fine old whiskey that I asked the bartender to have on hand. No one is bothering me now, and I watch Cadence as she dances in the center of the floor with star, twirling and laughing, the blue skirt of her dress swirling in time with her rhythm.