Worth the Risk(65)
“Okay?”
“Yes.” No. She was clumsy, awkward, and they were being passed by glamorous couples who were neither. Women in much taller, much spikier heels taking the wide steps with grace.
By the second tier of stairs the ache in her legs had turned to fire. Her right knee buckled on the first step. She gripped Stephen’s hand as his other arm caught her around the front.
“Damn shoes,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, bringing both arms around her. “I wasn’t thinking about your legs and the shoes—”
“Don’t. It’s fine.” She didn’t want to talk about her deficiencies, not tonight, especially not now, walking into a sea of perfection.
“It’s not fine. Just take the damn things off.”
That made her smile. “And walk into the governor’s mansion barefoot?”
“Why the hell not? I certainly don’t give a f–crap.”
And in addition to everything else, he was pulling his curse words.
She melted into him, his arms snug around her lower back, his warm brown eyes illuminated by the soft landscape lighting. Just when she thought she couldn’t fall any further, he leaned in and kissed her, right there in front of the couples passing by, the line of limos stopping below.
He cupped the side of her face and deepened the kiss. His cheeks were baby soft under her palms and he smelled like every woman’s dream. Was every woman’s dream. And like only Stephen could do, he untied the knots in her stomach with his kiss, his touch. The insecurities backed away and she went from the awkward Cinderella who didn’t belong at the ball, to the girl kissing the prince.
Already light-headed, she yelped as the world tilted and he swung her up and into his arms. “What are you doing?”
“Being your personal chariot. What? Don’t look like that. I have experience.” He winked. “I’ve been told I’m quite good.”
She smiled into his neck. “And you’re stronger than you look.”
Partygoers turned heads and commented as they passed. “Why don’t you ever carry me up the stairs, Harry?”
Harry didn’t answer.
When they reached the top, Stephen lowered her to her feet in a marble-and-glass foyer. He wrapped a possessive arm around her waist as they joined a short line of couples showing invitations and pausing for a photographer.
A second before the flash, he shifted and gazed down at her. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”
When Stephen looked at her like that, she could almost believe him. Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so different.
They entered what really did look like the grand ballroom in a fairy tale. Rich and elegant, a cacophony of voices and music swirled in an ocean of people. Waiters with trays on shoulders carrying food and drink weaved and dodged. She’d never been to prom, or any type of dance, but imagined it might be something like this. Minus the fancy food and adding a harder beat instead of delicate strings.
They moved through the crowd, Stephen’s hand protective and assuring at the small of her back. There was laughter, twinkling and high, boisterous and low, and lots of half greetings. Hey, how are you—Hi, haven’t seen you in— They moved from one person to the next, barely skimming the social surface. But when people approached Stephen McKinney, they made a point to stop, make eye contact. And maybe she imagined it, but the men seemed to stand a little taller, the women smiled a little brighter.
It happened again and again, always with her introduction following. Hannah shook hands with the current two men.
“A pleasure. Stephen always gets the beautiful ladies,” one of them said. “Isn’t that right, McKinney? Just has the magic touch, I guess.”
The other slapped Stephen on the back and the two men chuckled. Old insecurities needled their way in. She started to pull the wrap tighter around herself when she felt Stephen’s warm hand slide under the silk against her bare back. Right there with her, understanding her.
The men moved away and Stephen looked down at her. “How are the shoes? I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“They’re beautiful and they’re fine. I wouldn’t have worn them otherwise.”
Stephen brought her fingers to his lips. For a long second they stared into each other’s eyes like there was no one else in the overcrowded room. She had no words when he looked at her like that. Touched her like that. And her nerves went wild again over the possibilities of tonight.
“Sir. Ma’am.” A server interrupted, announcing individual bites of Belgian mousse–filled cake.