Page 25 of The Faking Game
His face hardens. “Spoke about my dating life, did you?”
“It came up,” I say primly. “Is it because you scare women away? Because I can see that.”
Something flickers in his eyes that looks weirdly like amusement. “Yes. That’s exactly it,” he says. “No woman in history has ever been attracted to wealth, power or prestige.”
“Well, not this woman, at any length.” I gauge the distance to the ground. It looked so easy when Amber jumped down, and I’m very used to being in heels, but I don’t think I’ve ever jumped in them before.
I scoot forward on the stone.
West sighs and steps forward. “Let me help you.”
“I can do it.”
“You’re not breaking an ankle the second day I’m in charge of your safety.” He puts an arm around my back and bends a bit. “Come on. Arm around my shoulder.”
It takes me only a second to obey. The touch is clinical. Practical. He slides his other arm under my knees and then he lifts me squarely off the stone ledge. For a moment, I’m suspended in the cradle of his arms, my face close to his chin. Wearing his jacket.
My head spins again, and this close, I catch his scent, cologne and something darker, smokier. He sets me on my feet but keeps his hand on the low of my back. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Perfectly fine.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “It’s time we made our exit. Enough excitement for one night.”
“But I’m just starting to relax.”
“My mother will try to corner you for an interrogation, and I can promise it won’t be veryrelaxing.”
“Okay. Am I staying in this… house?”
“Do you think I’d exile you to an outhouse? Fairhaven has dozens of rooms.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” I say, and turn my chin up. “Just a question.”
His lips twitch, like he finds this amusing again. “I know. Ernest has made sure your bags are already in your room. I’ll show you the way.”
I hesitate before reaching out to grab the bottle of champagne. “I’m keeping this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of taking it from you. Come on, let’s go.”
He guides me through the crowd with his hand still on my lower back. I notice how people part for him, their eyes following us curiously. A few women give me appraising looks that make me want to shrink into West’s jacket.
Because I’m still wearing it. If people didn’t think I was here as his date before, they all certainly know it now.
My annoyance at him sparks again. I wonder if it’ll ever go away completely.She’s the last person I would date.Except when it’s very convenient for him, apparently.
We’re walking through the large sitting room when his attention lands on something in the corner. Someone. “Wait a second,” he mutters, steering us toward a photographer in the corner.
I walk on autopilot, but I’m confused. “You want to memorialize this night?”
“I want to be photographed beside you, yes,” he says in a low voice.
I want to stop right then and there. What the hell? Just so he can do what, exactly? Send an even stronger message of just how off the market he is?
“West,” I protest. “I don’t want to be?—”
“This photographer was hired by my mother’s party planners. I can make sure a photo of us ends up in the local paper.”
I shake my head slowly. “Why on earth do you care so much if people think you’re single or not?”
