Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh

his parents to rattle him was frankly embarrassing. They didn’t for the most part. He’d just been caught off guard, that’s all. But telling Bree about it? Jesus.

      “So their visit was uncomfortable?”

      He reached over and took Bree’s hand in his. She was cold, dammit. “It was brief,” he said. “I made my point. Have I said how beautiful you look tonight?”

      She stared at him, at their hands, then back at him. “Yes, several times. Thank you.”

      “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

      She sighed as she tugged her hand free. “It’s not that I don’t want to …”

      He nodded, leaned back. Incredibly tired all of a sudden. Maybe he was coming down with something.

11

      FRIDAY NIGHT CAME ALONG with a tux for the Courtesan premiere, and the only reason it was bearable was that Bree was in the media room getting prepped. He would check on her after he was dressed, although this time he’d made sure she’d eaten before Sveta snatched her away.

      As he worked on his tie, he thought about the night ahead, pleased that she’d get to walk down a legit red carpet. A dream literally coming true, she’d told him.

      The less sleep she got, he’d discovered, the more she revealed about herself. How when she was a little girl she would practice her Academy Award acceptance speech in front of the bathroom mirror, holding a bottle of shampoo or a hairbrush. She would very purposefully not thank whoever happened to be annoying her at the moment, which would sometimes be one of her siblings, a teacher, a friend or one of her parents.

      It had made him laugh when they were slouched in the backseat of a limo, and it made him grin now. He could picture it so easily. He wondered if she’d always had short hair. Probably, given that she was so small. You wouldn’t want to hide any of that face, not with hair, not with too much makeup. Sveta had turned out to be the perfect stylist for Bree. People were taking note.

      Her blogs were getting heavy traffic. Unique hits were much higher than with most of his new contributors, which made sense because this approach was fresh. Charlie had never asked one of his companions to post.

      Much of the chatter was about the two of them, naturally. Were they? Weren’t they? There had been reports of Bree leaving in separate transportation at the end of an evening, and his place had acquired a few more paparazzi hoping to catch her doing the walk of shame in the morning. Speculation without confirmation was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

      Bree had turned up on TMZ, PopSugar, Page Six, on almost every single one of his gossip feeds, as well as in the newspaper tabloids.

      He slipped on his jacket, glad he’d chosen something so traditional. Beautifully cut, nothing radical. He wanted Bree to shine tonight. He had no idea what Sveta had chosen for her to wear, and he wondered how the stylist was going to top last night’s look. Bree had knocked his socks off when she’d made her entrance.

      Come to think of it, every time he saw her she got to him. Having her so close, and so damned untouchable probably had something to do with it. Okay, a little interest from his cock, not good for the cut of his suit. Not good in a number of ways. She was off-limits. The statistics didn’t lie, and this new deal had increased NNY’s unique hits remarkably. It might kill him, but he’d keep to the script. Unfortunately, that meant touching. So much damn touching.

      He checked his watch, made sure he had what he needed in his pockets and then went into the living room. He glanced at the open door in the atrium and wondered why he hadn’t taken Bree across to his office. It wasn’t that far to the other side of the elevator. Then again, they hadn’t had much time for anything but work.

      He heard Sveta in the hallway, and swung around in anticipation of Bree’s entrance. Damn. She did it again. Like a slap on the back of his head.

      She was a vision. So much for not getting excited tonight. He would have to put his cock in a straitjacket to pull that off, and yeah, he did not need to be thinking that when she was walking toward him with a smile that made him forget how to breathe.

      Her white-and-purple dress was a structured strapless design that looked like origami. It drew his gaze to her face, then right to the bare stretch of skin from her long neck down to the top of her bust. Her waist looked tiny, her legs slim yet curvy, and with that smile and those smoky eyes, no one would be able to look away.

      Jewelry would have been redundant.

      “Well?” she said, her shoulders moving in an almost-but-not-quite shrug.

      “You’re gorgeous. You’ll be the most beautiful woman on the red carpet.”

      Bree blushed, rolled her eyes. Charlie let her think he was talking her up.

      He took her hands in his and kissed both cheeks. Very European. All business. Not close to what he wanted. He’d kissed her on the mouth that first night, when he’d barely known her, and now he ached to take her mouth again, to taste her, and not only her lips.

      “We have a half hour before we go. Want a drink?”

      “Just water,” she said. “As excited as I am, I’m so incredibly tired I’m afraid a sip of booze will have me passed out for the night.”

      “Can’t have that.” He nodded at the couch. “Sit. I’ll bring you water, then take care of the rest of our group.”

      “Tell them again how wonderful they are, will you? I did, but I think they think I have to say it. I don’t. They’re magicians.”

      How could he not like her? She was the anticelebrity, the cure for New York cynicism, complete with authentic goose bumps and unabashed excitement. But even he could see she hadn’t exaggerated about how tired she was. Not that anyone else would notice, but he’d been watching her for days, staring too frequently and too deeply. There was more makeup under her eyes tonight. He wondered if he should cancel tomorrow night’s club opening. Bree had to work for a few hours tomorrow morning, but then she planned to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. He doubted that would be enough.

      He fetched her water as she made herself comfortable, a feat in that dress, on the couch. Then he conveyed her compliments along with his own to the team and saw them to the door. The limo would be arriving any moment.

      He could see Bree’s dark hair over the edge of the couch, and he needed to remind her to bring her other shoes for when they got back in the limo. How women walked in those ridiculous heels …

      Bree had rested on the leather sofa with one leg curled up under herself. The glass, now empty, tipped at a thirty-degree angle in her hand. She was sound asleep.

      After carefully lifting the glass from her fingers, freezing for a moment when she made a little low-pitched sound, he touched her bare shoulder gently. “Bree? Bree, we have to leave now.”

      She mumbled something and adjusted the side of her face on the back cushion.

      He hated that he had to disturb her. He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Bree,” he said as he sat down next to her. He wanted to wake her, not scare her. “I know you’re tired, but it’s the premiere. Movie stars! Glamour! Lights, cameras, action!”

      She tilted. Toward him. He repositioned himself quickly so she would land on the inside of his shoulder, not the bony edge. She slumped against him, the leg that had been tucked under now at a weird angle. While it looked ungainly and not very ladylike, it didn’t seem uncomfortable.

      It was too easy to shift himself, to wrap his arm around her back, to hold her close, to inhale the smell of her. Slumping turned to snuggling and he sighed as he gave his next move some consideration. Then, with his free hand he pulled out his cell. He had to call Naomi, as he wasn’t adept at one-hand texting.