Marriage Made on Paper. Maisey Yates

      “You have to play the game a little bit, Gage. It’s good for business.”

      “What’s it like for you, doing a job that’s so at odds with who you are?”

      The question was so strange and unexpected, she turned sharply, her mouth dropping open. “I … how is it at odds with who I am?” She knew better than most how important image was.

      The Lily Ford from a Kansas trailer park, who had pulled her way from poverty and put her past far, far behind her, was not going to get anywhere in the field of public relations. She knew, she’d tried that. But the Lily Ford who knew how to present herself with icy cool dignity, the Lily who wore tailored, designer clothing and always had her hair done perfectly, that Lily was a success. And it had all been a matter of image.

      Who she was underneath didn’t matter to clients or to the public when she was making a statement. All that mattered was what they saw. That philosophy was how she made her living, and she believed it, lived it, more than anyone she’d ever come into contact with.

      “You seem to value some sort of integrity. And you believe that these sorts of shows of wealth and generosity are false. But you wish I would engage in them.”

      She shrugged. “If the world were different, maybe these things wouldn’t matter. But we’re in a media-obsessed culture. That means making a good face to present to the media, and through that, the public.”

      “I don’t like to pander to the public.”

      “I know you don’t, but you do like to make money. And that means keeping your image favorable. Again, easier said than done for a capitalist pig like yourself.”

      He shot her a deadly look that she ignored.

      They continued to walk through the room. She noticed how, though Gage greeted people casually, he seemed separate from them, too. He didn’t really engage with people. She made her money partly by reading people, she had to have a good idea of who her clients were and what made them tick. But after four months, in a lot of ways, Gage remained a question mark. She spent nearly every day with him, but even with that, she knew very little about him personally.

      The conversation they’d just had was probably the most revealing one she’d ever had with him. Otherwise it was confined to business.

      Gage knew how to play the game. He said the right things to the right people, but there was nothing personal in the way he spoke to anyone. It was the first time she’d realized that even she had never seen past Gage’s public persona.

      A thin blonde socialite with cleavage spilling over the top of her dress grabbed Gage by the arm and beamed up at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Lily was standing on the other side of him.

      “Gage,” the blonde said breathlessly. “I’m so glad I saw you here. There’s dancing out in the courtyard,” she added.

      She noticed that Gage didn’t bother with his signature smile. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to dance with my date.” He hooked his arm around her waist and slid his fingers over her hip, the light touch sending heat ripping through her body. When he brought her close to his side her legs felt as if they might buckle.

      She’d never in her life been affected by a man’s touch like that. Of course, that could be because she rarely let men touch her. She’d watched her mother go through an endless succession of men. Men who had asked her mother to uproot them and move from one town to another, men who had berated and belittled both of them, men who had always held the control over both of their lives. Lily had never wanted that. By the time she was thirteen she’d decided that from what she’d seen of relationships she wanted nothing to do with them.

      She’d finally left home at seventeen and moved to California. Ten years later she had her own business, a beautiful apartment, complete control over her own life, and still no man. She had never regretted it. Some of her friends thought she was crazy, and insisted she was missing out on one of life’s fundamental experiences. But every time she agreed to go on a date with some guy her friends promised would be perfect for her, she found herself dissecting his behavior, imagined how the possessive hand on the curve of her back would change to a fist intent on controlling her once the newness of the relationship wore off. She didn’t have second dates.

      It was fine for her friends. Fine for other women who hadn’t seen the steady digression of a relationship over and over again.

      But Gage’s touch didn’t make her think of being controlled. She couldn’t think of anything. All she could feel was the gentle sweep of his fingers over the curve of her hip.

      “Care to dance?” he asked, his lips close to her ear, her body responding so eagerly she felt certain he would be able to see just how much he was affecting her. Her breasts felt heavy and she was thankful for her moment of near-defiance in purchasing the navy blue. Hopefully it would help conceal her tightened nipples.

      The blonde was giving her a glare that had the potential to turn a lesser woman to stone, and her pride only left her with one answer to give Gage. “Of course,” she said.

      In a moment of total madness, she reached up and touched his face, the dark stubble there scraping her palm. Her heart hammered hard, her throat suddenly dry. She dropped her hand back to her side. She’d thought about touching his face before. Fleeting moments that had invaded her thoughts while she fought for sleep at night, fantasies that had now bled over into reality. Her palm still burned.

      She followed him through the hallway lined with more aquariums and out into one of the outdoor courtyards where a band was playing.

      He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and drawing her into his body, his expression intense. Her heart was thundering in her chest now, and there was no pretending that what she felt wasn’t attraction. The most acute, real, dangerous attraction she’d ever felt in her life.

      “This is inappropriate,” she said, horribly conscious of the fact that her voice felt as shaky and jittery as her whole body felt.

      “Would you rather I danced with Cookie?”

      She snorted a laugh, then covered her mouth with the hand that had been resting on his shoulder. She lowered it when she caught her breath, not sure whether or not she should put it back on him. “That’s not really her name is it?”

      “It might be a nickname, I’m not sure.”

      “You never asked?”

      “It wasn’t important at the time.”

      That spoke volumes about the way Gage treated relationships. He avoided commitment with flings. She avoided relationships by not having romantic contact with men altogether. But they were both avoidance tactics. In that, at least, they obviously saw eye-to-eye. Relationships were overrated.

      Gage put his hand on the small of her back, on her bare skin, and he felt a small shiver go through her whole body. She was feeling every bit of the attraction he was. Strange, because he had only ever seen her in her buttoned-up professional mode, now suddenly she was unbuttoned and very, very hot. Although, she’d always been hot. He’d thought more than once about uncoiling her tightly wound hair and watching the dark curls tumble down.

      She shifted against him, her hip brushing his body intimately. His muscles tensed and desire roared through him, his body hardening at the accidental contact.

      He drew her closer, letting her feel. Letting her know exactly what she was doing to him. He didn’t hit on employees as a rule, ever. But she tempted him. And that was a new experience. Women appealed to him, and he desired them. But he’d never considered them a serious temptation. If it wasn’t the right time, it was easy for him to leave his date standing on the doorstep and go home without taking her to bed. There had been a lot of times in his life when pleasure had had to be deferred due to responsibility, either because of his family or because of business. He was an expert at deferring pleasure if necessary. But this feeling, this hot surge of lust coursing through him, didn’t feel like something that could be deferred or denied.