The One In My Heart

“Mamma mia!” said someone behind me.

Bennett flung Damaris away. She spun outward. He caught her by the fingertips. They stayed like that a moment, precariously balanced. She spun back into his arms. They were now pressed together from shoulder to groin, legs completely tangled.

He flicked one spaghetti strap off her shoulder. I heard myself gasp. He released her into a sweeping dip, then pulled her up so that their faces nearly touched.

The dance began in earnest. I’d seen tango, both as performance art onstage and in the clubs of Buenos Aires. But I’d never experienced another tango in which the man dominated the pairing quite so overwhelmingly.

The feral agility with which he moved had me slack-jawed. His turns and steps were as precise as an assassin’s aim. His posture was gorgeous. And his understanding of the soul of the tango—the courtship in all its danger and complexity—mesmerized me.

Damaris was in thrall to his will, draped about him like a scarf. He was all cool provocation and heartless—or so I hoped—promises.

“This is better than porn,” someone else said.

I was too flabbergasted to speak.

They sank into a deep lunge. While she remained in the lunge, he rose and walked away. She ran after him and lobbed her arms around his shoulders. He turned, lifted her, and dropped her into a reverse dip. Then he pushed her away, hard. They stared at each other. The music rose to a crescendo. She launched herself at him; he caught and held her, then slowly slid her down against his person, until she stood with one foot on the ground and the other hooked around his thigh.

The barest hint of a smile softened his mouth—power, control, and rampant masculinity in a bespoke package. The music stopped. He let go of Damaris, who immediately wrapped him in a hug. Something crooked and thorny poked into my heart—even more so when the guests burst into wild applause.

Then he was back at my side, reaching for his jacket. “Let’s go.”





Chapter 6





AS SOON AS THE ELEVATOR door closed, I yanked him to me. We kissed, devouring each other. The elevator could have crashed and I wouldn’t have cared. Lust, need, and a crazy ache simmered inside me. I couldn’t get close enough to him.

I couldn’t get enough of him.

My fingers were in his hair. One of his hands was at the small of my back; the other cupped my bottom, molding our bodies together. Through his trousers his arousal pressed into me—a lot of arousal, that. I kissed him with even greater abandon.

Someone cleared her throat. We stilled: Without being aware of it, we’d reached the first floor and the door had opened on us.

Almost casually, Bennett kissed me at the corner of my lip, and then on the lobe of my ear, whispering, “I’ve never been caught in an elevator before, have you?”

I didn’t make out in public, period. What in the world had come over me?

We pulled apart as if we’d engaged in nothing more erotic than a hug. Bennett took my hand. The next moment he turned stock-still, staring at the handsome middle-aged couple waiting to get in. They likewise gawked, in a way I wouldn’t have expected of such a dignified pair.

The family resemblance struck me.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. You’re late—the newlyweds have already left,” said Bennett, with a nonchalance that gave no hint of how much he had schemed for this moment. He placed an arm around me. “Have you met Evangeline?”

Their gaze was more wary than curious.

“Hi, I’m Evangeline Canterbury. I believe you know my former stepmother, Zelda.” I thrust my hand out. “It’s great to meet you.”

Mrs. Somerset visibly relaxed—so Bennett was right in wanting a known entity for a fake girlfriend. “Yes, of course,” she said, shaking my hand. “Zelda never has enough good things to say about you. I’m delighted to meet you at last.”

Mr. Somerset was less effusive but completely civil. “A pleasure.”

Mrs. Somerset touched her son on his sleeve. “How’s the fellowship, Bennett?”

“Inhumane, but I’m determined to persevere. How’s work for you?”

“Good. Really good.”

“I hear Custard is still alive. How is she?”

“Pretty well, actually. She had to find new places to nap once TVs became wall-mounted, but otherwise she hasn’t changed much.”

“Good to hear,” said Bennett smoothly. “And please don’t let us keep you. Enjoy the reception.”

He tugged on my hand.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said brightly. “Have fun.”

“Bye,” said Mrs. Somerset, her gaze not leaving her son.

“Are the two of you going out?” asked Mr. Somerset, who hadn’t said a word since our handshake.

Bennett looked at me.

I smiled at his parents. “We’re playing it by ear.”

“Just remember,” said Bennett. “My biological clock is ticking, and I really need to settle down soon.”

I laughed despite my nerves. We walked out of the hotel hand in hand.