Westfield’s lips twisted. With blood settling into the grooves between his teeth, he was the stuff of nightmares. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn piece of newsprint, shaking it open. Lainie looked down at it and felt her skin creep. It was a page from one of the more disreputable tabloids, and the centre image was of a close-up of her from the Theatre Awards red carpet, looking very décolleté. He was actually carrying around boob shots of her in his pocket? Gross.
“Doesn’t look too choosy and virtuous to me,” Westfield said nastily, and their collective attention focused on the second photograph.
It was one of the ones taken with Will, and the paparazzo had caught them at an unfortunate gold mine of an angle. It appeared that Will had his hand in a place where most women would have qualms about being touched in public. Lainie’s face was turned toward him—most likely to hiss at him to keep his distance—and anyone could be forgiven for thinking that they were kissing.
Richard gave the image one hard look. After a brief pause, he said, “Talk to her like that again and you’ll seriously regret it.” His voice hardened into lethal quietness. “And if you so much as shake her hand in future, I’ll hear about it.”
“Is that so?” Westfield was completely ignoring Lainie now, which seemed to put a final cap on his insulting treatment of her. He raised a scornful eyebrow. “Well, you won’t be hearing about an appointment to the presidency. Now or ever.”
Richard’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I find the prospect of continuing to share a city with you sufficiently revolting. I have no desire to sit next to you in a boardroom.” He held the other man’s gaze with a cool stare. “Get her coat.”
It was a blatant challenge. Showdown of the alpha males.
Men.
To her astonishment, Westfield drew in a sharp breath—and fetched her coat. He held it out to her with disdain, and Richard intercepted it. Gently turning her, he helped her slide it on. His hands rested on her shoulders, a reassuring, warm weight.
They left without a word to the other guests. Lainie doubted that Karen would notice their rude departure. She probably hadn’t noticed their arrival.
Outside on the street, Richard exhaled sharply and his breath fogged in the crisp night air. He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing the short curls as if he was dislodging dust and grime.
He looked at her, but before he could speak, she said, “I’m sorry.”
Shock and regret were catching up with her, and she could very easily cry in front of him.
“For what?” he asked, and she couldn’t read his tone.
“If you hadn’t brought me tonight, you wouldn’t have lost your chance at the presidency.”
“The bastard invited you. And then assaulted you in his own home. Christ.” Richard’s fingers closed into a fist against his scalp. “I’m sorry I let you in for that.” Some of his control seemed to snap. His hands came out and caught hers, pulling them up roughly to link their fingers. “Do you think I want any favours from a man who thinks he can put his hands all over my...”
Lainie stilled. “Your—what?”
Richard’s jaw worked as he looked down at her. “My...” Suddenly, he released her hands and cupped her face, bringing her up on her tiptoes and her mouth to his. His kiss was forceful and demanding—sheer outraged male. Both Will and Westfield in one evening, Lainie thought hazily as she kissed him back. She supposed it was pushing the point a bit far.
“Mine,” he said. “Just mine.”
Pulling back to take a much-needed breath, Lainie rested her hands on his chest. “There’s a distinct scent of eau de caveman around here.”
His only answer was to kiss her again. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a simple hug, burying his face in her hair. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, sounding more in control of himself, and she relaxed a little.
“Yes. But I’m still sorry that it happened, Richard.”
Richard touched the back of his finger to her cheek. He lifted one shoulder dismissively. “It’s a setback, no more. Westfield has a lot of clout in the Society, but he’s not as indispensable as he thinks. He operates at a purely financial level, and wealthy philistines are two a penny in the City.”
“Do you think that—”
Richard’s phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting her off, and he gave the screen an impatient glance. “Lynette.” He checked his watch and frowned. “Who is usually driving back from her parents’ place in Manchester at this time. Hold that thought, Tig.”
Lainie wrapped her coat more tightly across her chest as he answered with a brief, “Troy.” Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the pavement, she was only half listening to his side of the conversation, her mind still replaying the horrors of what had gone on inside the house, when Richard seemed to freeze at her side.
It wasn’t just that his body stilled. It was as if his entire personality iced over into a remote automaton.
She raised her eyes to his face and discovered him watching her. She didn’t like the look.