“Don’t make me twist your ear, Noah St. John.”
Grinning, he hugged his aunt with one arm. “I already transferred the money to the foundation’s account. Tonight I’m just going to outbid people to drive up prices for the auction items, then drop out so they’re stuck with paying but feeling like they got one over on the brat rock star.”
Kit nudged her shoulder to his in laughing agreement while Margaret’s responding expression held pure glee.
“That’s why I love you. Go on and mingle, you two. Prepare for a few starstruck types—they might be rich, but most can only aspire to bad reality television.” She put a neatly manicured hand on Kit’s arm. “There are a few people you might want to meet. Noah, make sure you introduce her to Cyril King and Lisa Fei.”
Kit recognized both names. Talk about money people. Slipping her arm through Noah’s as they left his aunt to move deeper into the huge atrium space that made the mansion perfect for gala events, she said, “I’m starting to feel guilty. I came to support you, but I seem to be getting everything.”
“Are you kidding?” Noah’s upper arm muscles grew rigid under her fingertips. “I’d already be climbing the walls if you weren’t with me.” He grabbed two flutes of champagne, handing her one and gulping half of his.
“Hey.” She put her frown in her voice, not her face, aware they were the focus of multiple pairs of curious eyes. “No getting drunk on champagne.” As far as she knew, Noah was always sober in public, but after the motel incident, Kit wasn’t taking any chances.
A stormy, dark gray glance that held echoes of the icy cold with which she’d seen him shut down others.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Stop being the voice of reason.”
No cold there; he sounded almost sulky.
Lips twitching, she squeezed his arm. “Shall we go say hello to your parents? We can do it quick.”
“No.” With that flat statement, he turned her to the right. “Let’s go talk to Cyril instead. He’s a windbag but a funny one most of the time.”
However, they’d only gone a few feet when Noah was stopped by an older couple who looked very, very blue-blooded.
“Noah,” the lady said with a tight smile that seemed congenital. “It’s good to see you here.”
“Aunt Althea, Uncle Donald.” Ice now, each word dripping with it. “This is Kathleen.”
“Charmed, my dear.” Another prunish pursing of lips from the woman. “My grandchild tells me you’re to be a green… creature in your next movie.”
Kit put light pressure on Noah’s arm when his muscles bunched again. “Yes,” she said with her most dazzling smile, happy to see the male of the pair blink. “It was fun.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Noah said coolly before his aunt could speak again. “I think I see my mother.” As they moved off, he slid away his arm to put his hand on her lower back again. “I’m sorry about that.”
Kit felt her eyes threaten to burn at the protective way he was trying to surround her, subtly angling his big shoulders to cut off those who might interrupt them. “Dear Aunt Althea looks like she walks around with a permanent bug up her butt—I’m not about to take anything she says to heart.”
Not seeing Virginia St. John, she said, “Where’s your mom?”
“Who knows? I just wanted to get away from old Turnip Face.”
Kit’s shoulders shook. “That’s awful.”
“Every time I came home from boarding school, she’d visit and she’d look me up and down like a piece of disappointing meat.”
“I hate her on your behalf.”
His smile reached his eyes. “Can I drink the rest of my champagne?”
“No. You need to keep a clear head so you can outbid everyone without ending up with a hideous souvenir,” she whispered as they reached the long table that held the items up for auction. “Look at that piece. Who thinks that’s art?”