No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(38)

I growled low as she turned slowly. “Be careful, Hannah. A man can only take so much.”

A wicked smile appeared on her angelic face. The temptress had returned.

She dropped her hands to her hips. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it. Dark waves of hair framed her face, swept down on one side below her shoulder. Those hazel eyes had become dark, glistening in the shadows.

A smirk lit up her face. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I stepped forward and brushed my hands over hers, where they were still propped on her hips, then slid mine over her ass. Proprietary, I know. But I laid claim just the same. She didn’t stop me.

Her eyes simply flared wide. She bit her lower lip, then slowly released it.

I stared long and hard at the luscious lip that I wanted to bite, suck on, taste in long, slow licks until she surrendered to more. My gaze rose upward to meet her eyes. Dilated. For me.

“All I see is a potato sack, about to be shredded.”

A slow smile curved her lips. “You mean, you think I’m sexy.”

“Devastatingly so.”

“Cade! Hannah!” Kristen’s voice sounded close.

Two seconds away from being caught in each other’s arms, I couldn’t break the hold. I moved my hand up from her ass just in time for Kristen to nearly run us over.

“We need you two! The cake is being wheeled out!” Kristen gripped my forearm, yanking me away.

I grabbed Hannah’s hand, and she held it as we hurried behind a frantic Kristen. When I gave Hannah a conspiratorial glance, she winked. We’d escaped discovery by the skin of our teeth, and Kristen was so busy micromanaging the event, she’d failed to see the bigger behind-the-scenes picture. Which was just fine with me. Kristen could lead, staying all business through the night from beginning to end. I would play my part when needed, an arrangement that suited both of our natures.

The cake was rolled out onto the patio. Without any theme to go off of, Hannah had only wanted to know the charity.

And in the end, the subject was a serious one. My rowdy, rule-breaking tendencies aside, I had no desire to make light of the cause this event was raising money for.

Victims of human trafficking.

So how do you make that edgy? It already is.

No music would ease such a heavy topic. No cake ever could.

But tonight was about coming together for a common cause. Any celebration was in raising more awareness and dollars to fight the perpetrators and set the victims free.

Shocking or not, there were people in this world who had obscene amounts of wealth, more money than they would ever know what to do with. And although the benefit dinners spent lavish amounts of money on food, drink, and cake, plus the jewels and clothing on its attendees, all the window dressing at the events were mere pennies compared to the billions of dollars represented among the hundreds of guests who mingled around us.

Kristen approached the podium near the doors of the veranda, but stopped short and waved her hand, beckoning Hannah to follow her up there. I squeezed Hannah’s hand, then released it.

She glanced up at me with bright eyes, brows raised, as she puffed a lungful of air through pursed lips. “Wish me luck.”

I smiled. “You don’t need luck. These people are here in support. You’re already fabulous.”

She grinned, one of those heart-stopping flashes of pure happiness. Then she disappeared through the guests.

I spread my stance wider, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched the crowd that gathered from my vantage point on the side. In silence, I dared anyone in attendance to act up. Although no one paid me any direct attention, I pushed a powerful “play nice” vibe out there anyway.

The podium stood only twenty feet away, but the patio stretched wide, and guests slowly pushed their way forward as the music stopped and additional lights came on under the eaves. Everyone seemed well behaved. Kendall had become point man for Caroline Evans, a notorious drinker and troublemaker at these refined events. Kristen was in charge of Mr. and Mrs. Fulsom, whose marriage had been on the rocks and whose public fights had been escalating, but the Fulsoms were actually on the far edge, holding hands.

Kristen adjusted the microphone. “Thank you for coming here tonight to bring awareness and support to a very worthy cause. I would like to introduce the coordinator of this event and the chair of The Unity Foundation charity committee, my mother, Victoria Michaelson.”

You heard right.

No “K” name on the mother hen of our flock.

I scanned the crowd once more, and then watched respectfully as my graceful mother approached the podium. Like all of us, she was dark haired and light eyed, but when she moved, the woman held an incomparable regal grace.

Victoria Georgette Michaelson had grown up in a wealthy family that spanned generations. It was Dad, Garrett Michaelson, who’d come from a marginal family of new money, earning his way and reputation into the accepting fold of higher society.

However, the four of us had grown up in a family that didn’t give one single f*ck about the money or the society. Mom didn’t. Dad sure as hell didn’t. And we kids had all been raised to value money, but none of the excesses and vices that inevitably came with it.

Why were we even here then? Because there was a fine line between buying into the mechanism and using its methods to the best advantage.