Sway (Landry Family #1)(8)

"Now, if you don't want to cause a scene, I'm going to suggest we duck out of here before we manage to gain a wider audience."

Glancing around the room, I notice a few people watching our interaction. A sick feeling erupts in my stomach as memories of being watched before creep in my mind.

"Did you see the photographs of your husband with Ms. Murphy?" The cameraman sticks a video recorder in my face. "How does that make you feel?"

I cringe.

Barrett offers me his arm and I start to take it, but pull it back in a flourish. "I spilled some alfredo on my sleeve earlier. You probably don't want to get that on you."

"It'll wash." His easy way lessens my anxiety. He's doing to me what he does to everyone—charming me, enchanting me. I like it way more than I should.

Images of him tossing his jacket off to the side, unbuttoning his shirt as he readies for the bath zoom through my mind. When my eyes meet his, I know he knows what I was thinking.

He closes the distance between us, lifting my arm and placing it through the crook in his.

The material is supple, his arm hard beneath. Being this close to him, I feel like I'm in a bubble, that it's just he and I, and everyone and everything else is suddenly on the outside.

His scent is intoxicating, his smile disarming. It's a blend of power and approachability, and the combination is mind-blowing.

My defenses crumble, hitting the ground with a hefty thump.

I glance nervously at a few men trying very hard not to notice us. Getting out of here suddenly seems like a good idea.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask. "You don't have to, you know."

He studies me closely. "You're right. I don't have to. I want to."





Alison

I FEEL GAZES HEAVY ON our backs, hear hushed whispers as Barrett leads me out of the ballroom. His eyes are fixed forward, his body tense, but he doesn't seem to second guess his decision, even when I give him another opportunity to bail. He simply clamps his free hand over mine on his arm and keeps moving.

Like a true gentleman, he holds the French doors open as I saunter through. The air is balmy for October, a barely noticeable wind breezing through the gardens of the estate. Crickets chirp now that the sun's gone down, and the midnight blue night sky is lit with a million twinkling stars. A path extends from the flagstone patio and twists through the property, lit dreamily by flickering torches.

The door closes behind me and I turn to see Barrett standing still, his hands in his pockets, a curious, yet soft, look on his face.

There are a handful of women on the far reach of the patio. I'm not sure if he doesn't see them or if he doesn't care that they're watching us. I force the ball of anxiety that sits in the middle of my stomach off to the side and instead focus on the dapper man that's looking right at me.

He smiles and I feel my knees go weak. I reach out and steady myself on the wooden railing, willing myself to keep it together. He's just a man.

I turn my back so he doesn't see me laugh.

Just a man. Right.

"Shall we?" His voice is thick, a honeyed Southern twang that melts me from the inside out. Before I can respond, he lifts my arm and laces it through his, as if we do this all the time. His touch is gentle, yet dominant, a combination that leaves me breathless.

I smile politely, giving myself kudos for not swooning outright. There's something completely intoxicating about being treated like a lady and manners are the best foreplay.

We take the steps slowly, descending into the night. Moving away from prying eyes, we begin down the path.

The night air feels like it cocoons us, separates us from everyone else. The stress of being under scrutiny drifts away, and I think he feels it too. His shoulders relax, his breathing eases. I find myself easily falling into step with him.

"It's nice out tonight," he says.

"It's beautiful. This venue is amazing."

"Have you been here before?" He looks down at me, his eyes sparkling in the light. His jaw line is clean-shaven, strong, and I wonder what it would look like with a dash of early morning stubble.

"I was here a few weeks ago for a wedding, actually."

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't know. I don't even remember their last name."

"I didn't have you pegged as a party crasher," he teases.

I laugh. "No, no party crasher here. I was working."

"Have you ever been here when you're not working?"

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes trained ahead. Surely he realizes that I don’t hang out at the Savannah Room in my free time. My social circles don’t encompass places and people like this—not anymore.

"You and I have nothing to talk about anymore," Hayden said. "I'm a judge. You're a . . . I don't even know what you are, Alison. You've turned into nothing."

"Nothing?! You're kidding me, right? Because I surely wasn't nothing when I was working my ass off to pay your way through school! I’ve helped you get to where you are. I take care of our child. I . . . How dare you say that to me?" I seethed.

He laughed like he didn’t have a care in the world. "I can say anything I want to you. What are you going to do about it? Just . . . go home, Ali. Go be with your kind of people."