Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(58)
I was mortified, but strangely pleased, when he gave a cocky grin and said, “There are no words I could write that would ever do justice to what we do behind closed doors.”
Mortified… pleased, and yes… I preened.
Lindie, who was standing beside me, just snickered.
The book signing was an entirely different matter. Whereas at the talk show, he was separated from the fans by a huge production stage, at the book signing, they were right up in his face. Now, granted, most of the people that came to have him sign their books were quite lovely. They were starstruck for sure, often clutching their hands to their chests with breathless excitement, or squealing over his inscription in their books. But a few… not-so-lovely ladies wanted pictures, and they pressed in unconscionably close to him. As his “assistant,” I had to take picture after picture of young, hot women putting their hands on my man and making outright lewd suggestions to him.
One woman, who was dressed in a slinky, black dress that hit mid-thigh with high-heeled, black leather boots and a cloud of curled hair around her painted face, actually handed Gavin her phone number.
“Call me when you get through with this signing, Gavin,” she said as she looked him direct in the eye. “I’ll show you Chicago like you’ve never seen it.”
To give Gavin credit, he handed the phone number to me and told the woman with a charming smile, “Now that’s an exciting offer, love, but unfortunately, I have plans tonight.”
My head snapped toward him even as I crumpled the paper in my hand. The woman never gave me a glance.
Unfortunately? Did he just say unfortunately?
I glared at him even as the woman was not about to give up. “Next trip then?”
“Sorry, love. I’ll have plans then as well.”
I waited for the woman to move out of line so the next hundred people standing there could get their turn, but apparently, there wasn’t much going on upstairs underneath all of that curly, dark hair. She leaned over the table, which effectively spilled half her boobs out of her dress. “You do understand what I mean when I say I’d show you Chicago like you’ve never seen it before?”
Gavin… that scoundrel, tilted his head back and laughed. He looked the woman in the eye and said, “I do, indeed, understand you. But this lovely lady sitting next to me,” and here he paused to put his arm around my shoulder, “would have something to say about it. You see, she’s the one that all my plans revolve around, and I’m quite positive she would not want me seeing Chicago with you.”
My face had flamed beet red over his proclamation, and I couldn’t even take joy in the way the woman huffed and then slunk away from the public humiliation Gavin just handed down to her.
He leaned over to me and whispered, “You’re beyond cute when you’re jealous.”
I nudged him in the arm and hissed, “I wasn’t jealous.”
“Sweet… it was rolling off you in vibes. So f*cking cute.”
I held my tongue because the next fan in line walked up and had a semi-legitimate conversation with Gavin about his book, and my blood pressure started to ease.
“You are stunning tonight,” Gavin says as he holds me close and we sway to Norah Jones’ Come Away with Me.
His publisher’s party is a sight to behold, taking up the entire grand ballroom of Chicago’s Waldorf Astoria. Ice sculptures, a ten-piece band, caviar, champagne, tuxedos, and ball gowns. It’s an entire world away from where I live, yet dancing here in Gavin’s arms, I feel completely comfortable for the moment.
“Although I would have preferred buying you a dress,” Gavin says as his thumb strokes my lower back, “I’m going to have to admit this one you borrowed from Alyssa is beyond amazing.”
When Gavin told me there would be a black-tie event we’d have to attend, I went into a panic. I didn’t own a ball gown, and I certainly didn’t have the money with which to buy one. He had offered, gallant and sexy man that he is, to buy me one, citing that it would just be a write off for him to be able to dress his “assistant,” but I declined. Despite all the intimate touches and shared orgasms, I didn’t feel comfortable with Gavin buying me expensive clothing.
Alyssa, heiress to a fortune and luckily my exact size, came to my rescue and pulled me into her closet the day before yesterday, telling me to take my pick of dresses to borrow. My eyes bugged out of my head as I rifled through the rainbow of silks, chiffons, and velvets.
I chose a simple, champagne-colored, strapless sheath gown that was ruched at my breasts and fell in a straight line to the floor. It had a long slit up the back, and Alyssa gave me a pair of matching strappy sandals that I’m betting cost more than three months’ rent to go with it.
“I’m glad you like the dress,” I tell him, and then mischievously add, “I’m going to enjoy you taking me out of it more.”
Gavin chuckles and squeezes me tighter to him. “Where did my shy Sweet go? You’re so bold now.”
“You like it,” I tease.
“I love it,” he says solemnly and bends to kiss me under my jaw. “How much longer do you think we need to stay?”
“Well, since you’re one of the guests of honor, I’m thinking it would be poor form to leave before dinner,” I say sadly, because honestly, there’s nothing I’d love more than for Gavin to whisk me back to our hotel room and practice dirty things upon my body.