Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)

He took a step back and executed a sweeping bow. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

She laughed and there was nothing girly about it. He straightened up and grinned. He must’ve had desire for her splashed all over his face. It was an expression he’d been wearing all week, put there by her increasing ease with him.

Since the night at Moon Blink they’d been tentative with each other; kinder, as though they were meeting for the first time again with no expectations, but a depth of understanding that smoothed the tricky corners. It was sweet. They’d been for a walk on the beach, had dinner twice, joked and laughed and debated, but their kisses had been gentle and restrained, their earlier passion banked against Georgia’s caution and his own want not to scare her away.

But now he’d had quite enough of sweet and if she really was naked under the dress, he figured she might’ve too.

She laughed again when she saw the limo, putting a hand to his cheek.

“You thought I was joking.”

“Madam. Sir,” said the driver. He opened the car door.

“I don’t know what to think about you.” Her sentence started on the kerb and ended inside the car. He put his hand to the roof, ducked his head and followed her in, reaching for the seat. She was there to guide him.

“I’m not that hard to figure out.”

There was no deep mystery to him. He wasn’t prone to brooding like Angus, or secretive like Jamie. He wasn’t anxious like Heather or angry like Taylor. He didn’t play the class clown like Sam. Other than any confusion he created trying to navigate his failing sight, he was what you see is what you get. And he spoke plainly, no fudging around. With one sense short-changed, there was zero use in misleading with another.

Georgia settled beside him, a tiny tinkling sound. He put a hand up to her ear. Dangling earrings.

“They’re fake. Supposed to be crystal, but they suit the dress.”

He’d have bought her real crystals, expensive fakes if she’d have let him, but he’d pushed it with the shoes. “What can’t you figure out about me?”

“Why you’re not partnered up, married, off the market.”

So nothing to do with the overspend on the limo. “I was engaged once.” She was entitled to know. He knew so much about her.

“What happened?”

Good question. The glib answer was that he was a blind guy and Candace hadn’t loved him enough to see past that. It was the truth but not all of it. He’d bought her a ring, they’d lived together, but he’d never thought about a wedding or what kind of growing old they’d do. He’d never let her set a date, or stopped her trying to cure him. There was always another job to voice, another plane to catch, another remedy to humour her with. He’d loved her, but the same way she’d loved him—enough to be hurt by the failure of the relationship, but not enough to avoid it.

“We weren’t meant to be.” Georgia’s hand on his. He brought it to his lips and nibbled her knuckle.

“Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Cruel woman.”

“Greedy woman. I like having you to myself.”

The driver was a long way away, there was classical music. He could ask about the underwear. He could wreck the romance in two seconds flat. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. She smelled of something floral, not her usual scent, but at least it didn’t make him sneeze. He hadn’t been able to shake the notion a head cold had it in for him, though it hadn’t developed into anything.

He was putting her to bed tonight. Whether she let him stay after he tucked her in or not was up to her, but he wasn’t pashing on the doorstep and stumbling home alone to lie awake on edge half the night without pressing his advantage, not tonight, not after tuxedos and limos and nakedness under silk.

They walked the red carpet. An event organiser’s trimming. It had no function other than to mark the entrance to the venue. There was no one to gawk or take photos. Georgia stopped in the foyer. A good thing. Time for a quick briefing. It could get messy inside. He was admired and despised in equal measure by this crowd. There were friends, colleagues, and there were rivals, but there were also those who assumed he’d won the career war not because he had talent and he worked hard, but because he got the sympathy vote.

It was hard not to hate those sods or the unreality of their thinking. It was difficult to pick them out from the ordinary jealous rivals, but they did his reputation more damage with their gossip and innuendo. He didn’t need to give them any ammunition by looking like a disabled guy, but he’d long learned he didn’t have to—they’d make it up.

“You know how in Dystopian Conflict, Vox has to fight his way through a nest of winged vipers?” He angled his head towards the hubbub of noise from the ballroom. “Could get like that in there tonight. Especially if I win.”

She squeezed his hand. “You didn’t tell me you were up for an award.”

He was up for several. He shrugged. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

Her arms moved around his neck. She pressed her potentially nearly naked self against his tux and he had to fight not to palm her butt, flattening his hands more socially acceptably on her ribs. “You’re a big deal to me.”

He was putting her to bed and he was staying there with her unless a winged viper tore his heart out first.