He throws his coat over my head, like it’s a puddle of mud he’s helping me step over—except the mud in this scenario is last night’s hair and makeup.
I remind myself that I have nothing to be ashamed of.
Owen is merely covering me up to protect my privacy.
I can hear the clicking of cameras all around me, but Owen’s coat is so far over my head, that I can only see the photographers’ shoes and the occasional flash of light shining on my legs
“Mr. Westbrook! Mr. Westbrook!” a photographer yells. “Who is this woman?”
I’m not used to being at the center of so much attention.
So, I’m grateful when Owen puts his arm around me and guides me through the crowd to the limo, where the driver is waiting with the passenger door open.
“Where are you two going?” another photographer asks.
“Is that your shirt she’s wearing?”
The questions keep coming, and Owen and I keep moving silently forward.
It’s not an easy thing to do in stilettos. I have a new appreciation for the tabloid sluts who have to put up with this shit every week.
“Three more steps,” Owen says.
I count to three, and the step to the back of the limo appears at my feet.
I lift Owen’s coat just far enough to take a peek at his face.
“I guess this is it.”
“I guess so.” Owen’s response is terse and void of emotion, but I can see a glimmer of affection in his eyes as he helps me into my seat.
“My driver will take you anywhere you want to go. Make him take the long route, so no one follows you. And tell him to bill me later.”
I think he’s going to kiss me goodbye, but instead, he leans over me to grab my seatbelt and buckles me in. As he pulls the strap across my body, his arm grazes my breasts, and I’m tempted to pull him inside the limo with me, so we can finish what we started.
I can tell he wants it, too. The way he’s going out of his way to touch me, even while he’s shielding me from the cameras is clearly him lingering, taking advantage of our close proximity.
It’s setting my body on fire.
God. This whole situation is so fucked up.
If my mom wasn’t married to Owen’s brother, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
And what’s more annoying is that he’s not even a blood relative.
But here we are, hiding our faces from the world like a couple of vampires avoiding the sunlight.
Like my mom always used to say, life is unfair.
I never knew how true that statement was until now—sitting in the back of my barely related step-uncle’s limo, wanting to fuck him.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asks. “Your purse? Your underwear?”
“My dignity?”
“That too.”
“Yes, I think I’m ready to go. Except for this.”