So much more.
He smiled, that sinful knowing smile. “Anything you want to ask me?”
She slowly shook her head.
Once he’d established that she’d straightened and was supporting herself, he stepped back. His heavy-lidded gaze drifted down her chest. He rolled his shoulders and walked away.
“You need to pack,” he said. “We’re due to leave for the airport in half an hour.”
Chapter Thirteen
#TheRock
Ten minutes later Min packed the last items into her case. For someone she’d thought would be a certified sex pest, the guy had iron control. She’d seen the way his erection was straining against his jeans. He’d wanted it. But she’d set him a challenge and a challenge wasn’t something he’d ever back away from.
Only now, instead of pleasure, she felt pissed off.
“Come on Min,” he called. “We’re due at the airport.”
Min reluctantly opened her door, dragging her case behind her. He glanced down at her totally buttoned up outfit, one eyebrow quirking.
“You’re going to r-r-regret this,” she said, not encouraged by his lacklustre response to her attempt to smarten up. Mind you, it had been a lackluster smarten—the one pair of jeans that weren’t ripped. A blouse covered up with a denim jacket. She’d spent the little surplus in her bank account on the damn dress to wear to this party. Not that it was any kind of label. But it would have to do.
Only now Logan was looking at her with that wicked laughter in his eyes.
“I don’t think so.” He took the suitcase handle from her hand. “I really don’t.”
The black car was waiting by the front door again. There were more scruffy guys with cameras in front of their faces. Why was the attention worsening?
“They know about the party this weekend,” Logan answered her frown with a clipped comment and drew her close to help her get to the car.
Min’s frown deepened. “How b-big is it going to be? And if it’s common knowledge, why haven’t I been tweeting about it?”
“I wasn’t sure I’d be going ‘til recently.”
She focused on her phone for the entire trip to the airport, checking responses to the updates she’d posted for other clients. Checking her email. Checking to ensure she didn’t look at Logan too much for fear she’d slide further under his spell. Because when he clamped her to his side like that? Did the whole ‘sheltering’ thing?
He glanced at his watch, then back at her as the car pulled up to the airport drop off. “You’re sure you have a dress?”
She nodded.
“Discreet, right? Not too... sexy?”
She stared at him. Did the guy have eyes? Had he not noticed that she never wore sexy? She pulled out the ultra-sexy-soft whisper. “I got it from the ‘House of Come Fuck Me’.” Oh yeah, she nailed a ‘coo’.
He opened the car door. “That’ll be perfect.”
“We’re not flying by private jet?” she asked, fully sarcastic as Logan paused to read the departures screen.
“You’re disappointed.” he adopted a soothing tone, walking them towards the gate. “But it’s not good for the carbon footprint sweetie, we rich people do have to be seen to do our bit.”
Arrogant jerk. “You care about that?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
She hardly flew, so it wasn’t exactly a problem for her.
On board she shrugged out of her jacket and took the window seat, staring out of it for the duration of the take-off and the next twenty minutes beyond that, recovering from her sulk—trying to pull together some confidence.
Except they were going to total exclusive-ville. For some swanky party.
“You need to talk to me.” She twisted in the wide first class seat to finally look at him. “What am I in for? Who’s going to be there?”
Celebrities, for sure. He was friends with most of the world’s top models, and there’d be sporting stars. No doubt a couple of actors. They all seemed to know each other, like some elite circle of beautiful, talented people.
“My family. Friends. Important connections.”
Great. And what did he expect from her? “I’m not good at small talk,” she warned.
The expression in his eyes softened infinitesimally. “Don’t worry, they’re probably not expecting much from any fiancée of mine.”
“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”
But at the very least they’d expect a beautiful model type. She was okay, but hardly a Sports Illustrated cover. Not skinny enough, not maintained enough, not boobylicious enough. If she could be witty and offer intelligent conversation then maybe she could pass... but she probably wouldn’t be able to say her own name.
“W-we’re not going to get away with this.” She shank into the seat. Could the plane be hijacked or something?
“Of course we are. But actually, that reminds me…” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Here.” He handed her a small bag. “You’ll need to put that on.”
She opened the bag, her palms suddenly dampened when she saw the distinctive pale blue box inside. She drew it out and resolutely pushed the lid open.
For a second she couldn’t move. But then, for once, the words just slid out fast and easy. “You’re kidding. I can’t wear that.”
The diamond was massive. Huge. Beyond huge it was ridiculous. The ultimate ‘statement’ show piece. The kind of thing designed to impress.
“Where’d you get it,” she asked. “Giant Diamonds R Us?”
He laughed. “So ungrateful?”
Well, it wasn’t like she was going to keep it. She stared at the outrageous size of it. “No I’m not, gaudy is good.”
“Gaudy?”
“No.” She shot him a quick look. “It’s... amazing. Perfect,” she amended, regretting the bitch moment. “Exactly the thing you’d give a fiancée.”
An astonished look flashed in his eye—surely it wasn’t uncertainty?
“Honestly.” She laughed, it was that or cry. It was the second engagement ring she’d been given, and she’d be giving it back soon enough—just as she had the last. “It’s perfect for the purpose.”
“But not what you’d want for real?” He looked thoughtful, cocking his head nearer to study the blinding sparkler.
“Only because I’d feel like I needed double security detail with me at all times.” She looked at it again. “Please tell me it’s on loan.”
“It’s on loan,” he parroted.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m doing as you asked.”
“Don’t lie.”
There was a pause. Unwilling, yet unable to resist, she turned her head to find his eyes right on her level, a mere inch away.
“Do you want me to tell you what you ask me to, or do you want me to be honest?” he asked softly.
She looked into those eerily blue, beautiful eyes. “Honest. Always.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. “Only if you do the same for me.”
She couldn’t move. “Okay. Yes.”
“Good.” he nodded. “The ring isn’t on loan. It’s real and it cost a lot of money. Don’t worry, I can get it back when I sell it again but we need it for the look of things. So can you try to look happy about it.”
“When did you even get it?”
He gave the ring one last quick glance. “Phoned the jewelers and got them to bring it to me. You were at the salon when the courier came.”
Oh wow. So romantic. He hadn’t even chosen it? Just phoned and ordered the biggest, the most brilliant, the most expensive?
“Better put it on before you lose it.” He looked down, resumed reading his iPad.
Min felt oddly deflated. Was it bad luck to wear a ring on your engagement finger when you weren’t really engaged? When you had to put it on yourself because your supposed fiancé was too busy reading some stupid article about long-term share value?
She lifted the platinum circle out of the velvet case. Maybe it wouldn’t fit. He was so used to the model types he probably got a tiny size and she wouldn’t get it past her knuckle.
No such luck. The ring slid down her finger with just the faintest of pushes required. Typical. The guy had all the good fortune.
She spread her fingers and looked at the behemoth. It had to be said, it was striking, made her fingers look longer and slimmer. Well that had to be good, given this was ‘for the look of things’. Maybe the new dress she’d bought would do the same for the rest of her? Wasn’t that what this whole party was for?