She smiled so wide that it hurt. "True. And thank you."
His eyes roamed over her for a few more minutes, then he shook his head, seeming to clear it. "Come on, I'll introduce you around. Judge Coale is here. I'd like you to meet him."
The butterflies that had kicked up a storm in response to that announcement wouldn't let her agree aloud, but she nodded, and they walked hand in hand to a distinguished octogenarian who held court by a pendulum. He paused as Easton approached, his smile as paternal as if Easton were his son.
"Judge Coale, I'd like you to meet my date, Selma Herrington, the owner of Austin Free-Tail Distillery."
"My dear, it's wonderful to meet you." The judge's grip was surprisingly strong, and it was clear to Selma why he'd been successful in politics. By the time they left she was not only charmed, but had no idea at all what the man thought of her. He was completely impossible to read.
"There are a few other folks I want you to meet," Easton began, but she cut him off with a hand to his arm.
"I want to, but I need to tell you something first."
He led her toward a hallway that appeared to lead to public meeting rooms. "What is it?"
She swallowed. "I want to cancel the deal. I don't want to sell. I don't want to go to Scotland."
"I see."
"No," she said. "I'm not sure you do." She drew in a breath. "What I do want, is you."
A muscle twitched in his cheek, but otherwise, he didn't react. For a moment, she feared that she'd gotten everything wrong. That this was not good news to him, and that she'd just made a huge fool of herself.
Then he grabbed her hand, squeezing hard, and hurried down the hall as if they were escaping a fire. He pushed open one of the meeting room doors, kicked it shut, then slammed her up against the wall.
"Christ, Selma, do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"I--"
"What hearing you say that does to me? Seeing you dressed like this, knowing you're doing it for me. I mean, pearls. Baby
, you're amazing."
His fingers closed over the pearls. He was breathing hard. So was she.
"So this is good? You're not--"
"I'm not anything but turned on. You couldn't have said anything better to me. Christ, when I get you home tonight..."
"Yes," she murmured as his hand cupped her breast.
And then, without warning, he said, "Fuck it." Using the pearls as leverage, he pulled her toward him. The cheap strand snapped, sending white beads everywhere, but she didn't care.
"Ignore it," she said, pulling his head closer and opening her mouth to his. He kissed her hard. Tongue and teeth and the taste of blood. His hands seemed to be everywhere. Her hands, her thighs. She realized he had her skirt up, his hand between her legs, his body pressed close.
"Now," he said. "I have to be inside you now."
"Easton, the party."
"The door's locked. We're fine."
She moaned as his fingers slid into her.
"The door's not--"
And then the door burst open.
He tugged his hand free and moved to shield her with his body even as she blinked from the camera flashes that suddenly and completely filled the room.