Hero (Hero 1)

Of course she knew who Caine was. I watched as she surmised that he was the reason for the awkward tension in the air.

“Edward?” she whispered in question, looking anxious and scared, and much less of the dragon lady everyone said she was.

“Well, we should be going.” Grandpa cleared his throat and gave us a jerky nod. “Mr. Carraway, miss.” He took my grandmother’s arm and led her past us.

I stared at the spot he’d just been standing in, and ignored that ache that split through me. It always woke that insidious little whisper that taunted me. Not loved enough by your father, your mother, your grandfather … or by Caine.

I felt alone. Alone, unloved, and with no one to trust.

“Alexa?”

I glanced up at Caine to see his eyes were shadowed with anger.

At the sight of it I shook off my hurt and gave him a fake smile.

That only made him madder.

Without a word he started stalking down the street in the opposite direction my grandparents had taken. I started after him, my steps slower.

And then quite abruptly Caine whipped around and marched back toward me. Features etched with determination, he yanked me roughly to him and crushed his mouth down over mine. I made a noise of surprise in the back of my throat before my instincts took over. I couldn’t help sinking into his kiss.

When he finally let me go we were both breathing hard. Caine smoothed his thumb over my cheek, his eyes still dark with passion and anger. “I could give a fuck who saw that.”

My answer was to wrap my arms around him, and to my pleasure, Caine held me tightly.

Standing there on Charles Street, being hugged by him, I was choked by emotion. Not only had I realized today that I loved Caine; I also finally understood why he hated keeping us a secret.

He knew what his revelation about my grandfather had done to me, and he knew what it did to me that Grandpa couldn’t acknowledge me in public. And I think he knew that I was questioning Grandpa’s love for me.

And Caine did not want to be the guy who treated me to the same.

He wasn’t ashamed to be with me, to know me, to want me in his life.

My arms tightened around him.

Maybe, God, just maybe … I wasn’t the only one falling in love.

CHAPTER 22

“You look gorgeous. Let me take a photo of the two of you together.” Effie held up her iPhone and began snapping away before Caine or I could protest.

Laughter bubbled between my lips as I glanced up at Caine. He was wearing his “I’m holding on to my patience only because it’s Effie” expression. Lately he wore that expression a lot around his neighbor. “Do you think she thinks we’re going to the prom?” I muttered, teasing him.

He shot me a look. “Make it stop.”

“Caine, stop scowling,” Effie chastised from across the room.

I snorted, grabbed his arm, and grinned for the camera.

Effie was chuckling so hard I doubted any of those photos would be blur free.

“You’re both hilarious.” Caine extricated himself from my grasp, shooting us a warning look we both knew he didn’t mean. I think secretly he liked the two of us teasing him. “I’m going to call down for the car.” He strode out of the room, his shoulders lined with tension.

Okay, so maybe tonight he wasn’t enjoying the teasing.

We were both dressed in formal wear—Caine in his beautiful black Ralph Lauren tuxedo, and I was wearing a Jenny Packham dress I’d made the mistake of showing to Effie two weeks ago, who had then showed it to Caine, who had then bought it for me.

I’d attempted to argue with him about it. I didn’t want him thinking I needed or expected him to buy me expensive gifts. However, as I’d discovered earlier with the flights and the hotel situation in Seattle, Caine didn’t argue about money.

He said his piece and then he switched off.

Which was seriously annoying.

But less so when a beautiful dress showed up on my doorstep.

So kill me, I could be shallow sometimes. I’d worked with a media photographer for years, mostly in fashion. I’d been exposed to the most beautiful pieces of clothes ever designed and had a real appreciation for the artistry in it. We were talking about a Jenny Packham. The pale green gown had a timeless quality about it—its sleek silhouette was a perfect match for my tall physique. It had delicate silver and crystal beading in a beltlike design around my middle, a plunging neckline that still somehow managed to be classy, and along the bottom line of the dress the fabric was shot through with silver.

I felt like a princess.

Caine was not acting like a white knight tonight, however.

The last few weeks together had been spectacular. A whirlwind of passion, intimacy, laughter … I’d never been happier. And I thought Caine felt the same way, but he was broody tonight, and I had to wonder if it was because of our earlier discussion.

Tonight we were attending the Vanessa Van Hay Delaney Benefit for Alzheimer’s. It was hosted by Michelle and Edgar Delaney, the children of Vanessa Delaney, a woman who’d been a pillar of Boston society for over fifty years before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She passed away a few years after her diagnosis, and ever since, every year, the Delaneys hosted their benefit to fund finding a cure for Alzheimer’s. Only Boston’s very elite were invited to come share their philanthropy, and it was one of the few cases where Caine didn’t mind that anyone knew he’d donated money to a charity, because anyone with any power or influence in the city was there doing the same thing.