Everything But Perfect (13 page)

“If that’s what it takes, then
yes.”

Exasperated, she backed away and
went to reach for her other two suitcases. It did her no good to argue with
him. She’d never win.

Mitch was at her side within
seconds, carrying the cases for her.

“You grab the box,” he said.

She did as told, following him
into the bedroom. Once inside, he set down the two cases, she dropped the box
on the bed, and she was in his arms before she could blink. He bent down and
gave her a kiss she would not forget. When it was over, he drew back and stared
at her face.

Cheyanne licked her lips. “What
was that for?”

His brow rose. “Can’t a man kiss
his wife when getting home from work?”

“He could…if he really cared
about that wife,” she said rudely.

Mitch grabbed her upper arm, held
tight, then let go. He looked ready to explode, but he must have known the grip
was too painful to bear.

“Just get ready,” he said
gruffly, leaving the room.

She stared at his rushed exit. On
one hand, she was glad he left her in peace. On the other, she wished him back.
Her body was still trying its best to betray her heart. She needed his touch
against her skin, his mouth against hers, his soul to intertwine with every
molecule of hers. She shook her head, warding off the fantasy.

What was wrong with her? He
wasn’t hers. He was a temporary leave of sanity, a loss of conscience thought, a
want, not a need. That’s all he’ll ever be.

Five minutes to six, she came out
of the bedroom dressed in a gown to die for. Silver and gold, the gown hadn’t
decided which precious metal it wanted to be, so it meshed as both. The box had
also contained a pair of high heels and matching handbag. Mitch had thought of
everything.

She walked into the living room,
her heart in her throat. Only a decent human being would have bought such a
wonderful gown. Her eyes met his. Mocha orbs were now a dangerous black.

Still, she felt any decency Mitch
had inside him went to the wayside yesterday morning, when forcing himself into
her after she telling him ‘no’. A decent man would not have left the apartment
this morning, leaving a note and she to fend for herself until his return.

A decent man would admit to
making love to her, not just having sex with her because she’s here.

Setting down the paper, he stood.
“About time,” he said shrewdly.

“I told you I would need more
than an hour,” she quibbled.

He’d changed, as well. No longer
in a suit and tie, Mitch had put on a tuxedo. He looked so good and smelled so
good, her mouth watered.

“Somehow, I have this feeling you
are lying to me about it just being dinner with friends,” she said, as he
escorted her to the door in a very expensive gown, a hand at her back.

“Anniversary party,” he supplied.

“Dammit, Mitch! Can you ever tell
me the truth?” Her head turned, and the smile he had on his face was not going
to get him off the hook.

“I tell the truth, when
necessary.” The added wink was unnecessary, too.

“What kind of party would have
been necessary information,” she said bluntly.

“You and I aren’t speaking to
each other, remember? Everything is unnecessary.”

“Keep it up…and it’ll be a
permanent affliction, us not speaking.”

By now, they were inside the
elevator headed down. Mitch too near her, his hand still on her lower back, his
fingers kneading her spine.

“I have my own permanent
affliction, sweetheart, and it has nothing to do with talking.”

The moment she turned to look at
him, he devil-grinned at her face, and then glanced downward.

Cheyanne rolled her eyes,
stepping away from him. “Perhaps you should see a doctor for that problem,” she
said rudely.

Mitch chuckled loudly just as the
elevator doors opened. “Perhaps I should.”

****

Good God! She was going to be
handful tonight.

It was all he could do to hold
back from drawing her into his arms, kissing her senseless, and returning to
the apartment to make love to her.

Dammit! He had to keep telling
himself it wasn’t love. It certainly felt the same…but it wasn’t.

He couldn’t possibly be falling
for this woman. No, he must stay immune—her side, his side of the line.
Crossing over that line would be a complication he might never survive.

Mitch escorted Cheyanne to the
outer door, the limo waiting. When telling her it was a party at a friend’s
place, he hadn’t mentioned who the friend was, alternatively, told her they
were perhaps the richest brother and sister CEO team in all of New York.

Georgiana and Heath were old
friends. They were celebrating the anniversary of their first million made. Eighteen
years later, the duo grossing nearly twenty-million annually, they throw a
monstrous party to gloat. That, and write it off as a huge tax deduction.

Mitch would not miss this yearly
party for the world, even if the woman at his side looked delicious enough to
eat, and he’d somehow became a man hungry enough for the taste of vixen.

She turned, gave him a watery
smile upon seeing the limo. He smiled back, urging her into the open car door. Two
seconds later, they were on their way to the
Castle.
Amply named for
square footage—a fourteen thousand foot mansion of magnificent proportion,
fifty miles away.

Next time they need to be
somewhere, he will make certain to call her and let her know to get ready. They
should arrive at least an hour later than expected, and he could well imagine Georgiana’s
attitude from that regrettable mistake.

****

Valets parking limousines, women
in fashionable ball gowns, men in tuxedos…Cheyanne turned to glare at her
husband.

“You could have told me,” she
grumbled.

“If I had, you would have faked
something just to stay home,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She yanked it away from him. “I
hate you.”

“I know. But try to pretend you
don’t once we’re inside.”

He climbed out of the limo,
waited on the cobblestone drive for her, then took her by the elbow, leading
her to the front door. There had to be at least twenty limousines pulling up,
each with overly gaudy passengers climbing out of them.

Cheyanne felt so out of place. She
did not recognize a soul. She could well imagine what would greet her, once
inside.

Mitch moved her up the marble
stairs toward the open door. Glancing at her husband, he’d turned to greet a
man coming up behind them. His hand extended, they made polite conversation,
and then parted.

Mitch leaned near her ear. “That,
my dear, was likely our next Attorney General.”

“Am I even here?” she said
rudely, but low enough so no one but Mitch heard.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
he asked. They had about three feet to go before they would be inside the
monstrous mansion, drowning in wealth.

“You could have introduced me to
him. I do have a brain. I know how to use it.”

“It’s your brain that worries me,
sweetheart,” he said, winking at her. “And in this case, I’m afraid you’d use
it.”

“Y—you…ugh.”

Suddenly, her golden gown felt
very heavy against her skin. Was this dress for what he wanted it to be…her
placed on a shelf, just high enough no one can reach? A trophy, perhaps.

Dammit. She was no man’s trophy.

“What’s that look about?” he suddenly
asked, glancing at her.

She gave him a softened smile,
pretending ignorance. “What look?”

“The one that is worrying me all
of a sudden.”

She leaned close to him. “You
mean that one that might embarrass you?”

“Yep. That’s the one.” His
chuckle was light but lacking mirth.

“Nothing.”

“Good. Keep it as nothing, and
we’ll get along splendidly tonight.”

They moved forward as a couple
and came face to face with their host and hostess.

“Georgiana, Heath, I’d like you
meet Cheyanne Ribbons…Lavede.”

His hand at the small of her
back, he urged her forward, but she was a bit miffed about the long pause
between Ribbons and Lavede. Didn’t these people know he’d married?

“My wife,” he added the moment
Georgiana’s glare rammed into Cheyanne—hard.

“Your…wife?” Heath asked. “When
did this happy event occur?”

“Last week,” Mitch said, smiling
brightly.

“Well, I’ll be…” Heath sputtered,
reaching for Cheyanne’s hand. “How you ever got this handsome devil to walk
down the aisle…” he started, pausing. “I’d never thought he would fall. You
must be quite the incredible woman to achieve such a feat.”

Heath then turned to Mitch.
“Jesus, Mitch! Never thought you’d take the plunge.”

“Never thought I would, either,”
he answered brightly, glancing at her. “Then again, when you find the right
one…”

Georgiana hadn’t said a word as
of yet, her eyes still glued on to Cheyanne.

“I—” Cheyanne tried to get out,
but Mitch swiftly interrupted.

“We should probably start
mingling dear. We wouldn’t want to hold up the line.”

There was a line starting to form
behind them, since they were literally blocking the doorway.

“Yes, do mingle. Food’s free;
company’s cheap and getting cheaper by the second due to the open bar. Enjoy
yourselves. We’ll have to get together privately, Mitch. It’s been a while.”
Heath then smiled at Cheyanne. “Too long, I would say.”

Mitch nodded at both, and then
walked her forward.

“That went well,” he mumbled
under his breath.

“How so? You did not burst into
flames from all the lies?” she answered glibly.

His head lowered, so did his tone
of voice. “Mrs. Lavede…”

She quickly batted her eyelashes
at him, smiling at his face. “Yes, Mr. Lavede?”

“Would you care to dance?” He
held out his hand, waiting.

The music was quite loud in
another room, the doors to it closed.

“I would, but do you know how?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty
little head about that. I know how,” he said, escorting her to the closed door.

Five minutes later, she was
having her first dance with her husband, enjoying every second of his fluidity.
Mitch was a surprising contradiction to her, every turn on the head he did
something to make her feel more for him than she should.

It was only when another man
tried to ask for her hand, that he became his usual Gloomy Gus. He backed away
politely and headed straight for the bar, giving her over to another.

Cheyanne would have rather he
told the sweaty man holding her too closely, ‘no’, but in the elite society of
the rich and famous, she supposed a man never tells another ‘no’, if expecting
eventual financial gain coming his way. Still, she was miffed he had sold her
off to get a drink.

As they rounded the dance floor
and she kept up her false smile with her new partner, her eyes continually
searched for her husband.

Mitch was nowhere findable.
Therefore, unclaimed, another man asked her to dance, and another, until she
was too tired to stand and politely excused herself from the floor.

She felt the fool. Her husband literally
abandoned her at a party where she did not know a soul. What an ass! At least
she’d personally met the future Attorney General, and he’d been a bigger ass,
his hands on everyone female. He’d get no vote from her.

She bellied up to the bar,
ordered a drink, and was just about to take a sip when she was nudged from
behind. About to turn around and give her peace of mind to being jostled, she
came face to face with a man she had thought she never see again.

“Angel! What the devil are you
doing here?” She dove at him, Angel accepting her tight embrace.

“What am I doing here?” He drew
back to look at her. “How about…what are you doing here? This isn’t the Ribbons
estate, or did you get lost on your way home?” he teased lightly.

Cheyanne could no longer keep up
the pretense. “Oh, Angel. You and I need to talk. Not here.” She searched the
room for her husband, and still found not one inch of his hide. Where could he
have gone?

“Why not here? This party is
kickin`.” Angel lifted his drink and smiled. Kickin`, to him, meant dreadful.

“Yes, kickin`,” she grumbled,
giving him a soft smile.

Angel never one to miss a cue
when concerning her, asked, “Why the glum look?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she
said truthfully. She hadn’t wanted to be abandoned, either, but that was a moot
point now.

“Then why the hell did you come to
this shindig if you don’t want to be here? It’ll go all night long, I’m told.”