Out of Her League (15 page)

She grinned up at him. “Speaking of, you’ve
been doing very well.”

He grimaced. “I’ve hardly said a word.”

“Which was the plan, if you’ll remember. Most
people just want other people to listen. Next time you can work on your small
talk, but for now, all these nice people think you’re charming, and you’ve survived
the evening unscathed.”

“Tell that to my ass, which may have actual
claw marks on it now.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I can’t wait to
see it for myself.”

“How about we leave now and you can do a
thorough inspection as soon as we get home?” Lachlan said, trying for sexy but
only managing to sound incredibly
hopeful
.

Michaela threw her head back and laughed.
Heads turned, but she didn’t even care. She was bullet-proof tonight.

“Sorry, buddy, but you’re not that lucky,”
she said apologetically. “And we can’t leave until almost the very end, now.”

Lachlan looked close to pouting. “Why not?”

“Because your friend Seamus has just staked
our reputations quite firmly to his, and if nothing else, we owe him the
courtesy of being flawless guests.”

“He did?”

“Lachlan, I’m sure you’ve noticed the looks
I get. Particularly when my back is turned.”

He frowned down at her. “You know about
those?”

She sighed, patting his arm soothingly. “Of
course I do. It’s much better than it was a decade ago, when they would give me
those looks right to my face, and tell me what they thought besides.”

“And now, what? People have begun to
forget? Or just gotten over themselves?” he asked.

“No, my parents made me Chairwoman of the
Price Foundation.”

“Huh,” he said slowly. “Clever strategy.”

She smiled. “You understand people better
than you think.”

“I really don’t. More like I know my
Machiavelli—it’s better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both.”

Michaela rolled her eyes affectionately. “No
wonder you’re friends with Seamus. That’s probably his motto. But I think my
parents were thinking more along the lines of Sun Tzu.”

Lachlan eyed her thoughtfully. “The supreme
art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting?”

“More like, in the midst of great chaos,
there is also opportunity.”

“Opportunity? I don’t get it.”

“For a long time, a lot of invitations that
would usually have come, didn’t. My parents, my brothers, they were all
impacted, but they’d still get asked to things even when my invitations were
often mysteriously lost in the mail. The only time I was asked to go anywhere
was when someone wanted more press, or to give their guests a show. Someone to
talk about.”

“I’m really starting to hate these people,”
he muttered darkly.

“Not everyone was that bad, but it was a
common enough occurrence, and it was making my parents crazy. They’d been
ignoring the whole thing in public, of course, but in private they seethed that
people they’d thought of as their friends would use me that way.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waved that away. “It was my own fault.”

“No, it was not,” he snapped.

She sighed. She really didn’t want to get
into all that now, so she plowed on. “The interesting thing was, I was good for
attendance. Not just at these things,” she nodded at the ballroom beyond his
back, “but at smaller events. Maybe the press was only there to take my
picture, but they had to mention the clinic, or the shelter, or wherever I was.
Within days, donations would be up. I was accidentally generating awareness.”

“Huh.”

“Right? So, I figured if I couldn’t repair
my reputation, the least I could do was put it to good use. My parents helped
by making me Chairwoman long before they had intended to name any of us to the
position, and between the weight of the Foundation behind me and my reputation
proceeding me, I’ve generated a lot of charitable donations.”

“But at what expense?” he asked, too clever
by half.

“The rewards have outstripped the costs by
far,” she assured him.

He didn’t look convinced. For the first
time in more years than she could remember, it mattered to her that someone
understood. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time or the place.

“In any case, my original point was that in
spite of my parents’ masterful politicking, the looks don’t go away. Ever. And
no matter how much money and power I bring to the table, there will always be
those who can’t forget my misspent youth.”

Lachlan opened his mouth, but she went on
before he could voice his protest.

“Seamus, though, has changed the game. If
these people think of themselves as Boston’s aristocracy, then he is their
king.”

“And you?”

“Have just been upgraded from entertaining
pawn to untouchable.”

Lachlan seemed to mull this over for a moment,
his lips curling up slowly. “What would
Michaela’s Rules for Managing the
Public
say if I ran over and hugged Seamus right now?”

She laughed, and clamped a hand around his
arm just in case. “Don’t you dare. The last thing this court needs is another
jester.”

Lachlan slumped in the back seat of the
town car on the way home, staring out the window at absolutely nothing while
exhaustion set in. For a while there, at the end of the longest night of this
life, he hadn’t been sure if he was going to make it. If Seamus hadn’t been
there to talk to, Lachlan would have given in to the urge to toss Michaela over
his shoulder and make a run for the lobby.

“So, what are you doing next Saturday?”

Lachlan turned his head, not even bothering
to lift it from the seat, and stared at Michaela. She was peering down at her
phone, somehow still sitting up straight, not lulled into the deep leather
seats that Lachlan wanted to wallow in forever.

She looked, in fact, exactly the same as
when he’d arrived at her apartment five hours ago. He would admire her for her fortitude,
but he strongly suspected he should instead be admiring her ability to mask
what she was really feeling.

“Would hiding under a rock be an acceptable
answer?” he asked.

Michaela smiled. “Now, why would you want
to do that when you could come to the aquarium with me?”

That…didn’t sound bad. “The aquarium? Well,
okay, I do love the aquarium.”

“Excellent. Maybe I’ll see if there is a
fundraising event for it. Next Saturday, though, we’ll be attending a
fundraiser for Rosie’s Place. Have you heard of it?”

“Everyone in Boston has heard of Rosie’s
Place.”

“Good. Then let’s see if we can help drive
up donations. I’m hoping to chat with some of their leadership, to see if
they’d be interested in program support from the Price Foundation above and
beyond what will come with our two seats.”

“Does anyone ever say no to that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

After watching how people had behaved that
night, he really wouldn’t.

He watched Michaela pecking away at her
phone, the first frown on her face since they’d arrived at the hotel earlier.
It struck him that while he’d been working on his social skills all night,
she’d just been
working
.

“Is that why you went to this thing
tonight? To learn more about the Children’s Hospital?”

 She waved her hand. “Oh, no. That’s not
where we focus our attention, though it’s a very worthy cause. I was there to
meet a whole bunch of potential partners who might be interested in working
with the Price Foundation on future projects.”

Lachlan frowned. “So sick kids don’t do it
for you?”

Michaela dropped the hand holding her phone
into her lap and glared at Lachlan. He barely suppressed the urge to sink
further into his seat
.

“Don’t be a jerk, Lachlan. Of course I’m
concerned with children’s health and medicine. But we can’t give to everything,
even if we want to. The Price Foundation has a set mission, and that mission is
focused on homeless and LGBT children, particularly where those two groups
overlap. And we have learned, over the course of decades of giving, that we can
make a greater impact with larger, focused donations. That’s how we can create
real change, real
safety
for these kids. If we spread ourselves out too
much, we end up helping a lot of people a little, and having to cover a ton of administrative
overhead instead of creating new centers and adding beds and services to the
ones that are already working but struggling to meet the needs of their
community. So do not, for one second, presume to tell me there is more I can or
should be doing. I’m going to
fucking law school
because I want to be
doing more, because I want to ensure the Foundation can persist long after I’m
gone, and I won’t be made to feel shitty because
you
don’t think it’s
enough.”

She snatched her phone from the folds of
her skirt and held it in front of her face, her knuckles white around it. The
death grip wasn’t enough to hide the shake of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, painfully aware that
he was stupid, not just for saying it, but for not recognizing that she, too, had
had a long night. He was also acutely aware of the driver, who could hear them
easily from the front seat. “That was uncalled for. I never thought you didn’t
give enough.”

More and more, he thought the opposite—and he
didn’t mean the money.

She nodded stiffly.

“And despite what I said, I never thought
you didn’t care. Please, forgive me.”

Her shoulders came down from around her
ears, but she remained silent and focused on her phone. Now, thanks to him, she
did
look exhausted. The silence between them was nothing like
comfortable.

He dug his phone out of his pocket, trying
to act like nothing was wrong—for the benefit of the driver, if no one else.

He opened the text messaging application.

I’m an asshole.

He could just barely make out the hum of
her phone vibrating over the sound of the tires on the pavement and the purr of
the engine.

Her mouth twitched. Once. But she kept
doing whatever it was that she was so focused on.

If I promise to never again complain
about these stupid parties, will you forgive me?

Another hum. And a blink, lips pursed
briefly. There was a slight movement beneath her gown and a stocking-clad toe
peeked out. She had apparently slipped off her shoes. He could guess why. His
feet were fucking killing him and he wasn’t wearing high heels.

He focused back on his phone.

Will you consider forgiving me if I rub
your feet?

He waited, watching to see what she would
do. He carefully did not smile as she turned toward him, her eyes never leaving
her phone, and planted both her feet in his lap, her gown billowing on the seat
between them and over his legs.

Slipping a hand beneath her skirt, he
skated his palm down her calf and over her heel, then dug his thumb directly into
the arch of her foot. Her eyes closed, briefly, then returned to her phone. The
pressure around his ribs eased when she smiled, just a little.

He switched feet and juggled his phone with
his other hand, typing with his thumb.

Groveling via text while giving a foot
massage is really hard work.

The smile transformed, one side lifting to
turn it into something closer to a smirk. She shifted one foot a little higher,
brushing along the top of his thigh until it was tucked against his hip, her
heel an inch from his dick.

He had no idea whether to interpret this as
a reward or a threat. He kept rubbing her other foot—it seemed like a safe bet
either way.

His phone buzzed.

Poor baby.

Her heel rolled in a long, slow circle, every
muscle in his stomach clenching when it brushed over his dick, his erection
rising to meet the press of her foot even while he silently prayed they didn’t
hit a goddamn pothole.

He slid his hand up her other leg, careful
to keep his shoulder still and her voluminous skirts piled on his lap. Her knee
jerked, just a little, when he traced his fingertips over the sensitive skin
behind it.

You’re very distracting
, she sent.

He’d never know it to look at her, still
tapping away at the screen. He stroked back down to the foot perched on his
knee.

I’m sorry. Should I stop?

The foot he wasn’t holding wriggled until
it was pressed the length of his cock, her heel nestled between his legs and
against his balls.

He was just going to take that as a “no”.
He massaged his way up and down her leg as best he could, sorely wishing this
car hadn’t come equipped with a rearview mirror. Her feet flexed when he dug
into the tight muscles of her calf, and he kept at it until he could feel them
loosen. Then the leg he held slid off his lap, her foot coming to rest on his
shoes.

My other foot is sore too.

Lachlan sucked a deep breath as he stared
down at his phone, wondering if she really intended to—she rubbed her foot in a
long, sinuous glide along his dick—oh hell, that’s exactly what she intended to
do. He wrapped his hand around her foot and dug his thumb right into the arch,
jamming it up against his thickening shaft, the little bone beneath her pinky
toe catching up against the crown. It took everything he had not to hunch his
shoulders, to curl into the pressure. His hips twitched, his thighs sliding
silently over the leather seat as his knees spread.

It was impossible to tell who was working
harder to make him crazy. He rubbed and soothed her foot, pressing it against
himself, all while she rolled her ankle, slowly, over and over, until he was so
hard it hurt. She twisted her leg, just a little, and curled her toes around
his dick.

Goddamn, he didn’t have a foot fetish, but
he was willing to be flexible right now. There was only one thing holding him
back.

His hand was shaking hard enough that typing
out his message one handed was almost impossible.

If we don’t stop, you’re going to be the
one to explain to Robby why I need another tux.

She grinned down at her phone, the tip of
her tongue caught in her teeth as she typed out a response.

Lucky for you, we’re home.

He looked up just as the car pulled over
and came to a stop in front of Michaela’s building. Her foot slid away, and she
slipped her shoes back on as her doorman approached.

Lachlan made a point of buttoning his
jacket before climbing from the car, turning back quickly to give Michaela his
hand while he took long, deep breaths of the cool night air and tried to will
his dick into submission.

It didn’t work.

He’d been planning to walk home after
dropping her off, but didn’t hesitate when she kept hold of his hand and towed
him through the lobby. The wait for the elevator was interminable, the ride up
just as long. He leaned a shoulder against the back wall, facing her, her arm
pressed to his chest, their hands still linked. She focused on the floor number
display as if her life depended on it, and a flush worked its way across her
cheeks and down her neck.

He traced the band of fabric hiding the
hickey beneath and strategized where else he might leave his mark.

Her grip on his hand tightened when they
slid to a stop, and she was already moving before the doors had opened,
practically dragging him out of the elevator and down the hallway to her door.

Not that he was resisting. He had his coat
unbuttoned before she had her key out. They practically fell into her apartment
it when the door finally swung open.

He caught himself before he stepped on
Fang. Barely.

She kicked the door shut and shoved him up
against it. “You are a fucking tease.”

Which seemed unfair, really, but he didn’t
give a shit when her mouth was on his, their tongues tangling as he dragged her
closer, stroking up her bare back.

He tore his mouth away. “Am I going to need
a degree in engineering to get you out of this dress, too?”

She laughed and stepped away, her eyes
locked with his as she slid a hand behind her neck, the other low on her back.
With two deft flicks of her wrists, her dress pooled on the floor around her
ankles.

“Holy shit,” he whispered reverently.

She smiled and bit her lip as he ran his gaze
over her from head to toe and back again, lingering on the tops of her
thigh-high stockings and the corset-bra-thingy that covered her from her hips
to chest, but left her back bare for the dress.

He licked his lips, trying to decide where
to begin.

Movement at their feet distracted him, his
eyes widening when her dress tried to shuffle away.

Michaela giggled and stepped out of her
skirts, heels still on.

Lachlan’s dick made an honest-to-god bid
for freedom through the front of his slacks.

“I’m just going to let Fang out,” she said
casually, toeing the hem of her dress until the little dog could wriggle his
way free. “So we won’t be disturbed later.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving
him to stare at her almost completely bare ass, the strategically placed
strings framing it perfectly and disappearing in the cleft between.

And that. That was just
bold.

He grinned at her blatant challenge and ripped
his coat off, letting it drop to the pile on the floor, then kicked his shoes
and socks to a corner before chasing after her into the kitchen. She stood at
the glass door to what looked like a roof deck, her body limned in the lights
coming in from the city outside. His heart jumped when she turned to look at
him over her shoulder, watching as he pulled off his cufflinks and studs,
scattering them on the kitchen island all at once, like a game of jacks.

Soft tapping sounds cut through the haze of
arousal and they both looked to see Fang bouncing off the glass door in a plea
to get inside. Cold air wafted through the kitchen when she opened the door,
lifting goosebumps across her chest and over her shoulders.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and
pulled her in close. She shivered.

“Cold?”

She kissed him instead of answering. Or
maybe that was her answer.

Michaela felt Lachlan’s smile as their lips
met and their mouths immediately opened to each other. It was messy and hot and
left her wondering, who was this man? She’d just spent the night with the
professor. The man she had gone on countless walks with, and who seemed so unsure,
so confused by some of the most elementary forms of social interaction.

But this man. The one whose broad palm slid
up her back, who pressed her close so that she could feel his erection against
her hip, he was the man she’d seen at the rink the other night. The man who’d
walked her home afterwards and left her panting on the floor of her front hall.

He seemed to have an
excellent
grasp
on these baser forms of communication.