The Girl Who Wasn't (30 page)

“
I won’t have a chance to go
until later tonight,” he says.

I don’t miss that he’s changed “we” to
“I.”

“
Linc, I want to
go.”

He shakes his head, cutting me off.
“I’m not going to remove you from one danger only to introduce you
to another. I’ll go alone first. If there’s anything there, I can
bring you back when it’s safer.”

“
But Anna could be
there—”

“
I’m not bringing you. Not
tonight.”

I scowl and down the drink. Linc is
right about it helping. I am relaxed again after so much tension
building under the impossibly shallow conversations dinner
provided. I know the fashion show will be just as bad—possibly
worse as there is no pretense of helping the less
fortunate.

“
Do we have to stay the
entire time?” I ask.

“
No. But you should at least
make an appearance.”

Our eyes meet and I wish the car were
smaller. That Linc had been forced to sit closer. This backseat is
huge; each of us has an entire bench to ourselves.

As if he’s read my thoughts, Linc leans
forward in the seat across from me and lets his hands dangle.
Slowly, he inches his elbows forward. I do the same until our
fingers brush and then intertwine. I look up and find him staring
at me with the hint of a smile pulling one corner of his mouth.
It’s such a simple, barely there expression but it sends a jolt of
heat through me—a lightning bolt straight to my gut. It is an
excruciating, lovely feeling.

“
What are you thinking?” he
asks.

I hesitate because my answer is
truthful to the point of ruining the moment. “It is amazing how
real I feel when you touch me.”

His expression darkens. “Then I never
want to let go. You should feel real. You’re real to
me.”

I smile but it feels sad on my lips.
“Just because you think I am doesn’t make it true.”

“
Just because you think you
aren’t doesn’t make it true, either.”

I have nothing to say to that. Or
nothing that won’t lead to an argument.

I watch as Linc twirls and twists the
tips of our fingers together. When our eyes meet again, energy
sparks. It’s a humming in my veins not unlike the pipes overhead in
Twig City, a conduit for the overwhelming life force between
us.

Without turning, Linc’s hand finds the
button to darken the window that separates us from the driver. When
our privacy is complete, his lips quirk upward in silent
suggestion. My pulse accelerates. The bubbles in my stomach thrum
wildly, shooting lightning bolts of desire through me.

Before I know it, I’m leaning, closing
the distance. Linc’s hand snakes around my waist, guiding me closer
before lowering me underneath him.

We end up on the floor between the
bench seats. The carpet is rough where it rubs the back of my
shoulders. I don’t care a single bit as I wind my arms around him
and meld my mouth to his.

Our kisses are frenzied, heated and
fast and hard in a way I haven’t experienced yet. His mouth is
insistent, his hands determined to find exposed flesh. I rip the
hem of his shirt free from his beltline and rake my nails lightly
down his torso.

Linc growls and redoubles his efforts
to find his way inside my dress. I squirm underneath him, working
to free us both of the fabric that separates us. He yanks my dress
up so hard I think it might rip. I unknot his tie with quick
movements, pulling it free of his collar and tossing it aside. One
of the buttons pops free from his shirt when I tug too hard against
it. I force myself to be more careful as I unbutton the rest and
slide it away from his arms.

Linc’s hand slips underneath my dress,
caressing the curve of my hip, and goose bumps break out over my
body. He maneuvers my corset top aside and cups my breast, his
fingertip flicking my nipple. I shudder. “Linc,” I whisper around
his mouth.

His hips thrust forward, driving a
hardness into the soft space between my thighs. I find the bulge
with my hands, caressing and stroking it through the fabric that
separates. With closed eyes and panting breath, I imagine what his
shaft would feel like against my palm. I want his pants gone but I
can’t bring myself to do anything that will make his hands leave my
body.

He trails kisses down my neck and
chest. The shifting of his body is a delicious thrill against my
hips and, this time, I meet his thrust with one of my own. When his
mouth finds my exposed nipple, I cry out.

“
Sshh,” he says, but it’s
half-hearted. He seems to enjoy the noise I make. I writhe and
whimper as his mouth captures each breast. His tongue flicks over
my taut skin. Heat builds below my stomach and I yank on his belt
loops with my hands, thrusting and twisting against him.

His hand drops lower, skimming over the
edge of my panties before slipping inside them. His hands brush
over the sensitive edges of my clitoris. I push against him, eager
for more. He slides a finger up and down over my folds. My breath
catches in anticipation. In one swift motion, he captures my breast
with his mouth and slides a finger inside me.

I squirm underneath the magic of his
touch. It’s excruciating, this teetering balance between torture
and satisfaction. My back arches and my head tips back. I squeeze
my eyes shut and bite my lip, barely holding in the soft scream
that threatens to escape.

The hum of the engine vibrates against
my back. The hum of Linc’s touch eclipses it.

He shifts again and pulls his mouth
away. I am disappointed but it doesn’t last. He slides his body
down mine, his bare chest smooth and hard where it drags gently
against my hip, and trails kisses over my thighs. I still and suck
in a breath. He slides his fingers inside me and then out one last
time and pulls my panties aside. His tongue touches me, sliding and
licking and exploring, and I’m carried off in a haze of
bliss.

In an instant, the heat coils and
builds to a raging inferno. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and bite
down on my lip, a sharp cry on the tip of my tongue.

His mouth is relentless as it pushes me
closer to the edge. I can’t hold on much longer.

“
Linc,” I manage as I
finally let out the breath I’ve been holding. Release follows and
my next breath is ragged as I inhale and exhale swiftly. My hips
buck and rise. His hands cup my waist and he rises with me, never
breaking the delicious rhythm of his tongue.

When my legs stop trembling, he lowers
me down and lets go. My breathing is still ragged as he places a
final, lingering kiss at the edge of my panty line.

He shifts and props himself on his
elbow next to me, taking in my dazed expression with curved
lips.

“
I don’t know what to say,”
I tell him when I find my voice.

“
Don’t say anything,” he
says. “Otherwise, I might not stop.”

“
Then don’t.”

He smiles. “We’re almost there. And
while I know the paparazzi would love a shot like this one, it
probably wouldn’t be good for your image.”

I don’t ruffle at his reminder of our
purpose tonight. My contentment is too complete, too thick to be
ruined by reality just yet. I stare up at him, my lids heavy, my
body sluggish. “Does it feel like that for all humans?” I think of
the hardness I felt through his pants before he moved away from me.
“Can I do it to you?” I add shyly.

His eyes darken to something that
reminds me of a swirling ocean storm. “You have no idea the things
you do to me,” he says.

I smile and reach for him but he stops
me and sighs. “Unfortunately, you don’t have time to discover what
those things are. At least, not tonight. We’re nearly there, angel.
We better fix ourselves.”

I scowl and Linc drops a peck on my
cheek in consolation. He helps me adjust my dress and I watch him
re-button his shirt while I smooth my hair into something
presentable.

By the time we arrive at Grundy’s,
we’re upright in our seats, all evidence of our intimate encounter
removed.

Before the car even stops, flashes go
off. The paparazzi are thick here too. Now that it’s dark, the
sight of them reminds me of the night of Melanie’s assault in the
alley, how I passed by all of those flashing cameras barely able to
walk. Seeing them flashing like strobe lights, all trained on me,
makes the bubbles in my stomach swish and swirl. Suddenly, the buzz
caused by the champagne is not so enjoyable. The afterglow of the
last few moments with Linc dissipates as reality sets
in.

This was a bad idea.

Behind the safety of our tinted
windows, Linc slides his fingers free of mine, reaching up to run
them over my cheek in a quickly affectionate gesture that goes a
long way in calming my anxiety.

“
How do I look? Is my dress
in one piece?” I ask. His gaze sweeps me from shoulders to toes,
taking in the slinky fabric that is rouched and printed with jungle
vines to match my tattoos.

“
You look perfect. My
Amazonian angel. And my shirt?”

I inspect the space where a button used
to be but it’s barely noticeable with his jacket positioned just
right. The wrinkles are evident but it’s all we can do. “Just keep
your jacket buttoned,” I say.

“
I wasn’t the one that
unbuttoned it,” he points out. I try to smile but it falls short.
“Are you ready?” he asks quietly.

“
As long as you’re beside
me.”

“
In that case, we’re ready
for anything.”

He climbs out, holding the door open
and extending his hand. I take it, careful to keep my contact light
and strictly business, but still not willing to let go as he leads
me past the buzzing and flashing.

The cameras continue to click as we
make our way inside and I’m not sure if it’s because of who I am or
just who they think I am. The guest list for the show will no doubt
include much more important people than me—even the Authentic
version—and I can’t imagine they’ll waste digital storage space on
me once the high profile players get here. But what do I know?
Everything that should be important in this world isn’t—and
everything that isn’t, is.

“
You’re doing great,” Linc
says when we’re inside the elevator.

I give him a grateful smile. “I’m glad
you’re coming inside with me.”

“
Me too.” He squeezes my
hand. “I enjoy being your plus one.”

I make a face. “Even if it means
answering idiot questions from senators?”

“
Even then.”

“
Be careful, bodyguard.
You’re making this sound an awful lot like a date,” I
warn.

Linc’s expression registers surprise at
my rare attempt at teasing. “Well, damn. Look at you. One vehicular
orgasm and you’re talking trash.”

I smile ruefully as the doors open. We
step through and I’m swept up in the hustle and bustle of the show.
We follow the crowd into a ballroom that has been transformed for
the occasion. Billowing white sheets hang from the walls and move
back and forth like ocean waves. I assume there is some sort of
breeze being manufactured but I can’t find the source.

White garland lights wind around
vertical columns that have been erected in the aisles. To my left
is a long runway raised several feet high with rows of chairs set
around it. The walkway is lit with exposed bulbs on either side,
each one a different shade of blue.

Guests mill about, wandering to and
from their seats and exclaiming over each other’s inspired wardrobe
choices. The bar along the wall is surrounded by people knocking
back drinks and inspecting the rest of us in a serious sort of way.
Men and women in black pants and white button-up shirts dart around
glancing wild-eyed at clipboards and speaking hurriedly into their
two-way earpieces. The overall vibe is harried.

“
It’s crazy in here,” I
say.

Linc makes a grand sweeping gesture
with his hand. “Welcome to the world of fashion.”

“
You sound like you know
what you’re talking about. Come to these often?”

“
More than you
have.”

I poke him in the ribs.

Linc leads us to our seats on the edge
of the stage on the far right. Within moments of sitting, the
lights dim and people scurry to sit. I look over to see the chair
next to me being taken by a woman with bleach-streaked hair and a
dress that looks a lot like cellophane.

“
Well, hello, Raven,
darling,” she says with a smile that is full of sugary
fakeness.

“
Hello.” I return her smile,
hoping she doesn’t expect me to remember her name.

“
It’s me, Floriana
Duganfell? From the charity board? We worked together on last
quarter’s polling dinner for Senator Ryan?”

“
Of course.”

“
It’s nice to see you out
again. I trust you’re feeling better from your recent …
experiences?”

I can tell by her open-ended sentence
she is fishing but I refuse to take the bait. I say only, “Yes,
thank you.”