Hero(63)
Author: Samantha Young

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.

His reputation would remain intact.

This was the first event I’d be attending as his “date,” and we both had discussed how people would speculate. We had no intention of announcing that I was his actual date, especially with there being media people at the event, but I was sure to draw curiosity being on Caine’s arm. I’d asked that we not confirm our relationship until I had a chance to hash everything out with my grandfather. In fact, I hadn’t wanted to attend the event at all, but Caine was growing increasingly frustrated by the secrecy surrounding us. It made him feel like we were doing something to be ashamed of. So I’d agreed to go with him under the stipulation that I was there as his PA until I’d had a chance to confront my grandfather and then warn him there was a possibility of his family finding out about me. Caine hadn’t been happy about the compromise, but he did agree to it.

Now I had to wonder at the reason for his broodiness. He’d been so insistent about me going to the event with him. Now he was acting like he’d rather I didn’t attend.

“Hmm.” Effie shoved her iPhone back into the pocket of her kimono. “Someone’s in a mood tonight.”

I grimaced. “Yay for me.”

She laughed. “It’ll be fine. Just promise him a good time when you get back from the party and it’ll cheer him right up.”

“Ugh, Effie, he’s like your grandkid.”

“He’s a man. A man’s a man.”

I shook my head at her open-minded attitude, and wondered how she’d ever survived the fifties as a teenager.

“Let’s go,” Caine called from the hallway.

Effie and I walked out of the penthouse after him and he gave Effie a kiss on the cheek. “Night, Effie.”

“Night, sweetheart.” She patted him affectionately on the cheek. “Enjoy yourself, handsome. If you don’t when you’ve got the most gorgeous woman in the room on your arm, then there’s something wrong with you.”

He gave her a small, almost tired smile and nodded in her direction.

I hugged her and we walked her down the hall to her penthouse. As we stepped into the elevator, she gave me a knowing wink from her doorway. I grinned but immediately sobered at the imperious, questioning look Caine shot me. The elevator doors closed.

“What was the wink about?” he said.

“Oh, Effie thought I would improve your mood by assuring you that there was something to look forward to when we got back from the party.”

He groaned. “Sex advice from Effie. That’s just wrong.”

“That’s what I said.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “But I’m also one step ahead of her, so I didn’t need the advice.”

Caine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I gave him a slow, wicked smile. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

The elevator doors opened before he could wipe the surprise off his face and I chuckled in triumph as I walked past him and out into the garage where a driver was waiting for us.

“I could kill you.”

I smiled smugly. “You have two minutes to think of anything but me.”

Caine cut me a smoldering look. “Difficult to do when you’re sitting next to me not wearing any underwear.”

We were in the car and we were only minutes from the Delaneys’ house. Taking pity on him, I tried to help. “Hummus. Rom coms. That tsking sound that Linda makes all the time—”

“That’s not how it works. You’re supposed to make me think of things that don’t turn me on, not things that I generally don’t like.”

“Yeesh. You are moody tonight.” I sighed. “Fine. Henry and Effie making sweet, sweet love.”

Caine’s features were frozen as the car pulled to a stop. “That was just mean.”

“But it worked, right?”