“FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK.” Devin paced self-consciously in front of Lincoln Center’s iconic plaza fountain, watching the rich and famous make their way toward the Koch Theater, where the ballet performed. She tightened her grip on the faded pashmina she’d covered her shoulders with despite the sweltering late August heat. Even with her tattoos hidden and three of the four piercings in her ear removed, she felt the stares of the passersby.
You can take the girl out of the Heights, but you can’t take the Heights out of the girl.
She stopped pacing and checked to make sure her ink was totally concealed, adjusting the long shawl so it draped behind her, hiding the top of the sugar skull just visible above the low back of her dress. This was a big, fat, freaking mistake. She belonged at a society event as much as a nun belonged in a biker bar.
She was about ten seconds from bolting when a deep, smoky voice came from behind her. “Juliet.”
She turned and found Gabe, looking hotter than hot in a well-fitting, single-breasted black tuxedo, crisp white shirt and black bow tie, a red rose extended in one hand. “Romeo, I presume?”
“At your service.” He bowed low and handed her the flower.
“Thank you.” She brought it to her nose and inhaled, her eyes on the patrons as they streamed into the theater. Too late to back out now. “I guess we’d better get inside.”
He took in her wrap. “It’s almost ninety degrees. What’s with the granny garb?”
“I, uh, thought it might be cold in the theater.” She clutched it closer to her.
He scanned the crowd. “No one else seems concerned. Besides, you’ll never make Page Six in that thing.”
Devin groaned. He was right. Most of the women flooding past were showing some skin. Only there was a big difference between their unblemished flesh and hers.
“Unless there’s some other reason you’re clinging to it like it’s a life preserver and you’re a passenger on the Titanic.” He put his hands on her upper arms and drew the shawl down to her wrists. “Like you don’t want anyone to see your tattoos.”
Damn him. How did he do that?
“I don’t... I’m not...”
He reached up and fingered her earlobe. “Then why did you take out your piercings?”
“I figured you’d want me to look like everyone else.” Or as alike as she could get.
He took the wrap from her unprotesting fingers, balled it up in his fist and stood back to admire her. “Much better. You look beautiful. More than beautiful. Flawless.”
“But everyone else here is...”
“Not you.” He touched her hair, so lightly she barely felt it, like the gentlest summer breeze. She’d left it hanging loose, a decision she was beginning to regret, surrounded by fancy up-dos in all shapes and sizes. “I invited you. I want to be here with you. Not some sanitized version of who you think you should be.”
“You realize these are your constituents, right?” She waved an arm at the crowd on the plaza. “The people who are going to be voting for you. Or against you, if you give them a reason to. Like your grencha girlfriend.”
She stumbled on the last word, but he didn’t seem to notice. A smile crept across his face. “I like the sound of ‘girlfriend.’ But what’s grencha mean?”
“Cheap. Trashy.” She stuck a hand on her hip and struck the classic hooker pose, almost as if to prove her point. “What most people assume when they see my ink.”
“If they’re shallow enough to believe that, I don’t want their vote.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
The knot in her stomach loosened. If Gabe wanted her to do this—believed she could do this—then damn it, she would. She nodded, taking his elbow, and he handed back her pashmina before steering her into the swarm of people heading to the theater. She promptly tossed the bargain-basement scarf into a nearby garbage can on their way.
Inside, they barely had time to greet Gabe’s family—minus Ivy, who was in Brazil shooting the centerfold for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue—and sit down before the lights dimmed and the curtain went up.
“What do you think?” he whispered in her ear about ten minutes into the performance, reaching over the armrest to take her hand.
“You sister is wonderful.” She linked her fingers with his and squeezed. “They’re all wonderful.”
“You can tell them so yourself at the after-party.”
Tension started to build again inside her, twisting her gut with anxiety. “Right. The after-party.”
Which she’d been trying not to think about. She’d actually have to make polite conversation with the folks who’d been giving her the evil eye, her tattoos on full display in glorious Technicolor. People would point and whisper about her behind her back. Or, even worse, to her face.
Tramp.
Slut.
Whore.
Suddenly she understood how Gabe had felt at the rave. Out of his element. Insecure. It wasn’t a feeling she liked, or one she wanted to get used to.
“Can’t wait.” She gave him a forced smile and turned her attention back to the swans and princes pirouetting and jeté-ing across the stage. As magical as it was, she couldn’t shake the sense that this night was a disaster waiting to happen.
“What’s wrong?” Gabe asked at intermission, plucking two champagne glasses from a passing waiter’s tray and handing one to her. “You look like you swallowed a lemon.”
“Nothing.” She took a slow, fortifying sip of the bubbly liquid. “Just tired, I guess.”
A middle-aged woman in a silver sequined gown waved to Gabe from across the room. He nodded in acknowledgment and Devin crossed her fingers behind her back, willing her not to approach them. She breathed a relieved sigh when the woman was waylaid by someone who looked a lot like Sarah Jessica Parker.
Gabe snaked his free arm around her waist. Heat radiated from his hand on the bare skin of her lower back. “If it’s the after-party you’re worried about, don’t be.”
Who was this guy? The Long Island Medium?
“I meant what I said outside,” he continued, guiding her into a remote corner of the lobby where they could talk as privately as possible with hundreds of people milling around. “I don’t want you to be anything but who you are. And if these people can’t accept that, that’s their problem.”
“But the election...”
“We’re a package deal, sweetheart. I’m not running my life around a campaign.” For a second, a sort of far-away look crossed his face, like his mind had gone somewhere else. Then he shook his head and his eyes cleared. When he spoke, his tone was determined and the hand on her back pulled her closer to him. “Not anymore.”
Devin was saved from trying to form a response by Holly, who ran up to squeal over Devin’s gown with Nick in tow. The four spent the rest of the break together until the lights flickered and they returned to their seats.
The second act was shorter than the first, and before she knew it Devin was walking the red carpet to the gala on Gabe’s arm, stopping and smiling as flashbulbs popped in their faces.
“Having fun?” he murmured between flashes.
“It’s a little blinding,” she admitted, blinking. “But definitely a once in a lifetime experience.”
“Not if I get elected.”
Another thought she’d tried to ignore. Odds were she wouldn’t have to deal with it. The chances of them still being together then were about the same as a snowball stood in hell.
But what if...
“Gabe. Devin. Over here.”
Devin turned to see a tall, lanky man in jeans and a white button-down smiling at them, an expensive-looking camera in one hand.
“This one’s for Page Six,” he said with a wink, lifting the camera to his face.
“Thanks, Tom. My buddy at the Post,” Gabe whispered in her ear as they posed. “This is our money shot. Show him your good side.”
“All my sides are good,” she quipped.
He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a sexy growl. “Can’t argue with you there. I like everything I’ve seen so far.”
“Great job, guys.” Tom strode over to them, his camera at his side. “I’ve got what I need. It’ll be in tomorrow’s edition.”
“Thanks again, man.” Gabe shook his hand. “I owe you one.”
“Anything for a fair maiden.” Tom winked again and pulled out a business card from his shirt pocket. “Here. Email me. I’ll send you copies of all your pics for the auction.”
She took the card. “Thanks.”
“Watch out for this guy,” he called, gesturing to Gabe as he blended back into the throng of paparazzi. “He may look harmless, but he’s a regular lady-killer.”
Don’t I know it, she thought, letting Gabe lead her down the red carpet and into the party. He’d just about slayed her.
* * *
“DEVIN SEEMS TO be enjoying herself.” Nick sidled up to Gabe at the bar.
Gabe didn’t have to look to know Nick was right. He’d been at Devin’s side most of the evening. She was radiant. A rare, exotic creature in a sea of conformity.
He turned and found her in the center of the room with Holly and the mayor’s wife. Her initial unease seemed to have deserted her and she was talking animatedly.
“She sure does,” Gabe agreed, his heart overflowing with pride.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew she was nervous about mingling with the high and mighty. Thought they would judge her on her appearance, and she wasn’t altogether wrong. She’d endured her share of stares and whispers from the upper crust, but just as many people had come up and introduced themselves, curious to find out who she was and what she was doing there. Many had stayed to chat, as captivated by her as he was.
Gabe nodded to Nick’s empty glass. “Need a refill? I’m buying.”
“It’s open bar.”
“I know.”
“Great. I’ll get the next round.” Nick handed his glass to the bartender. “Vodka tonic. And a club soda.”
“I thought you were more of a Scotch drinker.” Gabe had bought him a bottle of eighteen-year-old Glenmorangie for his bachelor party.
“I am.” Nick stuck a bill in the tip container. “But only the good stuff. Which I doubt they have on hand tonight, no matter how high-class this shindig is.”
“How’s my sister holding up?” Gabe sipped his Manhattan.
Nick’s eyes settled on his wife, who stood with one hand on her stomach and the other on her lower back. A crease wrinkled his forehead. “She’s exhausted. No big surprise for a woman who’s almost five months pregnant. I offered to take her home, but she insists on staying until Noelle makes her grand entrance.”
Gabe checked his watch. “Hopefully the prima donna will be out in a few minutes so you guys can say your congratulations and split.”
“She needs to take care of herself. After everything she went through last time...”
Nick trailed off and Gabe saw the worry painted all over his face. Holly had struck gold with this guy. Nick was nothing like her scumbag ex, who had beaten her so badly she’d lost their baby. He loved her and would do anything to make sure she and the child she carried stayed healthy and safe.
Gabe’s gaze shifted to Devin. He felt himself smile as he pictured her heavy with his child, her tattooed belly swollen, her skin and eyes aglow with impending motherhood.
He was all in with this woman. Like a house-in-the-burbs-with-a-two-car-garage-and-enough-kids-to-field-their-own-basketball-team in. Now if he could just find a way to get her on board...
“Uh, oh.” Nick chuckled.
Gabe blinked and faced his brother-in-law. “What?’”
“I’d know that look anywhere. The glazed eyes. The slack jaw. The general aura of lovesickness.” Nick clapped Gabe on the shoulder. “You’re a goner, my friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had another wedding in the family before the year’s out.”
“Who’s getting married?”
Damn. It was like his mother had a sixth sense or something. Any time someone discussed marriage she popped up like a prairie dog. Especially if it involved one of her children. With Holly paired off, successfully this time, she now had her sights set on Gabe.
“No one, Mom.” Gabe kissed her cheek.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Nick grabbed his drinks from the bar. “Excuse me. My lady awaits.”
“So much for the bro code,” Gabe muttered to his back.
“You and Devin are serious, then?” A good foot shorter than him, his mother’s piercing stare had a way of worming the truth out of him. Hell, he’d learned his best cross-examination moves from her. His law school professors and JAG instructors couldn’t even come close.
“Well, I am,” he admitted. “She’s...”
“Wounded,” his mother finished, putting a hand on his forearm. “Tread gently with her, Gabriel. Be patient. She’ll come around in time.”
“It took me almost two years to woo your mother, here.” Gabe’s father came up beside his wife and put an arm around her shoulders. “Worth every minute.”
Great. What was this, a referendum on his love life?
His father bent to place a soft kiss on his wife’s forehead and she giggled, something that should have seemed ridiculous for a fifty-five-year-old woman but didn’t. Gabe’s momentary irritation faded as quickly as it had begun. He wanted what his parents had, and if it took him two years—or more—to convince Devin... Well, like his father said, it would be worth every minute.
“Thanks, Pop. I’ll keep that in mind.” A buzz started at the other end of the room. “Look, there’s Noelle. Why don’t you go see her? I’ll find Devin and join you in a few minutes.”
The rest of the party passed in a blur. It was almost two hours before he got Devin alone, in a quiet corner at the back of the room. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, much like his father had done to his mother earlier. “Ready to go?”
“This whole night is like a fairy tale.” She spun in a circle, arms extended, making the bottom of her gown flare out around her ankles. “I don’t want it to end.”
Her twirling morphed into a wobble, and he reached out to steady her. “The clock’s about to strike twelve. And I think this Cinderella’s had a little too much to drink.”
“Maybe a teensy-weensy bit.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, so close they were almost touching.
“Come on, princess.” He took her hand, kissed it and tucked it into his arm. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home?” She pouted up at him. “I don’t wanna go home.”
He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “My home.”
“Oh.” She brightened. “Well, that’s different. I like it there. Your bed’s a lot bigger than mine. And softer.”
“It certainly is.” He pressed his lips together, fighting hard not to laugh. She was damned cute when she was tipsy, if a woman with a spider web peeking out from behind one ear and a skull on her back could be considered cute. And damned horny, too, he thought as she rubbed up against him like a cat in heat.
“You know what else I like?” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he breathed in her almond shampoo, mixed with a hint of the Chanel No. 5 she favored. “I like you.”
“I like you, too.” Wrong L word, but he’d take what he could get. “Now how about we get out of here before our cab turns into a pumpkin and you lose one of those sexy shoes?”