Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12) Page 6

  He grimaces. “Shit. I’m new at this. I’ll be sure to talk up the cause the rest of the night. They’ll be out there when we leave too, right?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Okay, I’ll fix it. I’ll say the message and shut up. Are you okay about that asshole who yelled at you?”

  “It happens a lot. That’s why I have Joe.” I glance over my shoulder and give him an appreciative smile.

  He remains stone-faced, but jerks his chin at me. Tough guy.

  Garrett glances back at Joe and nods at him before turning back to me. “Must be a lot of guys with little dicks walking around with something to prove.”

  I smile. “That makes me feel better thinking of it that way. You did great out there. I’m just wound a little tight right now. They loved you.”

  “I didn’t mind all the questions and cameras as much as I thought. It was fun playing the part of Harper Ellis’s love interest.”

  I laugh a little. Though I’m surprised a guy like him, with no experience handling the press, actually enjoyed it. “I’m sure it’s easier to play the part than to be that role.”

  “Why? Because you’re so tough?”

  I’m not lovable. I glance up at him, hearing the smile in his voice. “Right.”

  “Too late. Your sweet tooth gave you away when you offered me your chocolate squares hidden in the cabinet. Three bitty squares. You have a mushy center.”

  I shake my head. “I told you I offered you that chocolate to get to know my new guard.”

  He pulls his shoulders back and puffs out his chest. “Yup, all that weight lifting finally pays off.” He grins. “Kidding. It’s been paying off with women for years.”

  “I bet.”

  “You prefer your men scrawny like Colton?”

  I burst out laughing. Colton is lean and works so damn hard to show any muscle definition at all.

  We stop as our guide uses his hotel security card to open the door for us. We step into a glittering ballroom. There’s a large dance floor, multiple white-tableclothed tables for the fundraising dinner, and a raised dais at the front for the honored guests. Nerves race through me, already anticipating standing up there for my speech.

  “Our seats are up front, but we should mingle first,” I say. “There’s more press here covering the event too, but they won’t be nosing into my personal business. These aren’t the gossip hounds.”

  “Great.” He lifts his chin, looking like a classic leading man with that square jaw. “A chance to redeem myself.”

  I need to stop thinking of him in the acting world. He’s a construction worker. A regular guy.

  I go up on tiptoe to whisper, “You’ve already done something wonderful just by showing up here.”

  He dips his head and kisses my cheek, surprising me. “Sweet. I’m gonna call you sweetheart for the rest of the night. You can call me—”

  “Garrett.”

  “Lamb chop.”

  I giggle.

  “What? Lamb is a type of beast, isn’t it?”

  “Somehow I don’t see you as a cuddly little lamb.”

  He drops an arm around my shoulders and tucks me against his side. “I can be cuddly.”

  I can’t help my smile as I meet his eyes. “You’re one of those snugglers in bed, aren’t you?”

  He keeps a straight face. “I prefer the term spooning.”

  Suddenly I want to know what that would feel like to have his large body spooning mine, his strong arm wrapped around my middle, his erection pressing urgently against—

  “So thrilled to see you, Harper,” a feminine voice says.

  I whip my head toward Carol, the executive director of Best Friends Care, my cheeks heating from my wayward thoughts. Garrett eases his arm off my shoulders. I miss it already. “Hi, Carol, good to see you too! I’m happy to be here. This is Garrett Rourke. Garrett, this is Carol Lemke. She’s the mastermind behind this organization.”

  “Oh, you,” she says affectionately, fluffing her red curly hair off her shoulder. “I wouldn’t say mastermind. But you can go ahead and say it if you want.”

  Garrett chuckles. “It’s great what you’re doing. I’m sure you’ve changed a lot of lives for the better.”

  She smiles, taking us both in. “Now that we’re international, we’ve placed nearly half a million shelter dogs.”

  “I didn’t realize these were shelter dogs,” Garrett says. “That’s even more impressive. So you have some kind of training program for the dogs?”

  I listen proudly as Carol shares how they choose the dogs for temperament and how eager they are to do the work. It gives them purpose. It’s a win-win for the dogs and the lucky people who get to have them.

  “Do you ever place puppies?” he asks.

  “We do. Those require a foster family to socialize them until they’re ready to begin training.”

  “I’d love to do that,” he says, and my heart squeezes. That’s exactly what I did back in LA before I started working steadily. “If I were home more, I’d sign up for that. I’m gonna mention it to my parents. They’ve got an empty nest and a lot of love to give.”

  I’m beginning to suspect he has a heart of gold. I really hope that’s the case because I’m all mushy inside.

  Carol beams a smile at him. “Go to our website and tell them to fill out the volunteer form. Oh, here, I have a card.” She pulls one from her purse. “Give this to your parents. Tell everyone you know. The city shelters are too full as it is.” She smiles at him some more. He seems to have that effect on people. “So nice to meet you, Garrett.” She turns to me and whispers in a conspiratorial tone, “I like this one.”

  “Me too,” I whisper back.

  She smiles, her eyes dancing merrily as she waves farewell, off to mingle with someone else.

  Garrett’s arm drops over my shoulders, and he kisses my temple. “Sweetheart.”

  A laugh bubbles up. “Lamb chop.”

  “You said you were gonna be so tense tonight because of your speech, but you seem happy.”

  It’s you. “I’m in denial.”

  “Ah. Acting skills pay off.”

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the board of directors and everyone else I know.”

  “Sounds like I passed the Harper Ellis test. You didn’t even prep me.”

  “You’re a natural.”

  And he is. I can’t even believe how well he’s working the room—smooth, sincere, enthusiastic about the cause. And with me? He’s warm and affectionate. I may have brought the perfect date. A trickle of unease goes through me. No one is as perfect as he seems. There’s got to be a catch somewhere. I need to be careful he doesn’t take more from me than I want to give.

  I won’t be betrayed again.

  6

  Harper

  We’re sitting at the head table now, and they served us our dinner first. I can barely eat, knowing I’ll be called up to the podium for my speech soon. I force down some rice, my movements jerky, every muscle tense. Garrett hasn’t noticed my quiet meltdown as he eats his meal with gusto. I wish there were a magic button I could push to fast-forward to after my speech. Nothing could quiet my nerves now, not even the gorgeous man at my side. I can only pray I don’t hyperventilate halfway through my speech.

  Please, God, let me be coherent for the cause.

  A large hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump. Garrett speaks under his breath. “Hey, just your three-week boyfriend here touching you like normal.”

  “Sorry. It’s almost time for me—” my voice chokes on my own spit and I cough “—speaking.” I grab my glass of water and guzzle it.

  He gestures toward the death grip I have on the index cards in my lap. “Lemme see the speech.”

  I open my hand, revealing several crumpled index cards. “I should review them.” I smooth them out as best I can with trembling hands and flip through them, barely comprehending the words.

  “Maybe you should’ve had a glass of wine. Or two.”

&nb
sp; I exhale sharply. “It’s ridiculous that I still get stage fright. But it’s me, not tough Amanda up there, you know?” I push my plate back and set the index cards on the table, staring at them. There’s several crossed-out words and arrows pointing to new sentences. I should’ve started a new set of cards so there wouldn’t be any confusion.

  Who am I kidding? I could have the most perfect speech in the world, and no one would hear it over my reflexive coughing, stops and starts, and occasional squeaky voice. Why is this so hard? I make a living speaking in front of the camera. But that’s all pretend. This is the real me—an awkward bundle of nerves.

  “Should I get you some wine?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ll be a drunken shit show up there if I have even one glass. I’m really careful to eat healthy and only have a glass of red wine once a week with steak. You know, for health reasons.”

  “What would help?”

  “Someone else doing this?” My voice hits a high note.

  He takes my hand in his larger one and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Sweetheart, this is a cause you believe in. All you have to do is tell them why. Then every single one of the potential donors sitting here tonight will open their hearts and their wallets.”

  I glance at the sea of faces out there waiting to hear my speech. The sophisticated, wealthy elite in their finest formal wear. I’m supposed to motivate them to the cause. Carol should be doing this speech! She’s the one who did all the hard behind-the-scenes work. I suck in air, my breath coming in short pants.

  A giant screen unfolds behind us. They’re going to project my image up there so everyone can see me up close, a quivering leaf.

  I grab my cards and force myself to read slowly enough to comprehend.

  “Is that big screen there so they can see you, or is there a film or something?” Garrett asks.

  I don’t look up from the cards. “Just me.”

  “Be right back.”

  My eyes widen. He’s leaving me alone here? I didn’t realize how much his quiet presence was holding the panic at bay. I break out in a cold sweat. “Where’re you going?”

  “I’m just gonna ask Carol a question. I’ll be right back, promise.”

  I nod like a bobblehead doll. Right back. He’ll be right back. “Okay.”

  Back to my cards. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead, and I brush it away before it can land on my cards and blur the ink.

  I hear the mike at the podium being adjusted. Carol’s up there. I swallow hard. It’s time.

  Oh, Garrett’s back, sitting next to me. He looks so calm. I stare at him, trying to soak in that calm. He smiles, but I can’t manage to smile back. My lips feel numb.

  Carol speaks with great confidence and enthusiasm. “Harper Ellis is our celebrity ambassador and so much more. She’s been with us since we were a single office in LA when she was a teen. She gave generously from the start. As her career gained momentum, so has her generosity. Tonight we honor her with our lifetime supporter award for her part in helping our organization grow. We’re now global and reaching so many people in need of loving companionship and assistive living skills.”

  She gestures for me to come up. Polite applause breaks out. I stand abruptly and stride on stiff legs to the podium.

  Carol aims a small remote at her laptop, glances over my shoulder, and returns to her seat. The audience awws in unison, staring at the large screen behind me.

  I glance over, my lips parting in surprise. There’s a picture of a pack of golden retriever puppies. My heart rate slows to a normal beat, taking in those adorable dogs. That’s what’s at the heart of this important cause. Puppies just like them will be loved in their foster homes, trained for important work, and provide years of unconditional love to people who need them. One day I hope to have a golden retriever of my own.

  My hand goes to my heart as understanding dawns. I beam a smile at Garrett. It was him! I told him earlier that I wanted a golden retriever. That’s why he left to see Carol. He asked her to put that picture up there, knowing it would put me at ease and draw the audience’s attention to the puppies instead of me.

  He smiles back, and it’s like a warm hug wrapping around me.

  Thank you, I mouth silently.

  He nods once and gestures for me to continue. I take a deep breath before turning back to the audience. I hold up my index cards. “I don’t need these. I’m just going to speak from the heart and tell you why I love Best Friends Care, and hopefully you’ll see why you should too.”

  And I do. My heart’s in my throat as I share about my uncle, and then I return my gaze to the puppies for a calming moment before describing all the admiration I feel for what Best Friends Care has accomplished in the twelve years I’ve been involved with them. My voice chokes and cracks a few times, but it doesn’t matter. I said everything I wanted to say, concluding with, “Please give from the heart for this important cause that can turn a person’s and a shelter dog’s life around.”

  The crowd erupts in thunderous applause. It’s not for me, it’s all for Carol’s hard work and dedication. I smile and gesture toward her as she approaches the podium. “All credit for this great organization goes to Carol Lemke.”

  She joins me, saying into the microphone, “Thank you, Harper. As you’ve just heard, Best Friends Care does good in the world, and we’re hoping you’ll support us. There’s a device on your table to donate, and we’ll see the numbers tally up here.” She points to the screen that now says zero and then flips suddenly to ten thousand dollars. “Oh, thank you!” She looks out to the crowd. “Thanks for getting us started.”

  Awesome! I gesture for everyone to keep going. People start pulling out credit cards at every table. I check the screen as a cheer goes up. Whoa. It’s already at a quarter million.

  I did it!

  With a little help from the pups and one very intuitive man.

  Garrett

  Harper drops into her seat next to me, flushed pink, her eyes bright. She’s been working for this cause since she was sixteen. That’s impressive commitment. She’s impressive, the kind of woman I’ve been looking for—sweet, generous, hardworking. I’m so damn proud of her.

  She grabs her water and finishes it in one long swallow.

  I lean close. “You did great.”

  She beams and surprises me with a quick hug. “It wasn’t quite the TED talk I hoped to perform, but the puppy pic really helped me relax. Thanks for thinking of that.”

  “Happy to help the cause.”

  We smile at each other for a dizzying moment before another cheer goes up. I glance back at the screen, where donations are piling up. These people are loaded.

  After the fundraising part of the night finishes—hitting a jaw-dropping two million—a band starts playing, and everyone flocks to the dance floor for a slow dance.

  “Come on,” I say, taking her hand and drawing her out of her seat.

  Her gaze holds mine for a charged moment. “Are you asking me to dance, lamb chop?”

  I grin. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

  I guide her onto the dance floor, settling my hand on the small of her back, enjoying the feel of her bare skin heating under my palm. Once we’re there, I take her hand in mine and lead in a waltz.

  “Did they teach you to dance like this at the royal palace?” she asks.

  “An ex. All those music festivals are usually full of women who love to dance. One of them asked me to go to ballroom dance lessons with her.”

  “How long did you do that?”

  “Eight weeks. The instructor said I’m a natural.” I dip her over my arm and slowly bring her back up. “I’ve got rhythm.”

  Her eyes are huge, her lips parted. “I feel like I’m in a musical.”

  I laugh. “Good. They’re usually happy shows, right? All that singing and dancing.”

  “Usually. Have you seen a lot of Broadway shows?”

  “No, just one. My friend’s parents brought me along to see The Lion K
ing when I was a kid. It was amazing.”

  She beams. “I love that show too. I saw it as an adult.”

  “Excuse me,” a guy says. “Can I get your picture for the society pages?” He’s holding a camera.

  I check in with Harper. She looks surprised too.

  “I thought there was only press here to cover the event as a news story, not the society pages,” Harper says.

  “Yes, but I told my editor we have a royal here, and she wants a picture of him for the society page. I’m with the New York Times.” He turns to me. “Do you mind?”

  The New York Times! Me? I’m not a big-deal royal.

  “You know I’m not in any danger of taking the throne, right?” I ask the guy. “I’m way down the line.”

  He smooths my lapel. “You look princely in that tux, and it’s the first time anyone’s seen you at a major event. The bachelor prince and the beautiful actress. Our readers will die for it.”

  I check in with Harper. She thinks it over for a moment and finally agrees.

  The photographer waves us on. “Just go back to dancing like you were, smiling at each other, flirting. It’s perfect.”

  We resume dancing. Harper smiles the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

  I lean down to her ear. “Harp, can I call you Harp? You look like you just watched someone else get your Oscar.”

  “I do not,” she says hotly. “Besides, I’ve never been nominated for one.”

  I straighten. “I give you the most constipated award.”

  She giggles. “You’re terrible at flirting.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m not even trying.”

  She softens at the sweetheart, her hazel eyes locked on mine. Every nerve ending goes on alert, the chemistry arcing powerfully between us. Raw lust rushes through me.

  “Perfect!” the photographer says, snapping picture after picture. After he’s satisfied with the results, he thanks us and takes off.

  Another slow dance begins, so I pull her closer and continue dancing.

  She sighs and then seems to remember herself and puts some space between us. “You’re such a good dancer I’m afraid I got a little too close.”