The Couple who Fooled the World

“Yes?”

“Uh…what’s the charity?” He had a feeling that wasn’t the question she’d intended to ask.

“For homeless youths.”

“Great. I’ll bring my checkbook.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARITY EVENTS WERE the scourge of Ferro’s existence. A shiny, gorgeous hotel ballroom, filled with internally ugly people who possessed an unnatural amount of self-importance. People who manipulated and used the less fortunate for their own pleasure during the day, but showed up to things like this to show their altruism to the press.

He could well remember the first time he’d been in a room like this. Hating who he was with. Hating that he had to smile and fawn and do whatever it was he’d been paid to do. No matter whether he wanted it. No. The tabloids, the author of his bio, they really had no idea of the depths he’d been to.

He looked at Julia, who was holding on to his arm like it was a live eel, the smile on her face anything but easy, and he wondered if he had become no better.

No. This benefitted Julia, too. It was an exchange.

Like sex for money? Hell, no. This wasn’t the same.

Why was he even thinking about it? He rarely did. But it happened more since Julia and he had struck their unholy alliance. No one knew the truth. They believed, of course, that he’d slept his way to the top. He’d been spotted with some very wealthy older women in his younger years. But they didn’t know the truth.

The rumors clung to him, disgusted him. Because of the ring of truth to them. But he would walk the same path a thousand times to end up where he was today. He just went on, proving his right to be in his position with his continued success.

Regret was for the weak. And he wasn’t wasting any time on it tonight. Or ever. He was shutting it off. The way he’d shut off the feelings of bone deep hunger and cold he’d experienced as a child on the street. The way he’d shut down the shame and pain when he’d been lifted up from that gutter where he’d been and brought into a glittering, hideous world that had asked for his soul in exchange for food and a warm bed. In exchange for eventual success.

The way he shut desire down now, to avoid ever thinking about that time in his life.

Tonight, for this, he would shut off what little conscience he had left, and go forward. Because it was the best thing to do. Because the end always justified the means. Always. And because he was no longer the boy he’d once been. He was the man with the power. And that meant he would win in the end.

As they moved through the room, a wave of whispers followed. Everyone was watching them. Everyone was interested.

“Try to relax,” he said to Julia.

“I am relaxed.”

“Which leads me to the conclusion that you genuinely don’t know how to relax. You’re tense. You’re practically shivering.”

She looked down at her hands. “I have a lot of energy.”

“Is that so? Then perhaps we should put it to good use.” He shifted his hold on her and laced their fingers together, drawing her out toward the high gloss dance floor.

“Why?” she asked, her tone petulant.

“Why what?”

“Why the dancing?” She looked genuinely worried now, all that tough-chick bravado gone.

“Because the headline will be sensational.” He drew her up against his body and felt her frame tremble beneath his touch. It wasn’t attraction. He was well familiar with women being attracted to him. She looked…scared. “I’m not going to bite you,” he said.

“I know.” She looked around. “But I’m going to look stupid.”

“Follow my lead.”

He began to step in time with the music, guiding Julia’s movements. She clung to his shoulder, her nails digging into him through the fabric of his jacket. He was familiar with that, with long nails pressed into his skin, a memory from his past. But this, again, was different.

She stumbled, the heel of her shoe harsh on his toe, even with his custom leather shoes to cushion the blow. Her face turned pink. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He kept on moving, and she stumbled again, the color in her cheeks deepening.

“This isn’t really my thing,” she said, looking over his shoulder, at the people behind them. “People are staring.”

“Most of them probably like our Facebook page. We’re infamous now, not just famous.”

“Weren’t you already?”

He smiled. “Yes. Welcome to the dark side.”

“I’m not sure I like that I’ve joined you here.”

“So, you’ve always kept your conscience clean before your association with me?”

She looked down. “Of course.”

“Do I make you feel dirty, Julia?”

She lifted her head, her eyes round, face pink. He’d succeeded in shocking. In putting her off balance. He didn’t know why he needed to do it. To prove that he was still in control? Maybe. The control felt tenuous with her in his arms, her skin soft beneath the palm of his hand.

But this was just a game. Like every other sexual game he’d ever played. He had a part to play. It had nothing to do with him, with what he wanted. It didn’t even matter what she wanted. It mattered what the press wanted to see.

And they wanted a show. A show he was going to make sure they got.

“Every association I’ve ever had with you has made me feel like I had a little dirt on my hands now that you mention it.”

“I’d ask you how it feels to sell your soul for money. But I already know.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. She looked so…sweet. Not in personality, but like her flavor would be that of a fine dessert. He wondered.

Hell, he didn’t have to wonder. It was time to put on the show. Not because he was wondering about her lips, but because he couldn’t have her standing there, staring at him with a guppylike expression on her face.

He stopped, then put his hand on her cheek. Her skin was soft. Warm. Then he leaned in, and she stiffened, just a bit, beneath his touch. “Come with me to the terrace. It’s much more private.” He moved his hand up and down her back in a smooth, lingering caress before releasing her from his hold and taking them both off the dance floor, across the room and out the doors that led to the secluded balcony that overlooked the ocean.

“What are you doing?” she snapped when they were outside.

“I’m sparing you the dancing embarrassment, and giving the public what they want. What’s better than being seen on the dance floor? Being seen sneaking off of it for a little privacy.” He looked back in the ballroom and noticed that their movements had been followed by a woman who was now watching them far too closely to be mistaken for a casual observer. “We already have the attention of the paparazzi. And, if I’m not mistaken, a woman taking pictures with a OnePhone.”

“Ten points to me.”

He took a step toward her and she retreated, her back butting against the stucco wall of the hotel. “Kiss me,” he said.