Page 41 of To Steal a Heart

Arden grunted. “I’m not surprised. It’s just like Sylvia to put on a big show.”

He adjusted his bowtie as a streak of mischief fired through his piercing blue eyes. “Do I meet with your approval?”

She traced him up and down, noting how the tux looked like it had been made for him. He would no doubt turn plenty of heads tonight. “You’ll do,” she smirked with a saucy wink. No need to contribute to Crew getting a big head.

“I see how you are.” He encircled her waist and pulled her to him with a forceful movement.

She grunted in surprise, her hands resting on his chest. “What’re you—”doing, she was about to ask, but then he kissed her full on the mouth, his persuasive lips pulsing delicious sensations through her. Then, he ended the kiss just as abruptly as it began. He drew back, a cocky grin twitching at his lips. “Now do I meet with your approval?”

Laughter gurgled in her throat. “You’re such a menace. Is my lipstick smeared?”

“Not in the slightest.” His gaze swept over her. “You’re perfect.”

She batted her eyes, giving him a coquettish smile. “Perfect might be a stretch,” she said in her Scarlett O’Hara voice.

“Perfect for me.”

The sincerity in his tone struck deep into the center of her heart, and she realized that she was getting a glimpse of the real man underneath Crew’s polished exterior. He leaned down and took her lips again. The kiss was thorough and deliberate, as if he were claiming her as his.

He pulled back with a wicked grin and released her waist. “Couldn’t resist.”

She looked around at the couples making their way up to the entrance of the mansion. A few were eyeing them with disapproval. It was sickening how narrow-minded and judgmental the upper echelon of society could be. Everyone was a polished wooden copy of one another. Zero originality.

Crew cleared his throat and turned to the side. Folding his arms over his chest, he touched his chin with the tip of his index finger. His stance was purposefully stiff and awkward, a parody of self-importance. “Miss Chasing,” he said in a pompous tone. “You never answered my question. Do I meet with your approval?”

The corners of her lips twitched. “Yes, you meet with my approval. That and more so.” Her eyes traced the defined lines of his strong jaw. His features had the unique quality of being both rugged and refined. A wisp of blond hair fell over one eye. Whew. He looked good. She needed to fan her face to bring down her body temp a few degrees.

Crew lowered his arms and turned to face her. “Your cheeks are red,” he teased in a sing-song voice.

She swatted his chest. “Stop making a spectacle of us,” she hissed and then touched her hair. “I need to preserve as much dignity as I can here.”

He laughed. “You just needed something to take the edge off.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Be bold, little slugger, show these high falutin’ folks what you’re made of.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“Anytime,” he winked as he offered her his arm. “Shall we?” he asked formally, eyes raining laughter.

She shook her head as a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Okay, hotshot, take it down a notch.” She slipped her arm through his. “We want Grandmother to like you, remember?”

“Oh, she’ll like me,” he bragged with all the confidence in the world.

“We’ll see,” she chimed. If anyone could charm Grandmother, it would be Crew. The operative word wasif. Arden doubted if the devil himself could charm Grandmother.

“Just keeping it real,” he whispered in her ear. A few seconds later, he nodded at the couple walking next to them. “Good evening,” he said cordially. His mannerisms were so effortless that Crew might’ve been a fixture of this high society world of glam and glitz.

The man nodded. “Good evening.”

Crew looked at Arden as if to say,I’ve got this.No need to worry.

They stepped up to a station midway up the walkway where a pencil-thin man with a sallow complexion and receding hair was dressed in a tux. He checked their names off the list. He was flanked by two heavily muscled bodyguards.

“Lots of security for a party,” Crew observed in a low tone. He motioned to two more bodyguards standing on either side of the front entrance.

“Sylvia’s late father was an art collector,” she whispered. “Evidently, he has some rare pieces that are worth the price of a small country. Sylvia lives in paranoia that someone will steal them.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m surprised she’s throwing a party.”

“Yeah, me too. That just goes to show how desperate Sylvia is to get back in the good graces of high society.”