Page 209 of Playing With Fire

No expiration date.

Just a man in a tuxedo holding me while a beautiful song plays.

When the music begins to fade, I don't move. Neither does he.

“Another one?” he murmurs.

I tilt my head back.

“Thought you hated dancing.”

“Never said that.”

“You definitely implied it.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

I smile. “Just a couple more minutes?”

His fingers press gently against my back. “Take as many as you want.”

An hour later, I've learned three things.

One, the Phoenix Foundation raises an absolutely ridiculous amount of money.

Two, champagne tastes much better when somebody else is paying for it.

And three, Rory Kincaide might actually be capable of smiling.

I'm standing beside Bishop and Mercer when I notice it.

Across the room, Rory is talking to a woman in a shimmery dress. She says something I can't hear, and his mouth curves into an unmistakable smile.

“Was that a smile?” Bishop asks.

Mercer turns. “Holy shit. I think I saw teeth.”

I glance between them.

“Does he not usually smile?”

“Kincaide?” Bishop says. “I'm not entirely convinced he has emotions.”

“That's terrible.”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Absolutely not.”

Mercer laughs. “Smart girl.”

A few minutes later, I excuse myself to find the restroom.

Which turns out to be an adventure in itself.

The arena's usual corridors are transformed with black draping and soft lighting, and I nearly take a wrong turn before a staff member directs me to the restrooms near the private event suites.

Inside, the counters are lined with little baskets of complimentary toiletries. Of course they are. Even the bathrooms are fancy.