Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

L ocated on the twenty-first floor of the historic Sir Francis Drake Hotel, the Lizzie Starlight ballroom had floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree panoramic view of San Francisco. Regie felt as if floating on clouds. She couldn't wait until darkness fell so she could see the city aglow in all its lights below.

The ballroom used to be called The Starlight Room, but after a recent renovation, "Lizzie" had been added, a nod to the supposed amorous relationship between Francis Drake and Queen Elizabeth. As much as Regie would love to have a house with a garden outside the city, she truly loved San Francisco with all of its charm and quirks.

Her grandfather squeezed her hand that she'd placed on his arm. "Nervous?" he asked as he led her across the room and to their table.

Regie nodded. "It's not every day a girl gets to announce her fake fiancé." She looked around the space, checking out the flower arrangements and the splendid table settings.

She did not scan the room for Bolt. Who was she kidding? She totally did.

Would that weird zing they had when they touched still be there? Or did that happen whenever a person touched a wolf shifter? She hadn't dared to ask Laney and Nora earlier. It felt too personal. Or maybe she didn't want to know the answer to the question.

Her heart pounded, and her throat felt dry. Had Laney told him about Regie's abilities? She still didn't know how she felt about the other woman's explanations about how magic worked. What would it be like to see him again? Awkward?

"It will be okay." Her grandfather unwittingly answered her question, bringing her focus back to the present. He stopped their progress toward the table. "Regina, whatever happens, you know that I care about you, right?"

She frowned. What an odd thing to say. "Of course. What do you think will happen?" She searched his face for clues. Did he look pale, or did the black tuxedo and the white dress shirt he wore cause the effect? "Is everything okay? Are you sick again?"

He shook his head and then smiled his regular smile. "No, I'm sorry for worrying you. I guess this old man is just feeling sentimental. I know it's a fake engagement that you're announcing this evening, but on some level, I wish your mother could be here to see it."

Tears welled up in Regie's eyes. He so rarely wanted to talk about her mother. She had so many questions, but Grandfather always just waved them away, saying he found it too painful to talk about his daughter.

Regie's memories of her parents were those of an eight-year-old, and she'd like to know more about them now, as an adult. There were pictures, but they couldn't replace knowing details like how they'd met or what their favorite colors were. Of course, her grandfather would never speak of her father. He considered him an interloper who had taken his daughter away from him and squandered the family's fortune.

"I wish she were here too," Regie said, blinking away the tears. She'd already noticed the many flashes of cameras taking pictures of her. She wanted to avoid a front-page image of her bawling her eyes out.

Grandfather patted her hand, and they continued to the table they'd sponsored for the evening.More camera flashes went off. One photographer actually crouched right in front of them, and they had to stop in their tracks until he'd finished.

Regie made a mental note to thank Payel for insisting on full primping and a new dress for this event .

Under the lights in the ballroom, the material of the crisscross lavender dress became a waterfall of colors, from dawn gray to purple, making it even more dramatic. Regie made a mental note to send Payel and the designer flowers to thank them both for making her feel like a princess.

No, a queen. She felt like a queen.

She'd also send thank-you notes to the hairstylist and makeup artist, and she'd make sure they all got credit in any press where a picture of her appeared.

When they finally arrived, three people were already sitting at their table.

Arek Varg stood and took her hands. "You look amazing." He leaned in to kiss Regie's cheek. "Tonight, you call me by my first name, and Laney and Nora are your very close friends," he whispered in her ear.

Regie swallowed hard—more pretense.

She already lived with so many secrets that playing this role that required so many untruths shouldn't be a problem, and yet somehow she had problems keeping it together.

The lies all piled up on top of each other and threatened to suffocate her. She took a deep breath. She would get through this. Giving up was not an option. It had never been an option .

But sometimes, late at night, after a long day at work, she wondered what it would be like to meet someone she could be fully herself with. She looked at Varg…Arek. Laney had found that with him. Could Regie find it with Bolt?

She shook her head and forced herself to smile at both women. Bolt and she were not a real couple. She needed to remember that, or she'd get truly lost in all the make-believe stuff.

Nora stayed seated, her tall height still obvious. She wore her flaming red hair in a bob she'd secured behind her ears with stunning diamond clips. The color of her dress perfectly matched that of her hair. She smiled at Regie and her grandfather. "It's so good to see you again. Regie, sit by me. We have so much to catch up on. Ulf is sorry he couldn't make it."

Regie did as told and took the chair between Nora and Arek's fiancée. She smiled at Laney. The woman wore her wavy burgundy hair in a classic French twist, and her amber gown perfectly accentuated her honey-toned skin and golden eyes. Arek's fiancée smiled back. "Hello again. You look lovely tonight."

Before Regie could answer, Nora tapped her shoulder. "Bolt is on his way."

"Is he okay?" Regie shook her head. "I mean, is everyone okay?" The text he'd sent her before didn't mention Bolt's state of mind or that of the injured man .

Nora paused. "Our injured colleague will take some time to heal. Ulf is helping to take care of him, as is a friend of his." She suddenly smiled. "But that's not for you to worry about. You have enough on your plate right now." She leaned back a little and looked Regie over. "Bolt is going to love the dress and the hairstyle. The braids are very shield-maiden inspired."

Regie looked down to hide her blush. It shouldn't please her that Bolt liked the way she looked, and yet, it did. A lot. "Thank you. Your gown is stunning."

At that moment, her fake fiancé arrived, and a loud buzz in Regie's ears overpowered the other woman's response.

Bolt Varg, in a tuxedo, took her breath away.

All the questions she had about him being a wolf shifter flew out of her mind completely, and she could do nothing but stare.

The tailored jacket perfectly fit his broad shoulders. Although the expensive material should have a thickness that hid his toned body, he somehow managed to still look muscular.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He bent down and lightly kissed her cheek.

An echo of the sparks that had sizzled between them at the Palace of Fine Arts reception stung her cheek.She could no longer deny it: the man had an obvious effect on her libido.

Regie had to swallow twice before she could speak. "Well, a phone call would have been nice." She tried to sound haughty, the way a peeved fiancée would, but this new sexy spy look of his threw her off-kilter. She sounded a bit breathless instead.

He smirked, hopefully, because of her pretending to be irritated and not because she'd become all flustered. "That dress looks amazing on you, Babe." The sparkle in his eyes told her he knew exactly how much the nickname still irritated her.

She almost told him, again, to change the term of endearment, but swallowed the words when the mayor's wife strolled by with a little wave to Regie and a very appreciative glance for Bolt.

"Let's dance." He held out his hand to Regie, one eyebrow raised.

She considered turning him down because the weird emotions flooding her body made her too discombobulated. But that would ruin the image of the happily engaged couple her PR team and Heimdall Shield had worked so hard to create. And dancing would give them the opportunity to discuss what they now knew about each other's supernatural talents. "I didn't know your skill set included dancing," she said while placing her hand in his.

He interlaced his fingers with hers and placed his other hand just above the small of her back, pulling her close .

Another zing of electricity zapped her, and she worked hard to suppress the flush of heat that started low in her abdomen and flooded her body.

Bolt's quiet chuckle told her she'd not been successful. His lips brushed against her temple so lightly she thought maybe she'd imagined it. But his breath heated her neck as he whispered in her ear. "You haven't even scraped the surface of my skill set yet, Babe."

Well, he didn't need to practice PDA anymore. She could tell he'd reached the expert level.

Regie felt a flush creep all the way up from her toes to the roots of her hair. "I really do hate that nickname." Her voice sounded hoarse.Indicating a new level of trouble.

"It's not a nickname." The rumble of his voice echoed in her own chest as he pressed her closer. "It's a term of endearment." He leaned a little lower and kissed her neck, teeth scraping against her skin, creating delicious friction.

She knew he put on the show for the cameras, but she couldn't help the tendrils of electricity shoot through her nerves straight to her core. Heat pooled in her abdomen and then slid lower. A sigh escaped from her lips. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from moaning out loud.

Bolt had her more turned on with whispers and small kisses than most men had accomplished naked beside her in bed.

She was in so much trouble. Big, big trouble.