Astasiya swallowed the last bit of her champagne and set it on a table off to the side. “Physically? I feel fine.”
“And emotionally?”
“Well, I’m a mix of pissed off, confused, and overwhelmed.”
“All reasonable reactions.” He leaned over her to set his glass beside hers. Her pulse leapt, enticing the Ichorian within him. Hmm, she needed to add aroused to her emotional list.
Issac extended his arm across the top of the seat behind her head while gently tracing the slit of her dress with his opposite hand, crowding her, testing her boundaries.
“I do like this dress,” he murmured, studying her reactions.
“That’s good, because you paid for it.” The confident words almost hid the breathy quality of her voice. Almost.
“Does that bother you?” he asked softly, referring to him paying for her outfit. He typically sponsored his dates’ attire for events because he required a certain level of fashion and expense to maintain his public image. However, the spa treatments and allowing the woman to pick her own dress were not typically included in the routine. That had been for her benefit and her benefit alone.
“Not really, but only because I don’t know how much you spent on it all. They wouldn’t let me pay for anything.” She said that last part with an adorable glare. She didn’t like him taking care of her. Too bad because he had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
“You would be the first woman to ever complain about that in my presence,” he admitted.
“We’ve already gone over the part about me not being a socialite. Besides, we’re not really dating.”
“No?” It certainly felt like they were. At least tonight. His thumb slipped beneath the silk, lightly brushing her inner thigh.
“No, it’s a business deal. Although, I really don’t know what you’re getting out of it.”
He leaned in closer, his palm sliding up her leg. Her shuddering breath fanned his lips. “Are you sure about that, Astasiya?”
Stas forgot how to speak, her tongue useless inside her mouth.
That look, the one in his sapphire eyes, set her blood on fire. She fought the urge to clench her thighs, knowing he’d feel her reaction. But fuck, she needed something, anything, to alleviate the ache stirring inside her.
This is so wrong.
Yet, nothing had ever felt more right.
If she tilted her head just an inch, their mouths would touch. The temptation had her licking her lips, yearning for a taste. His all-black ensemble was lethally seductive, the vest hugging his muscular torso and highlighting the physique she knew lurked beneath.
His palm branded her thigh, his thumb drawing delicious circles against her bare flesh.
They should just skip the gala and stay here all night.
Except she’d wanted something from him earlier, a thought or question that had weighed on her mind all day.
Fuck if she remembered it now, not with his alluring scent mingling with her every breath.
The champagne was not helping.
Neither was the hot male cage surrounding her.
His arm dropped to her shoulders. “By my calculation, we have about five minutes before we hit Sixty-First Street,” he whispered against her parted lips. “Not nearly enough time.”
“We could just not go,” she suggested, her voice holding a husky quality she’d never heard before.
This man was unraveling all her layers, exposing a part of her she’d never truly explored.
A very sexual part that failed to heed reason.
Her hands went to his chest, the pads of her fingers reveling in the feel of silk against stone. As much as she adored the tuxedo, she wanted to remove it, to explore his bare skin and the ridges of his abdomen.
“A tempting offer,” he breathed. “Consider this a prelude.”
She opened her mouth for him, accepting his tongue as he thrust inside, taking command in a way that was all Issac.
Her heart raced.
Everything tingled.
And fire licked across her skin, radiating from his palm on her leg.
Devastating, dominating, determined.
Stas lost herself to his embrace, completely intoxicated by Issac’s kiss. He lifted her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle him. He palmed the back of her neck, holding her in a way that allowed him the deepest access to her mouth.
She forgot how to breathe.
Forgot how to think.
Her nails embedded in his silky shirt, holding on for dear life, as he devoured her to completion.
Oh God…
She needed more, her lower body shivering with a craving only Issac could satisfy. He kept his grip on her neck while his other hand returned to her thigh, sliding upward beneath the fabric to the lace beneath.
“Issac,” she sighed, willing his fingers to move a few inches south to where she desired him most.
“Fuck,” he whispered, reclaiming her mouth.
Yes, she thought, writhing over him, searching for purpose.
A flash brightened the air, followed by another.
What? She tore her mouth from his to peer out the tinted windows, her jaw dropping at the line of photographers standing outside the limo in front of them.
“They can’t see inside,” Issac said softly.
She shivered both from the feel of the hot, aroused male beneath her and the realization that she was about to be surrounded by vultures with cameras. “Shit.” Her shoulders stiffened, the reality of their impending situation cooling her heated blood. “Can’t we just go to the movies like a normal couple?”
Issac’s chuckle vibrated through her as he removed his hand from her thigh. “We’re a couple now, are we? I thought this was a business deal, Astasiya.”
She swatted his chest and climbed off of him. “You know what I mean.”
He leaned over to fix her dress with the ease of a man who tousled women in limos often. Not something she wanted to think about.
His focus went to her hair as he said, “I have to make an appearance tonight; otherwise, I would take you home and do normal couple things to you.” His blue eyes met hers to mock those two words before he continued messing with her hair. “How do you feel about art?”
“Uh.” Art? “It’s not something I know much about.”
“Then we’ll skip the auction. I’m not much of an art connoisseur anyway.”
“There’s an art auction?”
“It’s a gala, darling. The auction is a fundraiser for tonight’s charity.” His fingers trailed down her neck to her arms. “There you are, gorgeous as ever.”
His English lilt intensified the compliment, making her warm all over. If anyone was gorgeous, it was him in that tux.
He smiled. “Three, two…” The door opened beside him.
A middle-aged man wearing a penguin suit greeted Issac by name, his smile bright.
“Evening, Claude. How are the wife and kids?” Issac asked as he stepped outside.
Stas frowned while the man answered, his tone jovial. Issac must visit the hotel frequently to be so familiar with The Pierre’s staff. How many dates has he entertained here?
Does it matter?
Not really, no.
“Brilliant. Happy to hear they’re doing all right,” Issac said, his hand appearing in the doorway.
An invitation to escort her into the frenzy that waited outside.
Cameras.
Vultures.
Most of them were waiting, but a few were already taking photos of the famous Issac Wakefield.
And now he wanted her to join him.
Just one night.
She’d be known as the random blonde on his arm, not nearly as notable as all the models and famous actresses who typically accompanied him to these types of affairs. Which, of course, meant they’d all be comparing her to them. No pressure.
He peered down at her with a humored look. “Scared, darling?”
Yes. “No.”
His l
ips curled. “Liar.”
She took his hand to prove him wrong and allowed him to assist her out of the limo. Lightning flashed around her before she could level a retort, causing her to shelter her eyes. Issac wrapped his hand around hers, guiding it downward between them and exposing her face to the onslaught of hungry photographers.
“Just breathe.” His lips brushed her ear as the hand not holding hers slid around her waist to hold her close. “And maybe smile.”
“Why, because you always smile?” she retorted.
“Meaning?”
“You never smile in photos.” She must have gone through thousands of event photos while researching him Monday night. Never once did he grin, or even crack a smile. “So why should I smile?”
A hint of amusement flickered through his dark blue eyes. “What else did you learn about me, Astasiya?”
“Nothing useful.”
“My net worth didn’t intrigue you?”
She snorted. “Assuming it’s even true, no. Your biography read like a page out of the playboy handbook.”
His resulting laugh sent a shiver down her spine. Such a lovely sound, one that caused her lips to curl in response to his open charisma.
Tightening his arm around her, he kissed her on the temple before returning his mouth to her ear. “Your honesty is refreshing.”
“Does that mean you’ll repay the favor?”
“Perhaps later.” He nibbled her neck before returning his attention to the photographers. They were eating up his display of affection, making her wonder if this was the real him or an act.
With the ease of a professional used to navigating paparazzi, he angled them closer to the entrance, pausing every few seconds for another photo. He made a show of grinning for the cameras. There were going to be a lot of broken hearts tomorrow when the pictures surfaced, because Issac’s smile, paired with that tux, was devastatingly beautiful. Stas paled in comparison at his side but did her best to pose along with him while the media shouted questions at Issac.
“Tell us about your date.”
“Give us a name!”
“How did you meet?”
She lifted up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Doesn’t this exhaust you?”
He trailed his fingers up her exposed spine to fondle a strand of her hair as another photographer snapped their picture. “I doubt I will ever tire of having my hands on you, darling.”
“I think we’re past pickup lines, Issac.”
“I don’t use lines, something I believe I demonstrated in the limo. Or do you require another, more public demonstration?” The hand playing with her hair moved to her neck. He dipped her back, his opposite hand grabbing her hip to hold her steady as he lowered his mouth to hers. “I’m happy to oblige.” He spoke each word against her lips, eliciting a shiver from deep within.
Lights flashed around them as he held her just out of view of their audience. The questions continued, sailing over their heads, all unanswered.
“What’s her name, Issac?”
“Who is she?”
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
Oh God. If Issac had done all this with the goal of distracting her from almost dying this week, he’d succeeded. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide forever or kiss him.
“I think I might have to hurt you,” she said, meaning it.
“You could try.” He pulled her upright, aligning her body with his. “I would very much enjoy punishing you for it.”
Desire pooled in her belly. It went against all her ingrained ideals to be turned on by the thought of being punished, but her hormones weren’t on the same wavelength as her brain. She would be having a serious discussion with her common sense later.
“Smile, darling. Your natural blush is quite lovely.” He returned her to the view of their spectators and gave them all another adorable grin. Warmth crept up her neck as she forced her lips to curve upward.
These were not pictures she wanted to see tomorrow.
“Well done,” Issac whispered as he escorted her into the palatial lobby of the hotel. Several employees stood by, but Issac bypassed them all, leading Stas to an opulent room with over fifty dining tables set up before a center stage. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and candles decorated the walls between lavish red curtains. The ornate tiled floor gave the room a classical appeal, dating the hotel’s wealth and grandeur.
Issac escorted her to a table near the middle of the room with a clear view of the podium, where she left her purse. Several recognizable celebrities mingled around them, suggesting the wealth and influence of the charity. A number of them greeted Issac by name as they sauntered by, acknowledging him as part of the beautiful-people club.
I so do not belong here, she thought as he handed her a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. His lips quirked at whatever expression she wore.
“Cheers, darling,” he murmured, tapping his glass against hers.
She took a fortifying sip in response, enjoying the bubbly sensation against her throat. “This is quite the life you lead, Issac.”
“The night’s only begun.” He kept his arm around her, holding her close while he socialized with the guests. She gathered this forced conversation was a pre-dinner requirement since no one had bothered taking a seat in the full room. A few waiters wandered around offering appetizers, but a subtle shake of Issac’s head told her not to try one.
“Plastic tastes better,” her demon whispered before continuing a conversation with some politician. She knew demon was no longer the appropriate term, but it suited him too well to stop using it. Okay, so maybe it is a pet name. Not that she would admit it out loud.
He introduced her to each newcomer, but most of them ignored her in favor of the handsome CEO of Wakefield Pharmaceuticals. She didn’t mind, preferring to watch him work. This was his world, where he thrived in seducing the crowd while inspiring appreciative grins from all over the room.
“Stas?” The familiar voice gave her pause.
She’d called Lizzie this afternoon to ask for pointers about the gala tonight. It served as a way for her to explain where she’d been all week and to stay on her best friend’s good side. But it never occurred to her that Lizzie wasn’t her only friend who attended high-society events.
Until now.
“Hey, Tom,” she greeted, smiling at his handsome appearance. The man wore a tux very, very well. Lizzie’s jaw would be on the floor. Alas, Stas preferred his usual attire of jeans and a leather jacket—his comfort zone.
Silence fell around them, making her realize they’d interrupted Issac’s conversation with a couple of politicians. Or were they actors? She couldn’t tell anymore.
But Tom knew them all, shaking their hands, addressing them formally, and sharing several smiles.
There really is a hottest-bachelor club, and both of them are clearly members. The appreciative looks from around the room agreed with Stas’s thoughts.
When Tom’s focus reached her demon, his easy grin fell. They didn’t shake hands. “Wakefield.”
“Thomas.”
Testosterone radiated between them, causing the hairs to dance along Stas’s exposed neck. Issac’s arm flexed against her lower back, holding her closer while Tom narrowed his gaze.
Yeah, this isn’t awkward at all, boys. And everyone around them seemed to feel the same way, their intrigued gazes on the two men. Did Issac and Tom have a history of disliking one another? Because the lethal air emanating from Tom made her skin crawl in warning.
He’s livid. Why?
“How kind of your father to give you the weekend off,” Issac said, breaking the tense silence.
“Oh, don’t let the suit fool you. I’m always working,” Tom returned.
The words sent a chill down Stas’s spine.
Seeing her friend had felt so natural, so incredibly normal, that she hadn’t thought at all about the relation to him and work.
The CRF.
The organizati
on that may or may not have tried to kill her.
Shit.
What if it’s true? That they really did try to kill me?
Had it only been this morning that she woke up after nearly dying?
The harsh reminder made her shiver. All the pampering and grandeur of today had distracted her from real life.
A life she almost lost.
What am I doing here?
What if they know?
Is it even true?
Did they really try to poison me?
Nothing felt real, almost as if this was all a dream. She didn’t know what or whom to believe, and the fact that she seemed fine now didn’t help matters.
What really happened?
Issac nipped her neck and brushed his lips against her ear. “Breathe. You’re safe.”
Yeah? I don’t feel very safe. Not with Tom glowering at her demon like that.
Doctor Fitzgerald approached from the left, his expression holding a touch of adoration—a stark contrast to the irritation vibrating from his son.
“Hello, Stas,” Doctor Fitzgerald greeted, kissing her cheek. “You look lovely, dear. Issac.” He nodded.
“Doctor,” Issac returned, smiling. “Good to see you.”
They shook hands while Doctor Fitzgerald replied, “Likewise.”
Some of the tension dissipated as the crowd refocused on the renowned humanitarian. Everyone wanted a piece of him, just like Issac, leaving Stas again on the sidelines to observe.
She expelled a long breath, her heart beating a chaotic rhythm against her rib cage.
Pull it together, she whispered to herself. It’s all just speculation. Doctor Fitzgerald is a friend, mentor, father figure.
And he proved it by charming the crowd around them, his smile genuine and reaching his dark eyes. Tom remained at his side, ever the dutiful son, mimicking his father in kind. They really could have passed as brothers, Doctor Fitzgerald not looking older than forty. It only added to his appeal, as several of the women around them seemed to notice. His wife had died over a decade ago, leaving him very, very single.
This world is—
“The good doctor is receiving an award tonight,” Issac murmured against her ear. “They’re also sitting at our table.”
She glanced at him sideways. “Thanks for the warning.” Sarcasm underlined each word. He could have given her a heads-up in the limo.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 131
