Not one to leave matters entirely up to fate, I tried to mingle within hearing distance, hoping Wyatt would recognize my voice at least. By the time I’d had my third Manhattan, I was ready to give up. Heading toward the bar for another, I ran into Stacy. Though she and Alexis had taken a shot in the suite, they were on the teetotaler train for the immediate future as they were both nursing their new babies, Lizzie and Harry. When I approached, Stacy was just stirring the ice around in her glass of Coke.
“Hey, Stace. Where’s the boss?” I asked as I slid up beside her, plunking my martini glass on the bar in front of the bartender. He immediately took it and began to fix another.
“He’s over in the corner, talking to a cover model, Brock Gideon. He’s hoping to make a deal with him for his next book series. Do you know him?” she asked before sipping her soda through the tiny swizzle straw. Sometimes she was still just too cute.
“I’ve only seen him on a couple covers so far. I think he’s new, isn’t he?” I said, propping my chin in one hand while I tapped the fingers of my other on the bar top.
“Yeah, he is, but he seems to be in high demand already. Gage wants to get him while his fees are still reasonable. What have you been doing?”
“Just mingling with anyone I come across. Hovering in Wyatt’s vicinity whenever I can,” I said on a mildly frustrated sigh. “I’m beginning to think he’ll never notice me in this mask.”
“You know, you could just walk up to him. I know you’re not afraid to,” she replied as she leaned against the bar, looking at me through the black strip of silk across her eyes.
I’d confided in Stacy about my secret crush. She was sympathetic, having been taken in by Gage’s magnetism but feeling like she couldn’t compete with all the women who threw themselves at him. She knew I wasn’t intimidated by fans but understood I needed to approach the situation delicately. She’d felt she needed to tread carefully with Gage because of what it might have done to her good girl image, much in the way I didn’t want to fuck up my career or his with my ulterior motives.
“I could. I may have to, at this point. I was just really hoping he’d be the one looking for me,” I said just as a smooth, alto voice cut into our conversation.
“Whoever he is, he’s too late. I’ve finally found you, and I’m going to keep your attention as long as I can.”
I turned, coming face-to-face with Wyatt’s Adam’s apple. It was only a quick eye dart down to admire the smooth skin over his pectorals, so I indulged. I nearly whimpered being so close to all that smooth manliness, yet still too far to touch.
“Well, if that’s the case, it’s going to cost you,” I replied, my voice lilting at the end as I looked at him with nothing but misbehavior on my mind. I didn’t even notice as Stacy slipped away behind me.
“Is that right?” Wyatt laughed. “How much for an hour, at least?”
“It’s a blood price, Gladiator,” I teased, beginning to feel my groove kick in.
“Oh, my favorite kind,” he said, taking my drink from the bartender and handing it to me in one fluid motion. “What will it be? Razors or knives? If you’re feeling particularly adventurous, I do have an intimidating sword.”
I almost choked as I took a quick sip. I just bet his sword was something to behold.
“A ceremonial dagger, of course!” I said once I’d regained control of my brain, letting my eyes skate over him from head to toe and back up again. “I’m sure, as a gladiator, you know all about daggers.”
“I have a very special dagger, but just look at this sword,” he replied, a hand dropping to his hip to stroke the prop lovingly while giving me the same, slow torturous once over I’d given him. “I’ve been told it’s harder than steel.”
“I hope you write better than this,” I giggled, laughing at our cheesy dialog. “We sound like a couple of B-movie actors, trying to be sexy.”
“God, I hope I do, too,” he replied, sounding almost relieved. “When you come to work for me as my new assistant, your first job will be to read a few of my books and let me know.”
I wasn’t about to confess I’d already read every single one, but my ears pricked up when I heard the certainty in his voice.
“When I come to work for you? I thought you wanted me to find you someone.”
“Why go looking for stones when you have a diamond in front of you? I’ve asked around. Everyone says you’re the best.”
“Nobody but Gage would say that,” I replied, still laughing. He grinned at me, and I desperately wished I could see his eyes behind his mask. I imagined them shining as he kept delivering the cheesy lines.
“That’s all the reference I need. Blackstone is king in this realm. You’re clearly keeping his shit together,” he said as he motioned the bartender back over and held up two fingers. “Patron, please.”
I grinned widely. Gage had done me a solid without even knowing it. I may have confided my crush on Wyatt to Stacy, but never would I ever tell Gage. I’d get the big brother lecture warning me off, and if that didn’t work—which it wouldn’t—he’d insist on checking Wyatt out for himself. Gage was a lot of things, but unassuming wasn’t one of them. I didn’t need his kind of interference.
The bartender placed two shots on the bar in front of us. I reached out to take one, but Wyatt stayed my hand.
“If you drink that, it means you’re mine,” he said, and though I still couldn’t see his eyes, I heard the mischief in his voice.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said with a smile, then shot it back with nothing but determination. I turned back to him with a hiss from the fire burning its way down my throat. “When do I start?”
“As soon as possible. I’ll send you a bunch of my books, and you can get started reading,” he said, picking up his own glass. “For now, we celebrate.”
I watched as he slammed the pale, gold liquid back, my eyes drawn again to the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. He was gorgeous. Even with all the cheesy lines and double talk, he reeked of pheromones—or those could have been mine stinking up the joint. Either way, all he had to do was poke one of his long, strong fingers against my chest, and I’d go over like a ton of bricks.
“Come,” he said, holding his hand out to me. “Let’s go show this crowd what real dancing is.”
I nearly had an anxiety attack. I didn’t dance. Whenever I tried, I made Elaine on Seinfeld look good. I had little rhythm and always ended up looking like I was all elbows and knees. My best move was the one I learned from watching A Charlie Brown Christmas when I was six.
I stumbled along after him as he led me through the crowd of milling bodies toward the dancefloor, the music loud and throbbing. No, no, no. This would not help me achieve my objective at all. I’d never be able to convince him he should train me as his submissive once he’d seen my Running Man.
I did everything but dig my heels into the carpet, which is to say I did nothing because there really wasn’t anything I could do. If I refused, I’d be the chick who threw the turd in the punch bowl during a kickass party. If I went full steam ahead, well, the turd would look good after that. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my dignity, prayed for mercy, and stepped onto the dance floor.
I shouldn’t have worried. Wyatt swiftly spun around and pulled me to him, grinding his hips against me. He grabbed one of my arms, threw it over his shoulder and the next thing I knew, we were hitting it like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. He thrust his leg between mine, hitched me up on his thigh, then did the rest of the work. He rocked me back and forth, side to side, swiveling me around like a toy. I literally just rode his leg. If that was dancing, I’d be glad to do it every day of the week and all day on Sunday, especially if it meant I got to be this close to him.
As we moved together, with me fitted perfectly against him and one of my legs wrapped around his hip, I felt one hundred percent at home—as if I should never be any other place than affixed to Wyatt. I closed my eyes and imagined myself kneeling at his feet while he gently str
oked my hair or sitting in his lap and studying his features while he read to me from one of his books. I inhaled deeply, falling further down the rabbit hole as I took in the heady scent of his cologne, a tantalizing blend of an unusual spice and musk. It was almost as intoxicating as he was.
I have no idea how long we spent dancing. It was like I was caught in limbo—but with the sights, sounds, and pleasure of his hands on my back, hips, or one behind my neck as he swooped me down low, so low my hair almost scraped the floor. Several people started dancing in a ring around us, watching as we put on an unintended show. But we were in that zone, one that reduced our minds to only the two of us while the rest of the room faded into the distance. At least, that’s what it was like for me.
“Do you want to take a break and have another drink?” Wyatt asked, leaning in to speak in my ear. His hot breath fanned over my neck, making me shiver inside. I was going to die from his sexiness before I ever got my plan off the ground.
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” I said, fanning my face and looking around. “It looks like we’ve caused a bit of a commotion.” Wyatt glanced at the other people as if noticing them for the first time. He smiled widely at the group that surrounded us.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” he said, pointing at me. I separated myself from him while my body cried out in objection.
“I think they’re all looking at you,” I said, clapping as I looked at the crowd. They enthusiastically joined me, the women practically forming a line to dance with him next.
“What the he—” he began as one woman tugged on his skirt and another slid her hand along his dewy chest.
“I think your fans have figured out who you are, killer,” I whispered in his ear. “If you need me, I’ll be at the bar. I’ll make sure to have a whole bottle of tequila waiting for you when you can break away.”
Giving him what I hoped was a sassy smirk, I walked off the dance floor alone. It would be fun trying to watch him dance his way out of such a sticky situation.
Yet again, I was left watching Clarisse stroll away from me, the alluring swing of her hips making my minuscule leather briefs tighten uncomfortably. Trying to discreetly adjust myself, I turned to the grinning blonde who’d been tugging on my skirt. It was a good thing I was unable to leave the dance floor without looking like a complete asshole because I’d been getting too playful with Clarisse. I needed a breather to get my head together.
I put out my hand to the blonde which she eagerly took. I spun her toward me, then back out again before bringing her back for a lazy swaying with the music. I wasn’t about to grind on her the way I had Clarisse. I didn’t need a random woman learning how much the tiny brunette had excited me and quite possibly mistake it as excitement for her. Nope, that was not a condition I wanted anyone to find me in. I’d suggested the break in dancing to Clarisse because it wouldn’t have been long before my condition became abundantly clear to her. I may have called my dick my little buddy, but in truth, there wasn’t anything little about it. Susan would have been proud of me.
As I danced with a plump woman who said she was from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I tried to get a grip on myself. Chastising myself internally, I vowed to grit my teeth, pretend Clarisse was a toad, and make sure things stayed strictly business between us. It was a good thing I lived in Santa Fe. Chances were good she didn’t live anywhere near me.
Clarisse had seemed in the moment with me, enjoying the feel of our bodies pressed together, but she could have just been cutting loose. It was New Year’s Eve after all, and we’d both had plenty to drink. I wasn’t one of those bozos who assumed a woman having a good time was the same as a woman looking for a good time. I hoped for my own sake that’s all it was because I found myself wanting to give her a good time.
I danced with four or five of the ladies who surrounded me, never giving anyone too much time, five or ten minutes a piece, maybe. It took far too long for my taste since I was secretly itching to get back to Clarisse. I hoped she hadn’t drifted from the bar, tired of waiting for me. So what if she has, sport? You’re better off finding an assistant who’s sixty years old, wears dentures and has a bladder control problem. All you need is someone who can do a good job.
Despite my internal monologue, I sensed midnight was closing in. If nothing else, I was going to permit myself one harmless indulgence and claim Clarisse’s first kiss of the new year. It would be a one-time thing, never to be repeated. It was tradition after all, and while Mitzi from Waterloo, who’d just taken her turn to boogie with me, was a decent selection, I wanted Clarisse.
Once Mitzi backed up to me and tried to start a pitiful twerk, I made my excuses to the remaining women who were hoping to get closer to me. I apologized, then made a hasty retreat to the bar. Sure enough, Clarisse was nowhere in sight. I cursed myself for allowing too many minutes to idle away. But I found her once, I’d find her again. Asking a man next to me for the time, I learned I had a half-hour to do it.
I searched the entire ballroom for her, never once getting even a glimpse of her glorious white dress. I was close to giving up and going back to my room when I spotted her standing in the doorway. I didn’t miss a beat. I hurried over to her, trying not to look like I was about to hump her leg, my sword bumping against my hip almost painfully.
“I didn’t think you’d make it out of that swarm alive,” she said with a tipsy giggle when I approached.
“I had to. You have something of mine, and I couldn’t very well let you leave with it,” I replied, my voice low and gravelly as my overactive libido tried to wrest control from my meager good sense.
“I can’t imagine what that could be,” she said as one of the hostesses passed us with a basket of noisemakers. I grabbed two as she went by, then caught Clarisse’s wrist with my other hand. I pulled gently, leading her to a corner next to the bar. Another server was making the rounds with flutes of champagne. Handing the noisemakers to Clarisse, I grabbed two of the glasses of bubbly.
“I think you know,” I said smoothly as someone started to holler.
“It’s time! It’s time! Ten… nine… eight…” Everyone began chanting the countdown with her. Clarisse and I chimed in, swapping one noisemaker for a glass of champagne.
“Three… two… one! Happy New Year!” everyone cried as the deejay began to play Auld Lang Syne. We tooted our horns along with everyone else, but when Clarisse went to take a sip of her champagne, I stopped her.
“Not so fast. You haven’t given me what’s mine yet,” I said, plucking the noisemaker from her hand and dropping it on the bar top. Turning to her, I stroked my hand along her cheek, then lifted the mask from her face.
When she smiled back at me, my heart felt like someone was squeezing it so hard, it would pop. She reached up and removed my mask, and we stood there for a moment that seemed like an eternity. The cacophony of the party faded away, and I became acutely aware of my own shallow breathing and the pulsing throb of blood through my veins. As soon as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, I knew. This was no ordinary attraction. My little buddy was eager to get in on the act, but Clarisse was stirring something more inside me, things I’d never felt. Unable to help myself, I gently curled my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her body closer.
“Happy New Year, beautiful,” I whispered against her lips before gently touching mine to them. She pleasantly surprised me by melting into my arms, her mouth soft and supple as I pressed against her. I’d intended the kiss to be mostly chaste, but when she flicked her tongue against my upper lip, I was done for. I pulled her tighter to me, letting mine slip smoothly into her mouth, exploring, searching, savoring her sweet taste.
It was a sensual, more intimate introduction to each other as we kissed, one hand still curled around the back of her neck while I tried to press the other to her back without spilling my champagne. She looped her arms over my shoulders, but I was only faintly aware of the stem of her glass bumping against my spine. She could spill its ent
ire contents all over me, and I probably wouldn’t even notice.
I felt a sense of urgency surge through me, my body’s way of telling me to move the party upstairs, but I clamped down on it. Breaking away with a softly muttered curse, I stared down into her eyes. They were wide, the pupils almost fully dilated. Her mouth was open in a small ‘O’ as she panted breathlessly. As I wiped away a small smear of lipstick from her lower lip with my thumb, I was startled by how beautiful she looked with lust in her eyes. I was sorely tempted to just lose myself in her, but my self-preservation kicked in, and I moved away, putting some distance between us. I lifted my glass to her in a toast.
“Here’s to our business relationship, Clarisse. May it be wildly successful.”
“Here, here,” she murmured, sounding more than a little disappointed before taking a sip with her now swollen, ruby-stained lips.
My internal warning siren was beginning to hum again, but I shook it off. I could do this. I could be just her boss, no matter how devastating that kiss might have been. I was a changed man.
* * *
“So, what is it you need me to do for you?” Clarisse asked as we discussed her new job duties. It’d been a week since the party, and after second-guessing myself for several days because of our kiss, I finally called her to make everything official. However, discretion and self-discipline being my new middle names, I took a couple extra days to make sure my professional mindset was firmly in place. Thank God I did because when I heard the sweet, velvety timbre of her voice, I almost melted into my sofa. I imagined her as I’d seen her at the conference—in a tight, red, fuzzy sweater that perfectly displayed her upper curves, along with a pair of skin-tight black trousers that showed off her very delicious looking derriere. She had a dynamite figure, but I had to remember—dynamite explodes.
Twist Tied Page 3
