by Sophie Davis
“Is it time to get this mystery date started?” Blake asked.
“Almost. I just need my shoes and purse.”
When I returned, gold heels on my feet and clutch in hand, the television was off. Blake was perched on the arm of the sofa with a single red rose in his hands. I blinked in surprise. He stood and held the flower out in my direction.
“When did you…?” I shook my head and trailed off. It didn’t matter. Blake had his secrets, and I had mine.
He kissed my cheek as I smelled the fragrant rose.
“I love you, Lark,” he said, his lips brushing my skin as he spoke.
I turned just enough so that our mouths met. “I love you, too,” I said and kissed him deeply.
The moment was perfect. I briefly considered abandoning my plans for the evening and skipping straight to the bedroom. When I thought about where we were going, and the delight I hoped he’d feel, I decided against it. I gave him a soft but promising kiss before stepping back and taking his hand.
“Are you ready?”
I couldn’t have hoped for a more beautiful night. Even though the temperature was near freezing, the sky was clear and the stars twinkled. We exited the hotel through the side door and passed a line of well-dressed young professionals waiting for entrance to the hotel’s rooftop bar.
“We don’t need a cab?” Blake asked, not sparing a single glance at any of the beautiful, scantily-clad women we walked past.
“It’s a lovely night. Let’s walk,” I answered with a coy grin.
With our hands still clasped tightly, we walked across the street toward the National Mall. Our pace was leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. His thumb gently ran circles across the back of my hand, giving me chills in a good way.
“So, how was your day?” he asked as we reached Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Good,” I replied, which was only half true. The facial had been relaxing, and having someone else do my hair and makeup was always nice. But the whole Kingstown mystery weighed heavily on my mind.
Tonight is about Blake. About us, I told myself sternly. Nothing, not even a potential stalker was going to ruin our anniversary. Blake paused and pointed to the Washington Monument.
“Let’s play tourist,” he teased, pulling out his phone. I rested my head against his shoulder, and his arm snaked around my waist. Blake snapped several pictures to commemorate our night.
We crossed the famed street and stepped onto the National Mall. The path passed right by the monument, but we didn’t stop to admire it up close. I was suddenly anxious to get where we were going, though I tried my best not to show it. When we got to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the Mall, I turned left.
“Do you really have a plan for tonight?” Blake asked, giving my hand a squeeze. The area was both dark and deserted.
I offered him a coy grin. “Remember when you told me that your favorite movie growing up was Night at the Museum?” I asked. Though I was striving for nonchalance, my excitement was hard to contain.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I was convinced that if I could just stay up late enough, my action figures would come to life like the statues in the movie.” He chuckled softly, lost in the memory. Somehow, Blake didn’t notice we were standing in front of the National Museum of Natural History until I gestured to the building.
“Want to see if the triceratops is awake yet?” I asked, suppressing a grin.
Blake’s expression was dubious. “You want to break in to the Natural History Museum?”
“Breaking in sounds so criminal. We could just see if the door is unlocked,” I suggested, starting up the wide front steps of the museum. “Come on,” I added over my shoulder.
Blake grinned and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. He caught up with me easily, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me up into the air. I laughed as he spun in a circle. When he set me down, the world still felt like it was moving. With a mischievous grin, I reached for the door handle.
“Someone did leave it unlocked,” I said innocently, pulling it open and slipping inside.
Eyes wide with wonder, Blake’s gaze darted around. After ensuring no one was watching us, he followed me through the double doors. The charade ended as soon as we were inside. The tuxedo-clad waiter, holding a tray with two champagne flutes, was a dead giveaway. Blake’s mouth hung open as his gaze ping-ponged between the waiter and me. His surprise turned to glee, making my preparations worth every moment.
The curator had been over the moon when I’d called to request a meeting, ostensibly to discuss the possibility of our family loaning the Kingsley Diamond for a special exhibition. It wasn’t not true. I mean, my parents might entertain the notion. I’d spent an hour listening to the curator drone on about the museum’s security measures to prevent theft. I’d smiled politely, reminding myself it was a small price to pay for the enormous grin on Blake’s face.
Hands interlaced, we walked slowly through the dinosaur exhibit. Sipping champagne and strolling through the darkened museum with Blake felt like a dream. I couldn’t fathom another person I’d rather share the experience with. Halfway through the loop of exhibits, a table was set with candles and more champagne. The catering staff had pulled out all the stops; every one of Blake’s favorite foods was incorporated into a dish. We talked and laughed from the tuna tartare to lobster mac and cheese, all the way through the ice cream sundaes we had for dessert.
“You are way too good to me,” he declared, scraping the remnants of butterscotch from his bowl.
Blake was the kind of guy who liked to enjoy things to the last drop. It was one of the many things I liked about him.
“You deserve it,” I said, suddenly feeling shy.
Our hands were clasped on top of the table, and I couldn’t help but think how cheesy this must seem to the waiters. I’d felt the same way about romantic clichés until I experienced them with Blake.
After dinner, we meandered through the museum for several more hours, holding hands like kids in junior high. We were a full-on parody that night, but I didn’t care.
Walking back across the Mall, past the still-lit Washington Monument, Blake twirled me around. Humming a Sinatra song, he held out his hand and spun me underneath his arm.
The champagne emboldened me. As we walked into our hotel room, I stepped back to lean on the closed door and pulled him against me. Heat sparked in Blake’s eyes, but his kisses remained soft, sweet, and lingering. One arm wound around my back, gently pulling me closer to him. Blake’s torso was hard lines and firm muscle, and I silently thanked his soccer coach for continuing their workouts in the off-season.
My hands kept running over the lines of his abdomen. I wanted to feel his skin against mine. I untucked his shirt, his skin hot beneath my hand. He sucked in a breath and deepened the kiss ever so slightly. Blake broke away, his lips swollen. He pulled off his shirt completely, and then leaned forward to whisper in my ear.
“I love you.”
His lips traveled down, lightly grazing my throat. His fingers found mine and he laced them together, the other hand gently massaging my lower back. He reached up and slid one of the dress straps from my shoulder, his lips finding the skin it had been covering. I leaned my shoulders back against the door and closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling of his hands and lips on me.
When his lips found mine again, there was more intensity than I’d ever felt from him before. He pulled back and looked into my eyes, a question in his own. I smiled and pulled him against me in answer. Without breaking away, he began moving slowly backward, pulling me with him. A brief flurry of nerves fluttered through me, but calmed when he went to the couch instead of the bedroom. He hesitated momentarily before sitting on the plush cushion and pulling me down into his lap. For a minute that seemed to last a lifetime, we sat while his eyes searched mine. Looking into his face, I saw such a mix of emotions: desire, affection, tenderness, need, love. I was sure my look mirrored his.
“Is this because of t
he champagne?” he asked, his concern evident.
If I said it was, he would stop immediately, tuck me into bed, and I’d spend the night wrapped in his arms, fully clothed.
“It’s because I love you,” I whispered honestly.
Blake kissed me again softly, only a hint of contact between our mouths. I gently pushed off his lap and stood, willing my legs to hold me. His gaze never left mine as I slid my side zipper down. The other strap fell from my shoulder, and my dress dropped to the floor, a puddle of silk around my feet. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he reached for my hand, the thumb still making those reassuring small circles, and pulled me into his lap again.
I froze the moment our bare skin touched, even as heat started to build inside of me. Blake started at my shoulders, running the tips of his strong fingers gently down my arms and over my abdomen, skirting around the blue lace underwear I still wore. When my kisses became more demanding, he answered in turn. I wasn’t even aware that I was kneading the hard muscles just above his hips until I felt a tremor run through him. Encouraged, I turned to whisper in his ear, “I want this.”
For a moment, Blake sat motionless, his eyes shut tightly. My heart raced in my chest, my pulse pounded in my ears, faster and faster as I waited for him to say he did, too. Finally, Blake nodded slowly, any lingering hesitation gone. I stood and backed away from the sofa, just enough so he could see all of me. Blake’s eyes fluttered opened, and for the first time since I’d slid out of my dress, his gaze wasn’t locked with mine.
Standing there in the lingerie I’d selected specifically for this momentous occasion, with Blake’s eyes slowly drinking in every inch of my body, I felt beautiful. In the past, he’d kept his expression carefully guarded. I think he worried that the intensity of his desire would scare me. Tonight, he held nothing back. Intense was too weak a word for what I saw as I watched him watch me. Yet, I wasn’t scared or self-conscious. The way Blake looked at me was the way I imagine mortals looked at Aphrodite—awed and full of rapture.
Light doesn’t travel as fast as Blake did when he leapt up. The next thing I knew, I was literally knocked off my feet as he swooped me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and teased the exposed skin at the hollow of his throat with my lips.
The way he’d flown off the couch, I figured he’d rush to the bed. He didn’t. Blake took his time, walking almost painfully slow as I trailed kisses up his neck.
Maid service had turned down the bed, and Blake laid me down on the thousand-thread-count sheets as gently as if I were made of the same spun glass as the chandelier in the lobby, careful to place my head on a plush pillow. Again, he took his time studying me, as if committing every detail to memory, down to the tiny freckle to the left of my belly button.
The buckle on his belt was undone a moment later. His slacks fell to the carpet. Now it was my turn to admire the view. I studied him the same way he’d studied me. Thankfully, Blake didn’t stand there too long because I was ready for the hands-on portion of the evening.
Blake stretched out beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. Every point at which his skin touched mine felt as if it was on fire. Light as feathers, his fingers skimmed my stomach, my ribs, the strip of lace holding the cups of my bra together, my throat.
He leaned over me and traced my lips with the tip of his finger. His whisper was throaty and deep. “I want you with me always, Lark. No matter what.”
“Always,” I echoed in a ragged whisper.
I finally understood what it meant to truly love another person wholly, unconditionally, and without reservation. With that one act, Blake Greyfield erased my past, made me appreciate the present, and offered me a future I’d never thought possible.
Sixteen
Raven
“The green one,” I declared.
Asher was holding up four ties, and the emerald green one would best compliment his coloring. We’d been at Sak’s Fifth Avenue for the better part of three hours. Asher’s mother had set up an appointment for a suit fitting, and I was making good on my promise. In exchange for my chauffeur services, he’d offered to take me to dinner at the restaurant of my choice. I was already perusing menus on my phone.
“You sure? Dad always says red equals power.” Asher admired himself in the trifold mirror, holding each tie up to his neck to see how they compared.
“Positive. It’ll go with the white and grey shirts you picked out. Maybe you should get a striped tie, too? Aren’t you getting that pink shirt?”
“Salmon, miss. The color is salmon,” Hans, the impossibly stuffy salesman, corrected me.
Asher caught my eye in the mirror and smirked.
“Yeah, Raven, salmon,” he said in a poor imitation of Hans’ British accent.
I laughed. “Whatever. I’m starving, and there’s white-chocolate-raspberry-truffle cheesecake calling my name.”
“I’ll take the green one and the red. And if you have a striped tie that matches the salmon shirt, I’ll take that, too.”
“Very good, sir,” Hans said. He left the dressing room to ring up the purchases.
When Asher went to change, I tucked my phone back into my purse next to my notes from my library trip. While I was positive that Lark’s clues had been for The Washington Post crossword, I’d also checked The New York Times to cover all of my bases. “Two across” and “ten down” on there had led me to the words Elizabethan and Dusenburg, which didn’t go together at all. Admittedly, I was very proud of my investigative skills. Now I needed to figure out what I was supposed to do with the new information. I’d made a list of possibilities, and a password for something I had yet to find was number one on it.
“Ready?” Asher asked, startling me from my thoughts.
I smiled brightly. “Definitely.”
Nearly two thousand dollars later, Asher’s shopping adventure was complete. Since the suits would be sent to a tailor for customizing, we left the department store with only one bag containing his new shirts and ties. Against my better judgment, I asked him whether he needed new shoes, too. Thankfully, he had black and brown dress shoes that only needed a good polishing.
The restaurant was busy with an early-dinner crowd. The hostess asked if we preferred waiting, or we could sit at the bar. Asher probably would’ve waited for a table, but my stomach growled audibly. We chose the bar.
A bartender named Genevieve was dressed in an all-white uniform. She set two cocktail napkins down in front of us, along with two large glasses of iced water. Since I’d already read the entire menu on my phone, I gave her my order first.
“Could you bring us some bread before the meal?” Asher asked, handing both of our menus to the perky bartender.
“Coming right up.”
I played with my straw, using it to dunk the lemon wedge below ice cubes and spread the flavor. Unsurprisingly, I was enjoying spending time with Asher. He was easygoing, fun, and incredibly good-looking.
“Sorry to pull you away from the job search today,” he said.
I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m having no luck whatsoever.”
While this was technically true, it was only because I wasn’t making the effort necessary to secure employment. Lark Kingsley and her disappearance were consuming every free moment.
“Where have you tried?” he asked. “Maybe I can brainstorm more options.”
I hesitated. Telling Asher that I’d been job hunting was one thing. Making up places where I’d supposedly applied was something else entirely. But coming clean would lead to questions I wasn’t prepared to answer, like what I’d been doing instead.
“You haven’t applied anywhere, have you?” Asher took my silence for the guilty admission that it was. “Let me guess, you’ve decided watching YouTube is more exciting than getting a job?”
I scoffed and threw my straw wrapper at him. He held up his hands to ward off the paper attack.
“No, no, I get it,” he laughed. “Working sucks. Believe me, if Dad hadn’t already arrang
ed this job for me, I’d be a couch potato, too.”
Though he was teasing, I stiffened. Defensiveness rose within me. I wasn’t wasting away on my couch watching random conspiracy videos. I was helping a desperate girl expose the reason she’d gone missing. A girl I’d never met. A girl who might be dead.
“I’m sorry, Raven,” Asher said, turning serious. “I was only kidding. Seriously.” His big, brown eyes were sincere, as if truly worried that he’d hurt my feelings.
I sighed. “I know, Asher. It’s not that. It’s just…I’ve been a little preoccupied lately. Something sort of came up. A problem I need to solve. It’s time sensitive, and I really need to work it out before I can think about getting a job.”
“Intriguing.” He stroked his chin like an evil mastermind from a cartoon. “What’s this problem? Can I help? I’m great at logic games, you can check my LSAT score.”
I tried to smile, but it came across pained. I was in over my head, I knew that. Asking Asher for help might get him tangled in the very complicated web that Lark had woven. I hated the thought of putting him in that position. And yet…I really did need help.
“What do you know about diamonds?” I ventured.
The question caught both of us by surprise. Asher coughed around the sip of water he’d just taken and turned beet red. I wasn’t sure why I led with that question, but I decided to run with it.
“Specifically, the Kingsley Diamond. Have you heard of it?” I continued.
Asher held a napkin to his lips and dried the water. He blinked his eyes rapidly to rid them of the tears collected in the corners.
“Who hasn’t?” he said finally. “I mean, what a find, you know? Red diamonds are rare. And one that big? Jeezy. The thing will probably end up more famous than the Hope Diamond.”
I knew about the rarity of diamonds, particularly red diamonds, from reading Wikipedia. And his claims about the Kingsley Diamond surpassing the Hope Diamond were probably true.
