by Barefoot, LW
While Jamie remains the center of attention around the table, Evan’s eyes are for me alone. I inwardly squirm under his scrutiny and curiosity.
Several times I catch snippets of questions directed towards him about business and his family, but he sidetracks the conversation. Much in the same manner I’ve learned at my art shows. He’s even better at it than I am, his warm smile softens his deflection.
That same awareness I had of our skin touching while walking here grows. The way he leans into my space to talk with me has butterflies churning in the pit of my stomach.
His cologne is subtle, but when he brushes up against me it’s the only thing I can think of and my mouth waters.
When the check comes, I hand the waitress my debit card. I motion for her to include Jamie on my tab as well. Evan pulls out his steel cast credit card and hands it to her, signaling for her to cover the entire table. She smiles wide and I don’t blame her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Evan says as the waitress is eager to swipe his exclusive card.
Yep, out of my league. At this point, it’s possible I’m in a league all my own and not at all in a good way.
“Thank you, you didn’t need to do that,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome, now you owe me.”
The way he made that sound should be illegal. I know enough that I don’t ever want to owe someone like him.
The rest of the group is different about showing their gratitude towards Evan for picking up the tab. Some mutter thanks and others extend invitations to play golf or other equally boring suggestions. He’s nonchalant about it and noncommittal towards the eager invitations. Some of the women start to extend their requests of buying him drinks or repaying him, but he shrugs them off and ignores them. Apparently I’m the only one he wants payment from.
He stands and pulls my chair out. I give him a small smile as I follow behind Jamie out of the restaurant. I have every intention of cramming in the waiting cab with everyone else.
I’m stopped by Evan’s grip on my arm.
“Come with me. My driver’s waiting,” he suggests.
“Thank you, but I’m going with Jamie.”
I need to get away from Evan before I embarrass myself, if I haven’t already.
“The cab’s already full. We can follow them to the bar. It’s a short drive, if that makes you feel any better?”
I smile and nod, praying the wine I consumed at dinner isn’t staining my lips or that my actual dinner isn’t lingering in my teeth.
A black Mercedes pulls up next to us. The driver gets out and holds the backdoor open.
My instincts are always to run, no matter what. This is the first guy I’ve been interested in and it scares the hell out of me. I could be the most elegant woman in his eyes, but my inexperience alone makes me too self-conscious, too ridiculous. Evan catches my arm in an easy way, but something in his eyes makes my stomach drop. I feel the broken wings of those long dead butterflies flutter around inside me.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going.”
His voice deep with all traces of amusement gone.
“I’m sorry, but I think I will call it a night. I’ll walk home, thanks again for dinner,” I manage to say.
The look on his face tells me he’s a stranger to rejection, but that could be me overthinking this like I do everything else.
“I promised Jamie I would see to your safety. Please get in the car,” he demands.
It’s not a question either. I understand how crazy Jamie is about security, but he didn’t need to tell Evan to see to it.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” is my pathetic explanation, because the real one wouldn’t make sense to him. He is the first person who has made me feel anything other than numb. His heated gaze from the moment I stepped out of the house has only become hotter and right now it’s damn near smoldering. With one awakening of a sensation, another one slips in right behind it and it’s his fault. The ice queen I’ve been tortured and sculpted into is melting.
Evan eases me into the back seat of the car while I’m struggling with some kind of excuse to be alone. I bounce with the impact of flopping down unexpectedly. My dress rides up high around my thighs. Evan slides in next to me before I can make the dress behave.
His gaze is fixed on my exposed thighs and somehow my embarrassment evaporates. A muddled curse escapes his lips. He’s not looking at me like I’m a silly mess. If I keep looking into his eyes, I’m going to drown in those sparkling depths.
My blush crawls up my chest and colors my cheeks and I feel too exposed with him. I’m paranoid he sees too much. I scoot to the far side of the seat in a feeble attempt to escape him and my reactions to him. We only met a few hours ago and these foreign sensations are dangerous because I don’t know how to handle them.
“Harper, look at me,” he whispers. His voice rolls with a lazy southern accent.
Heavy minutes pass while I try to collect myself, willing my burning cheeks to cool it.
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
The heat burning my cheeks flood to other places I thought long dead. The edge in his voice sounds eerily familiar.
When our eyes meet, he mutters, “That’s better.”
In an instant, his strong hands grab me and pull me back closer to his side. His lips brush against mine as if in apology, but he’s not sorry at all, and neither am I. The feel of his smooth lips and the hair on his face is a wicked contradiction that breathes more life into me than I’ve ever felt before. His tongue licks across my bottom lip searching, seeking more. He tastes like the delicious wine we shared, only better. The warmth of him cradles and wraps around me, blanketing me in lust. I fuel his fire and want to burn from the flame.
I let out a moan as Evan’s tentative approach changes suddenly. His warm palms move from my neck and outlines the contours of my body, his lips and tongue turn ravenous. Positioning me to straddle him is as easy as keeping my lips locked to his. His hands smooth up my legs, starting at my knees and pushing higher and higher. He cups my ass, while still pushing my dress up, brushing against the fabric of my thong. His fingertips rub into my slick heat on top of the thin material. He breaks our desperate kiss to study me. Our eyes meet and a look of pure satisfaction plays in his darkened gaze. He claims my mouth while pulling me against him. He pushes his hips up, grinding up to my core. He holds onto me as the car comes to a sudden stop.
The car stopping ruins everything. The moment evaporates and brings me back to the present. The one that reminds me of what I’m doing. I stare at his handsome face for the first time tonight. Unashamed that I’m drinking him in, as if committing him to memory.
I pull away and look up at my complex. I’m surprised he brought me back here, even though it’s what I requested before we got in the car. As I pull my dress down, I climb off Evan’s lap. Blood rushes in my ears and that embarrassing, telling blush takes over.
I’m not like this. I don’t make out with random guys, ever. I choke on the words I should say. I should apologize about what a mess I am, but I’m tongue tied and his unique taste lingers on it. Without saying a word, I escape the smothering confines of the vehicle and my epic failure.
In that moment, I would have let things go too far. Things already went too far.
I see our doorman holding the lobby door open for me. I walk towards the complex without a backwards glance.
My apology burns a hole in my tongue for not voicing it.
Harper
I pick up the mail from the lobby after my morning run. All thoughts about my actions last night forgotten. It was a mistake, nothing more. A lapse in judgement.
I shift through the mail, tossing the junk in the recycle bin before walking through the courtyard.
My name is scrawled in whimsical flourishes on a heavy envelope. The thick paper slices through my finger when I open it. I hiss and look at the cut, before putting in my mouth.
I take a seat by the fountain
and pull out the contents. It is a bold invitation to one of New Orleans’ most exclusive and prestigious Mardi Gras masquerade balls. The only holiday in this city I never celebrate. I didn’t even consider having to live in a place where covering your face and getting drunk is cause for celebration. So far, I have been able to avoid any flashbacks from my time with the Sculptor after seeing a mask, but I don’t want to risk it… ‘Stop trying to see beyond what I want you to. Your eyes are mine, your thoughts are mine, because I own you, and you will see everything in due time.’
I shiver as his words taunt me and reassure me that attending a masked ball would be a bad idea for myself and everyone involved.
I stand up and walk into the house in search of Jamie. He was out late last night and his bedroom door was closed when I left for my run. Loud laughter and a small shriek of female giggling comes from the kitchen. I smile as I watch Jamie and his new flavor of the week attempt to cook together. He never usually allows anyone in his kitchen while he works.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I say when they both look over at me.
I smile at the pretty brunette.
“Hi, I’m Harper.”
I wave slightly and want her to feel comfortable with my presence. Before she has a chance to speak, Jamie introduces Kate and keeps stirring around the bowl in his arms.
“Jamie’s told me so much about you,” Kate says.
My eyes shoot to Jamie’s. He quirks his brow up like I should know better than to question the information he would divulge about me.
She surprises me by coming around the island and pulls me into an embrace. When she steps back, she holds me by both of my arms.
“Please join us for breakfast, we were already planning on it,” she offers.
Kate glances back at Jamie for reassurance.
“That would be great. Thank you. I’m relieved to have another opinion on this invitation. I think whoever sent this made a huge mistake.”
I hand over the large envelope that’s now speckled with my blood from the cut on my finger. They look it over while I search for a bandage. Kate holds it up while Jamie pours batter on the griddle.
“I’ve never even seen one of these in person,” Kate exclaims in her southern drawl.
Jamie tries to focus on the pancakes and read at the same time. To him it’s just a decorative piece of paper.
Kate continues, “You’ve caught someone’s attention. This is one of the most sought after invitations of the season.”
“I didn’t see an RSVP card to send back. How am I supposed to decline?” I ask.
Kate’s smile fades as her face morphs in complete astonishment. I stop digging around the drawer I desperately need to clean out.
“You have got to be out of your mind to even consider not going. You have to go, you have no other choice. You can’t leave whoever sent you this hanging, that would be social suicide. Even consider this an opportunity to network and garner interest in your work,” Kate tries to explain.
There is a valid reason none of my paintings are represented here in galleries or private showings. I don’t need more attention or networking opportunities. I’m already beginning to believe I’ve grown too recognizable in the art world. No amount of searching for the Sculptor’s paintings of me has revealed any results. I’ll never stop looking and I’ll never be able to walk through any gallery without the sole purpose of discovering those lost pieces of myself.
Kate interrupts my thoughts. “Are you not the least bit curious about who sent this?”
Curiosity is a dead cat in my mind.
“I’m sorry. I’m out of my league here. I wouldn’t even know where to go that night. There isn’t an address on the envelope or invite.”
I lie about attending. My plans for Mardi Gras are vastly different than what’s spelled on that stained parchment. Painting, pinot noir, and Ru’ are the only company I’m keeping the night of the ball.
“The krewe keeps the location top secret. Absolute privacy and discretion is how they operate. Not at all like the krewes who decorate floats and toss beads and doubloons at waving masses and greedy onlookers. The person who sent this knows where you are. It’s customary to send transportation to and from the ball, that’s the least of your worries,” she proclaims.
Kate couldn’t have hit the nail on the head any better.
On the rare occasion I find myself walking down Bourbon street I rush past the tourist traps that sell cheap masks. I play it off as if it’s a strip club I’m running away from. Mardi Gras is out of the equation for me. Just thinking about going sends my mind into a dizzying repeat performance of coming face to face with the man who stalks me in my dreams wearing a mask and spelling out my doom.
With Jamie’s help, the subject changes.
I go about my daily routine after breakfast with Jamie and Kate. Jamie never lets women stay around if they’re only one night stands and he definitely doesn’t cook for just anyone.
I want to give them space, so I take Rufus to our usual coffee shop.
Harper
I stand in line at the coffee shop when Evan walks through the door. I’ve never seen him in here before. I would have definitely remembered someone who likes as good as he does. It’s more complex than him being attractive, but I can’t quite figure it out. I’ve never met someone who carries themselves with so much self-assurance and confidence. Evan’s six foot plus height makes it impossible to miss him and his gorgeous face insures he holds your attention. Women look up from their laptops and smartphones to catch a glimpse, and I can’t blame them.
One woman has no problem turning around in line and checking him out. She leans in to the person next to her and whispers something that causes her friend to gawk at him.
His masculine scent invades the air around me, mixing with the overpowering aroma of coffee beans.
“Harper, pleasure seeing you here,” he says, while he leans down to pay attention to Ru’.
“Hi,” I manage to say.
It would make all of this easier if he didn’t act like he liked my dog. I offer Evan a smile while Ru’ soaks up the attention.
“Join me for coffee,” he smirks.
His hand still on Ru’, but his eyes hold mine. That spark from last night is still there, only stronger. It had nothing to do with the wine, unfortunately.
“I’d love to,” I lie.
He looks even better in the light of day. The dull gray sky doesn’t diminish the brilliance of his eyes. He’s intimidating without adding to that prickling awareness that’s been clawing at me since I met him.
After we order and grab our drinks, we find a table on the sidewalk. I hide behind my sunglasses despite the cloudy early afternoon. I busy myself with pulling Ru’s bowl out from my bag and I pour water into it. I wish I had something else to do before turning my attention back to Evan.
“You haven’t answered any of my calls,” he states, while leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. Invading my space in the process.
It hasn’t even been a full day since we met and my phone’s been ringing since he dropped me off last night.
“I don’t remember giving you my number,” I reply.
I knew had I answered the phone I would give myself away. All my insecurities would show through whatever we would have to say to each other. Completely pointless.
“That’s beside the point. Why do I get the feeling I’m getting blown off?” Evan pushes.
“I’m embarrassed by my actions. I feel like I owe you an apology, but I’m not sorry at all. I just met you and then one thing led to another and I freaked, okay? Trust me, I’m not like that.”
I’m finally able to meet his gorgeous eyes, as he stares past the tinted lenses of my sunglasses. His gaze flicks to my lips.
“Harper, you’re a grown woman. You should no longer be shy about your physical response to a man.”
But shy is my middle name. And those strange urges I had last night continue. Whatever our lust spira
led into would have only ended in his disgust of me.
“Did you end up having a good night?” I ask, steering our conversation away from the topic of physical responses.
“No. I was quite pissed my driver didn’t notice by your sexy little moans to keep circling a few blocks. We were only getting started,” he says matter of fact.
His words make me shiver. I have to look away from him, because his casual mention of what he desired mirror my own, but it’s impossible and it’s needs to be squashed.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he requests.
If talking to him on the phone is a bad move, dinner would be even worse.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I mutter.
Evan removes my hand from my coffee cup and lifts it up, inspecting the paper cut I couldn’t find a bandage for. A tinge of sadness flickers over his features, before he kisses the angry red line. His warm lips linger after he pulls away and proves why I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. I can’t trust my traitorous reactions to him.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tonight,” he insists.
“I already have plans,” I protest, while his jaw clenches.
“I don’t care. Change them.”
End of discussion. He stands and leans down to kiss my cheek, whispering, “Wear those sexy heels you had on, I will be there to catch you if you fall.”
He picks up his coffee and he walks to a different car than the one we were in last night. He turns back to me and winks before sliding on a pair of sunglasses. I stare after the taillights as he drives away.
“I’m sorry, this might be rude, but are you and Evan Hawthorne an item?” the woman who boldly checked Evan out earlier, asks long after Evan leaves.
