Seduced

by Susan Arden

“Of course. I went to boarding school. It was part of the torture, I mean culture. So did Ham. He’s an accomplished dancer.”

  “Yes. I’ve had the pleasure.” I considered this piece of information. He’d mentioned he had gone away to school. They both had. No wonder he was so accomplished when we danced. Why on earth had he chosen me to be his date? Weren’t there more accomplished women who would serve as an escort? I could barely keep up during our one salsa. “How is one dance lesson going to do anything for my skill level tonight?” I sighed loudly.

  Marie frowned. “Don’t do that. If anything, look at it like a challenge. These days will be over soon enough and then what? Do you even know what you want to do with your time when you finally fit in with this crowd?”

  I stared at her for a second. This was the first time she’d referred to the endpoint. “Not a clue. What do you do?”

  She smiled. “Maybe I’ll share that with you next week. If you’ve learned to parcel your time effectively.”

  “Is someone keeping score?” I asked, needing to know if she reported what we did each day.

  “I’m not.” Marie began to fidget with her pocket.

  “Then who?” I stood unwilling to move. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Not outright I’m not. But I’d rather not lie to you either. Don’t ask me again. All I can say is, it’s not in the way you more than likely think it is.”

  * * *

  First a down and dirty waltz lesson, and then afternoon arrived after I’d undergone another round primping. Manicure, pedicure, waxing, and having my hair washed and styled before Marie dropped me off at the brownstone.

  “I’ll be back later,” Marie promised. “Go upstairs and rest. Jeanette has cucumbers and tea bags waiting for you along with a masseur.”

  I entered the townhouse by way of the elevator, and when the doors opened, I heard Filbert say, “Miss, right this way.” He came striding down the hall with his arms outstretched to take my bag.

  Jeanette met me at the stairs. “You look beautiful, Miss Hillwood. Please, Mr. Filbert.”

  “Right away.” Filbert smiled and hummed under his breath.

  He looked suspiciously in league with Jeanette. “Where’s Filbert going?” I asked.

  “I prepared a special little drink to rejuvenate you. Wheat and lemon grass, plus a few herbs and spices.”

  “How do you know about herbs and spices?”

  “Mr. Gordon required Ayurvedic training. It was non-negotiable in the ad.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said and smiled. “Very thoughtful of him.”

  “He cares about your happiness,” she returned, ushering me upstairs to a spare bedroom where a massage table was laid out.

  An older woman entered dressed in white, wiping her hands on a towel. “Please,” she said and motioned to the table. “Undress and get under the sheet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Marie arrived breathless, taking hold of my hand as she came through the door. She snapped her fingers and whistled excitedly. “Rick, where are you?”

  “How can I help?” Enrique, a young man who came daily to help with the non-existent heavy cleaning, lumbered out of the kitchen with a napkin wrapped around his neck. Part of the heavy lifting he’d done this week involved hand-to-mouth. Under Filbert’s command Enrique swept, mopped, vacuumed, and sampled his cooking.

  If Graham wanted a staff to haunt his house, it wasn’t my call, or at least Marie kept telling me whenever I grimaced. And according to her I had to get used to this way of life since it wasn’t going to change.

  “Go down to my car and bring up the packages. I found the perfect dress, absolutely gorgeous. You’ll simply die when you see it.”

  “I hope not. I’d rather like to live a little.”

  Marie met Enrique coming up the stairs. “Put those in the master bedroom.” She turned to me. “Shall we?”

  “Don’t I have to get ready?” I grimaced then stopped, not wanting to put on a show that’d result in another lecture on giving good face.

  “There’s a change in plans. You’re not wearing the black number. Come see what I found.”

  Upstairs, Marie unzipped the silver garment bag. “Isn’t this color mesmerizing? I think it changes with the light as though alive. Pulsing, or something equally amazing.”

  “It is an unusual shade of red, deeper than most I’ve seen, more saturated.” Hesitantly, I reached out and stroked my fingertips against the material. The fabric rippled, softer than butter against my skin.

  “That’s it. Red so red it almost looks as though the color might drip off the material.”

  I held up a gown that would take a body-sized shoehorn to squeeze me inside. “I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

  “It will. I used your exact measurements. With just the right amount of pressure, I made certain it was delivered in time. And the pièce de résistance. Take a peek at these.”

  She unboxed a pair of Jimmy Choo red lizard skin heels. I stared down at the countless tiny straps artfully twisted and arranged. “How did you manage?” I asked.

  “Secrets, secrets are no fun…I know enough dirt on the right people to make life fucking uncomfortable if I wanted to. These babies aren’t even for sale in the States yet. They’re a friend’s bounty from Paris fashion week. See what a trolling, ambitious bitch can acquire with the right smut?”

  Christ, I didn’t doubt that statement in the least. If there was one thing Marie did, she acquired confidences. Fortunate for me, I had few things to share. I could see other people with a life might say something off-the-cuff, and then she’d own them. Maybe that was the reason for her unusual relationship with Graham. The pit of my stomach twisted. I bet she had the 4-1-1 on him, but would she divulge his confidences to me? Suddenly, I realized I didn’t want to hear his secrets from anyone but him.

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Graham will be pleased.”

  She flashed a wide grin. “Yes. I think he just might in spite of himself.”

  She hung the dress in my overstocked closet. I didn’t know if there was a point of equilibrium, or saturation for her in doing all this. Or if she’d simply get bored with me as a novelty.

  “So, next week, what will you be doing?” I asked, uncapping my lip balm and swiping a coat across my lips, and looked over when she coughed.

  Exiting the closet door, she jerked her thumb backward. “We’ve come a long way, baby.”

  “Yes. You have. Are you bored yet?”

  “Hardly.” From the roll of her eyes, I knew we were far from that mark. “Ugh, I don’t think my work will be done here. So, you’ll have the pleasure of my company at least through the end of the month.

  Jeanette entered the bedroom, side-glancing my shoes, and smiled. “Very fancy.”

  “We have a change in plans. We’re doing red tonight. The new gown is hanging in the closet. Can you steam it stat?”

  “Oh my.” Jeanette chuckled. “I’ll have it done in no time flat.”

  * * *

  I dressed with Jeanette and Marie’s help. Marie’s fingers adjusted a decorative clip in my hair piled high upon my head. A few ringlets were artistically left to fall at the nape of my neck. They tickled me each time I moved. The hair stylist and make-up artist had retreated downstairs but had not been released to leave. Marie gave them instructions to wait until I departed. I sighed, wishing Graham were present. Marie had banned him from entering and had Filbert move his tux and things to a guest room to give us girl time. Graham had snorted as if we needed more, but he complied.

  Standing in front of a full-length mirror, I patted the front of the dress that clung like a second skin from my chest to just below the curve of my hips. I reached around, touching the small bustle that swept up a few graceful folds at the back of the dress. “The effect reminds me of an upside down lily by how the layers of the dress flow toward the floor. A vermillion velvet lily.”

  “It’s bloody well amazing. The color against your skin…I w
as right. Redheads should wear red. There,” Marie said as she finished the last pearl button on the matching crimson gloves I wore. “These gloves steer the eye to your chest. Graham will be floored when he sees you.”

  Marie never lied when it came to fashion. The gloves made the outfit. I smiled, peering into the mirror and down at the pair reaching up past my elbows. The effect was as she’d planned and made my bare shoulders more noticeable in contrast.

  “Don’t you think the neckline is too low?” I cringed at the show of cleavage. “Any second this dress is going to slink down and I’ll make headlines all right.”

  “Nonsense. It fits you better than those gloves. Even if the zipper explodes, there are several hooks and eyes keeping the bodice in place. It’d have to be ripped off your body.”

  My face blossomed in heat at a few panty-ripping memories. Literally. Graham had already proven tearing the clothes off my back was a very real possibility. “Just as long as I make it from the car into the museum and back again, I’ll be overjoyed.”

  She leapt up from the bench in front of the dressing table, wagging her finger as she did when she was about to make a point. “The first time you attend one of these things, you think it’s such a big deal. Afterward, not so much. I promise, next week, this’ll be old hat. No one will own this night except you. Those old farts who show up won’t know what hit Manhattan.”

  “So you think the press will go easy on me.” We gazed at each other, and she glanced down for a long second. Great. Just fucking great. “You found something out!” I shrieked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she muttered, peering at me in the mirror. “You’ll bomb!”

  “Why?” I demanded. My heart decided right then and there to sprint. I watched her, attending to her every nuance. When she reached for her hat from the bench, I leaned over. Bent at the waist, I was eye level with Marie. “Is it bad or should I ask how bad?”

  She snorted, then laughed for what felt like years. We both straightened and I couldn’t understand what was so funny. I shook her arm. “Are you hysterical?”

  “Opposite. I think they’ll eat you up. Fall in love. Bomb is Brit for good.” She pulled on a black cowboy hat to match the western apparel she’d worn that evening. “Expect to see red splashed all over the news. Let’s go Cinderella. You don’t want to be late.”

  “You do recall, Cinderella wasn’t a success story at the ball. And in that same vein, you’re right—I don’t want to be late.” I shifted away from the mirror. I’d already experienced Graham’s thoughts on showing up late. My rear end had finally stopped hurting five days later, but the bruises were still evident, making the masseur’s eyes widen.

  I followed her to the stairs. At the bottom, I met Graham’s gaze. There was a primal intensity in his eyes as he watched me, and the unmistakable flame of a smoldering fire leapt between us.

  “Do you like it?” Marie asked him. “Tell me I’m amazing.”

  The dress fit as though someone had sewn each stitch to hug my body. I breathed, and the dressed hugged me closer as I waited for his response. The feral flicker in his dark eyes grew when he lowered his focus to my breasts.

  “Eliza,” he murmured. “You’re breathtaking.” Graham saying my name in a deep growl unleashed a spiral of aching need low in my belly. My body clenched at the unspoken promise conveyed in the pressing of his lips, the flaring of his nostrils, and the pulsing muscle in his jaw. Goose bumps spread across my skin, and his keen eyes scanned along the path of the outbreak, making us both aware of how I absorbed this tension unfurling between us. He knew I was throbbing and wet between my legs.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I replied, wishing I could take his hand and climb the stairs, disappear into our bedroom for the evening. But I doubted he’d be receptive to that ploy, not with my make-or-break moment on the forefront.

  “Ready?” He scaled the stairs to meet me.

  Wearing an impeccable tuxedo, the bespoke jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, he moved as he always did: with the elegant assurance of someone with extreme power. The smooth olive skin over his sculpted features was made all the more arresting by his hair combed back instead of its usual helter-skelter appearance. He wore a white shirt along with a dark tie depicting geometrical lines that matched the color of my dress. Had he known what I was going to wear?

  Graham walked next to me down the stairs and at the bottom he turned his attention to Marie. “You’ve done well in capturing Eliza’s essence and bringing it to the foreground. Your eye is as sharp as ever.”

  She nodded, unusually quiet, a demure smile touching her face. Not for long though. Back in character, she scoffed. “I have done my part. Now, let’s see if you two can do yours.”

  Arching a brow, he smirked at her but didn’t say a word. Instead, he held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

  “What, no champagne before you’re off?” Marie blustered. The blistering expression on Graham’s face silenced her immediately as she held out my wrap. “Right. Can’t be late.”

  Slipping on my wrap, I watched this interplay and couldn’t help but wonder about their strange relationship. Until Graham’s fingers sailed across my skin, and I was wholly conscious of his touch.

  Filbert opened the front door, and winked to me. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and looked back at Jeanette who waved from the bottom of the staircase. I waved in return and smiled. Meeting Marie’s gaze, I lifted my chin and took hold of her arm. “I owe you. Big time.”

  She grinned. “Yeah. Big, huge time.”

  In the humid evening air, more goose bumps spread like wildfire racing with the trail of Graham’s fingers. I registered the frisson of excitement blooming within my body which exponentially grew when a shot of adrenaline spilled into my bloodstream. If I didn’t check these reactions, I would be held captive by a dizzying hunger when I needed to be focused and ready to play my part. I kept repeating that my sister might see the photographs taken. I had to be on my game. Cool. Composed.

  Leading me outside and down to his limo, he held the door and I was hyper-aware of his body. The car stretched along the sidewalk unlike the privately driven Rolls Phantom he normally traveled in. This crazy craving for him heightened with each stroke of his hand, but I wasn’t going to be the one who started out tonight needy and clingy. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want him to see the power he had over me. Our eyes met, and his fingers curled around my waist. “Nervous? Don’t be. You look good enough to eat.”

  “Ah, that’s not helping,” I said softly.

  “Maybe it should. It’s worked in the past. There’s a wide backseat just waiting for us.” He held my gaze and smiled.

  “You’re playing,” I replied as he helped me inside the car, then climbed in afterward, sliding over the seat until the side of a hard thigh rested against mine.

  “Am I?” He slipped his hand around my neck and kissed me on the check. Bringing my hand to his crotch, he spread my fingers over his hard-on. “Baby. I’m not.”

  “May I have something to drink? A glass of water.” I squeezed his length and pressed my knees together to squelch the throbbing between my thighs. I sat back and folded my hands in my lap, praying for strength. If he prompted me, I’d careen. It would be me with my legs thrown over his shoulders, getting fucked on Friday night in Midtown traffic. I’d arrive, dress a mess, hair a mess, and what a red carpet story. Insane selection and not novel.

  “You’re deflecting. Baby, when you play hard to get, God, you’re incredible. Better be careful,” he warned me with a heated once over perusal. He whistled, opened a compartment, and removed a bottle of champagne. Lovely flowers ran up the side of the bottle.

  “I thought you didn’t want me to drink,” I said, practicing my ability to sound in control.

  “Why would I have any qualms about whether or not you enjoyed some wine before, during, or after the charity auction?” His brows furrowed slightly, coupled with a hint of annoya
nce in his voice.

  “It was only a thought.” My hands shook. I couldn’t bury them in my dress; if I started to twist and pull on my gown, the velvet material would be ruined.

  “Not mine. Don’t assume things between us. Especially such specific directives.”

  “You didn’t want to drink back at the townhouse. And Marie mentioned I should be on my game. I assumed it was a subtle message. Maybe yours.”

  He poured two flutes filled with champagne, a smirk spreading over his full lips. “Marie has been known to put her foot in it because of her indulgence in one too many charity events featuring open bars. I believe she was speaking strictly from experience.”

  He raised his glass. “You are stunning tonight. If I can keep from pulling you into an empty room, it’ll be a testimony to my self-control. Tonight, you make the prospect of being a good host improbable.” He tapped my glass, giving me a fiery glance over the rim of his flute. My body responded on cue. I inhaled, sipping my wine, hoping tonight wouldn’t end with me photographed naked and draped over his body. Marie may have spoken more truth than she realized. Forget a storm in the making—being next to Graham was a thermal explosion waiting to happen.

  The car pulled up to the museum, inching forward within the queue, and I realized soon, very soon we’d disembark. Gripping the armrest, I glanced—more like stared in horrified shock—at the lights and cameras and cluster of lanyard-wearing press milling about like ants at a picnic. My eyes darted to the side of the red carpet, and it was the sight of the throngs of people kept at bay behind a velvet rope that prompted a shooting-sinking feeling in my stomach.

  The car stopped—oh hell my whole world stopped—and Graham murmured my name. It was our turn, and the door to the car opened. He climbed out and turned back to me, offering me his hand. I looked up at the night sky hiding the stars, not from clouds but the city lights glaring all around, and more so with the additional camera lighting set up along the walkway.