“Now, in exiting. Wait for the door to be opened for you. Either the chauffeur or the doorman or footman will do this for you. Or, Blake. Then, you wait for the hand.”
He extends his hand and waits until I get it. I quickly shoot my hand forward, and he grasps it with his fingers. He swings his legs out, knees together, stands, gains his footing, and steps forward.
“Note.” He looks at me pointedly. “Take off with the foot that is farthest away from whoever is giving you a handout. Otherwise, you might wobble and stumble into them.”
I give one sharp nod, mentally going over everything in my head. He tells me to begin, and I copy what he had done. I bend my torso as I exit.
“Good thing I’m not interested in boobs,” Brad sighs out.
I look down and then clasp my hand to my chest, pushing the silk fabric against my chest.
“You will have that clutch with you, or sometimes a small purse. You use it to cover your cleavage as you exit. For now, you will pretend your hand is your clutch. Do it again.”
“You don’t like boobs at all?” I slide back inside.
“I appreciate a nice set on a beautiful female, but it's part of their overall look. And if I tell you I like yours, Blake will kill me, so I do not. And, if you insist on flashing guests, then keep doing what you are doing. I’m sure Blake will be pleased with it.”
I make a face, and he tells me he saw that. I hit my head a few times on the door frame; I slide off the seat to the floor; I wobble and fall into him because I do not use the correct foot. I flash him a few times. I mess up quite a bit, but he makes me practice like a hundred more times, so it’s perfectly natural for me.
I exit the Limo, my knees together as I swing my feet out, my fingers on the palm of his hand, covering my chest, and making sure my shoes are firmly planted. I rise, straighten my back, stomach sucked in, and take off on the foot farthest from Brad. I’m so proud of what I just did that it doesn’t register he’s standing at the garage door entrance.
My eyes are straight ahead, and when it registers that he is there, he has a quirk of a smile on his handsome face. He is relaxed, wears another suit, and his eyes—twinkle? The smile tugs on his lips a bit more, and I falter and stumble a bit as Brad steadies me. He follows my gaze and then steps back. I cannot tear my eyes away from him. His blue eyes are so mesmerizing, and I feel... No, I don’t feel that.
I can’t feel that.
But his eyes crinkle in the corners. He likes what he sees in front of him—even if I look goofy with my rolled-up jeans, scoop-necked blouse, and heels. I flush and roll my lips together, unable to take my eyes from him as my breath catches. Right now, it’s just him and me in this garage, and I feel more heat in my cheeks as the smile joins his lips, and I want to run to him and throw myself in his arms. I want to feel his lips on mine and his powerful hands on my back, holding me and keeping me safe.
“Mr. Harland,” Brad greets jovially, breaking into my traitorous thoughts as he follows my gaze. “Had I known you would be here, I would have used you as my prop.”
My eyes flick to Brad and then back to Blake, who grins wider. He then winks at me and leaves the room.
“Hot?”
After a moment, Brad’s words slink into my brain, and I tear my eyes from Blake’s retreating back to Brad. I think I’m red all over now, and I’m flustered. Brad laughs at me and leans into my ear.
“He is a handsome man. Your reaction is normal.”
I shake my head and back away. “No. It’s not—”
“Uh-huh.” Brad shuts the car door, and I jump. “We’re done, Cinderella. Remember what I told you. Don’t flash anyone your boobs. Except, Blake. He’ll appreciate that.”
My mouth drops open, and I’m a few steps behind Brad as we leave the garage.
Blake
I WATCHED THE TWO OF them for a while. She had been so intent on getting Brad’s instructions correct; she hadn’t noticed me. Not until the last—and I enjoyed watching her. I enjoyed her rapport with Brad and her ready smile for him. In time, I hope to be on the receiving end of that smile. Right now, I’m just pleased she was working on etiquette and seemed to enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong, it matters not to me about her etiquette. If it had, I would have dealt with it at the wedding.
However, as much as she wished to embarrass me, I do not wish for her to be embarrassed by those raised with proper manners as a second language. I wish for her to succeed and to hold her own. As I watch her enter and exit the Limo until Brad is pleased with her progress, I catch glimpses of the carefree spirit I want to see more of. She was angry, yes, and I don’t blame her. Who wants to be part of the bargain and married to a man they don’t know? In my time, it used to be the norm—now, not so much.
As she exits the Limo for the last time, I had wanted to be out of sight. But she did this one so effortlessly, so flawlessly, with a ready smile on her lips, a gleam in her eye. She was so relaxed and—happy. I couldn’t move. The sight of her beauty kept me rooted to my spot. I did not want to leave and lose sight of this unguarded moment. And when her eyes met mine, I wanted to gather her in my arms, whisper in her ear, and tell her everything would be all right. I wanted to scoop her up and hold her in my arms, keeping her safe.
I wanted to carry her into my bedroom and show her just how much I loved her. It seems as if I’ve waited years for her.
I can wait years more—if it takes that long.
Chapter Nine
Marina
BRAD DOES MY HAIR AND makeup again for the fundraiser. I’m glad he does—I’m nervous. My hands have been shaking, and I leave them balled in my lap as Brad fixes me up. He won’t let me look at myself and has my seat away from the mirror. I suppress another tremble, and Brad backs away from me.
“Hey, Princess. You’ll be fine.” He backs up to look at his masterpiece.
Tears fill my eyes. Oh, why now? Why is it hitting me now? “I’m sorry I ruined your wedding dress,” I whisper. A tear rolls down my cheek.
Brad exhales and reaches for a stool. He brings it over as I look at him miserably. “Let it out, honey.”
I bawl then, ruining his expert makeup application. He hands me a tissue, and I wipe; I don’t dab. And the tears still come and won’t stop. And I blubber out my explanations.
“I was mad that day. Hurt, angry, betrayed... I wanted to lash out and hurt him.” The tears are fat and rolling to gather at my chin. Brad takes my hand. “If you knew what I went through. Then... Blake comes and makes a deal with my dad.” I wipe my face and feel Brad squeeze again. “I didn’t know what to do. Anger took over, and I thought if I pushed, destroyed, acted out, that Blake would... would... kill me. I wanted to die. I expected to on my wedding night. I pushed him. He should have.”
I wipe the rest of my makeup off and dare a look at Brad. His face is full of compassion, and he kisses the back of my hand.
“I wanted to die, Brad. I wanted him to kill me.” And my admission sounds so childish and so desperate at the same time. My words hang there, echoing in the room. Then he rises and pulls me up with him into a hug. His arms are secure around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Blake will never kill you,” he says over my shoulder. He squeezes me in comfort and sighs out. “It doesn’t matter how much you push, or goad, or yell. He will not kill you.” He holds me until my crying jag ends. Then he draws back and takes in my mussed hair and face, now void of makeup. “Me, however, he wouldn’t hesitate if I let you go to the fundraiser like this.”
The corner of my mouth twitches, and I sit back down. I feel slightly better. But a part of me knows I need to apologize to Blake as well. He’s been nothing but kind. I know what he is, and he should have killed me. It confused me when he left me in my bedroom. He hadn’t even taken me to his, which had been something I dreaded that whole night. And he’s been polite. And he held me when I disappeared into the past and blanked out. And he made sure I was okay. And he steadied me.
And he didn�
��t make me feel bad.
BRAD INSISTS I WAIT until his cue to come walking down the stairs. He hovers at the top of the steps. Then he comes rushing back to me, motioning with his hand to come and follow him. I take a deep breath and start tromping, stop, straighten my back, suck in my gut, and imagine a line in front of me. Like a proud mama, he clasps his hands to his chest and grins at me. He kisses my cheek when I reach him.
“Go on, Princess. You can do this.”
On that encouraging note, I steady my nerves and walk down the hall to the top of the steps. I reach the landing, gently grasping the railing to begin my descent. As I grip the rail, my eyes look below and there is Blake, dressed in a fitted, black tuxedo, expertly tailored and, unbidden, I wonder again what he looks like underneath it. I meet his eyes, and for a moment time suspends before the heat in my cheeks brings me around. I lift the side of my skirt and take my first step. He watches me the entire time I descend the stairs, even as I watch him. I cannot look away from him. And as I descend to him, I recognize lust when I see it. And it’s all over Blake, in his face, vibrating through his body, reaching through the space between us.
But instead of it making me fear him, my body responds to him. And if we did not have this function to go to, I fear I would try to find out just what it is between us. My stomach clenches in response and the heat that was once in my cheeks flows away and down. These feeling are new and strangely exciting to me. But more than that, I see mirrored in his eyes the same desire that is in my own, and I do not try to hide any of it from him—or from me.
And it’s confusing.
His hand extends to me as I near, and I place my fingers against his palm like Brad had taught me. He bows over it with a kiss on my knuckles. Nervously, I smile, my heart fluttering wildly. His thumb traces the back of my hand, sending me into a shiver. This is the stuff of fairy tales, and I can’t believe that in a week of being here, I’m...
“I have no words,” he says to me in a quiet voice.
My cheeks are hot, and I work on breathing normally even as he steals my breath away. He makes me want to throw myself into his arms. His eyes travel my length, up and down in obvious male appreciation, and I turn my face demurely.
“I want to keep you all to myself.”
His words slide over me, and my lips part as my breath catches once again. I dare to meet his eyes. His blue meets my brown, and I sink into him as I believe he falls into mine. And in this moment, I realize that I will go anywhere with this man because he loves me and will keep me safe. These new thoughts are both scary and exhilarating at the same time.
And just as he wants to keep me to himself—I want to do the same to him.
“Hurry up, you two. Don’t be late to your own Ball,” Brad calls from the top of the stairs.
Blake grins and tucks my hand in his arm. He leads me to the front door, opening it and guiding me through to the Limo. Here’s my test. I turn, stick my butt inside, use my purse to cover my bodice, and swivel my feet over, knees together. Pleased, I slide down the seat and arrange my dress. Test number one, and I just passed with flying colors.
“I’m giving Brad a raise,” Blake says to me as he stares at me once again.
I smile with a bit of laugh and wonder why on earth I had been so angry at this man? In retrospect, he took me away from my hell. He took me wounded and hurting and angry and put me into his beautiful castle. He treated me with respect, didn’t force himself on me, left me to myself, invited me to lunch and dinner. Anything I need or want is at my literal fingertips. He treated me with respect, allowing me to be myself—to find myself.
He didn’t kill me.
And I was ready to die—I wanted to.
INSIDE THE VENUE, AN orchestra is playing in the corner on a stage. The lilting strains lend an ambiance to the mood within. While I hold on to Blake, my head swivels to take in the finely decorated room. There are hospital posters featuring children, and nurses, and doctors lined up along the wall as we enter the room. As we move throughout the room, I see a few more on the stage across the room. A low hum of conversation slides through the room, followed by laughter and the clinking of glasses. The mood is jovial with a low buzz of excitement. I cling to Blake’s strong bicep, gathering my strength from him because, for all of my feigned bravery, I’m frightened. What if I mess up tonight and Brad is disappointed in me?
What if Blake is?
I so desperately want this to work. I want this to work for him. I—want to work for him. Yes, something has shifted within me, and now, instead of being frightened, I’m excited. And a little frightened, I suppose. I walk beside Blake, his equal, my hand tucked in his arm. Safe, secure, and—protected. He greets everyone who stops him, introduces me, makes small talk, and I stand with a smile, sometimes plastered, sometimes distracted, and occasionally genuine. I concentrate on breathing and saying the right things, but mostly I just nod my head and smile. It’s working.
Eventually, I end up by myself, next to the stage. Blake is not too far away as he went to get me something to drink. My eyes stray to him, where he holds a flute in his hand, speaking with a guest who has intercepted him. My eyes slide away and around the grand room, the people milling around, making acquaintances, greeting friends, drinking, laughing, the gentle touches to an arm or hand. The clapping on the back of the men greeting another.
This is his world. Another one, anyway. I know of his other one. The one he hasn’t shown me and keeps to himself right now. Maybe I’ll want that life too.
But right now, he has brought me into this one, and at this moment, I feel like Cinderella. I’ve seen appreciative looks from the men in the room, yet I am not the only elegantly dressed woman here at this fundraiser. There are many beautiful women here tonight, each wearing different styled dresses. Each dress, it seems, vies for the attention of the others. I blend, I fit in, and I stand out all at the same time. Brad indeed did an exceptional job with me.
“Such beauty!”
My gaze circles around to the unfamiliar voice, a ready smile on my lips as I regard him curiously until I recognize him. My smile falters, and I press my lips together as I study him. He is handsome in his suit, and I am beginning to think that all of Blake’s friends are well-dressed, good-looking, and polished. I shift a bit to keep him more to my front than to my side, where he suddenly appeared from. He rakes me up and down with his eyes. I am annoyed by it, but still, a flush creeps into my cheeks by his perusal. Brad’s words echo through my head, and though I wish to walk away, I greet him instead.
“Hello.” I think I sound pleasant. My heart picks up a beat.
He takes my hand unbidden, and I notice he is wearing that magnificent ring on his finger once again. I want to yank my hand away, but there is something magnetic about him. There is something about him that draws me to him.
“Hello.” His voice has a timbre to it that is soothing, sliding over me like a melody lulling me into complacency. “Marcellus.”
“Yes, I remember,” I say. I cannot drag my eyes from him, and I suddenly find I don’t want to.
“I am surprised Blake has left you—unprotected.” His words filter through me, and I could stare into his eyes all night. “Perhaps it is my turn to take from him.” He grins at me. “You rival all the other lovely ladies here tonight.”
Still caught up with his magnetic presence, his words lead me to ask, “Is Inara here as well?” As soon as I say her name, a flood of desire courses through my body. My knees almost buckle in response, and it confuses me even as bits of memories beginning stabbing into my brain.
“Of course. As are Deverell and Natalia. You look stunning, my dear,” he tells me again, appreciatively. “Why has Blake left you here alone?” His eyes are intense, and the corners of his lips twitch. He will not release my eyes.
“You mean to the wolves?” I ask in a whisper. His eyes are magnetic, pulling me in. There is no depth.
Marcellus grins then. “We kill the wolves.”
His vo
ice circles around me, and he caresses my hand as if it is a delicate flower. My eyes are sinking into his as he brings my knuckles to his lips. His lips linger cool and firm on my middle knuckles, caressing where they join. I suppress a shiver as his lips seem to pull, the tip of his tongue darting out briefly—there is something in his eyes that holds my own. I cannot look away, and I suddenly want to...
“Come with me, dear.”
I furrow my brow, shaking my head a bit, as if to clear it. I can’t leave here. Blake said to wait, but I suddenly don’t care about that. I take a step with a dazed smile on my lips.
“Marcellus!”
I jerk, blink, and back up as he releases my hand. Blake is standing there with my flute of champagne, his blue eyes glittering dangerously as he takes in Marcellus. I swear I hear some strange hissing. The two men have a staring contest, and it makes me uncomfortable and curious. Blake’s arm bumps mine, and I realize he is handing me my glass. Belatedly, I reach for it and keep my eyes on both men, back and forth as my senses come back to me.
“Blake,” Marcellus greets with a smirk. “I donated.” His smile widens as if he knows something Blake does not. “That’s the price, right? A donation?”
I try to get a glimpse of his teeth, but his lips cover them quickly. Blake stiffens, and his jaw clenches. “Thank you,” he clips out, and I know he is not thankful.
“I also wanted to stop by personally and thank you for the business you gifted Deverell and me.” His eyes grow hard, like ice. His jaw is set, almost jutted forward. “Nice touch that. A business in name only authenticated by the proper paperwork.”
His eyes darken then, and he seems to sneer a bit. My gaze flicks to Blake, who is taking it all in stride and with a touch of arrogance. There’s a slight twitch in his lips.
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