Have Gown, Will Wed

by Killian McRae

  Xavier and the violinists must have been in cahoots. He swayed her as though the two had conspired to throw her off kilter.

  “Are you always so tense? It’s not ballet, Rosalind. You don’t have to worry about keeping perfect form.”

  “I said we should keep things formal, and I meant it, Mr. Hommes.” Just to showcase her self-control, she braced her grip in his, boxing her arm at a rigid angle and forcing their bodies apart.

  Xavier exhaled and paused, moving his hand down her back and flattening his palm. He pressed her back against him insistently. Again her senses became overwhelmed with his scent.

  “You said you believed we should keep things formal. I, however, am of a different bent, and I’m exercising my unalienable rights to my own beliefs.” He lowered his chin, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’ll talk business, just so others don’t get the impression that we’re enjoying ourselves, or Heaven help us. Now let me dance with you properly. Next time you’ll dance with someone like this will be at your wedding, and you need the practice.”

  How incredibly easy it was to close her eyes and do just that. All she had to do was decide. Xavier coaxed her left and right in just the right measure against the music. Her feet ceased serving as booby traps meant to make her fall; a minor miracle given her history of failed attempts at anything resembling grace. She drifted with him across the floor under his command, the euphoria broken only when she began to hear him whisper in time to the band’s refrain.

  “You know this song,” she said.

  She felt more than heard the rumble of a chuckle. “Moonlight Serenade. One of my favorites. I have a thing for Glenn Miller and big band music the way you have for Mae West and Golden Hollywood.”

  “So you shun the modern as well? We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

  He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes focused on her lower lip, his breath scented with red wine, making her feel intoxicated. “Yes, we do.”

  She cleared her throat and moved her gaze to take in the crowd to the right, reminding herself that she had a working relationship with Xavier, nothing more. “Tell me, have you found me a husband yet?”

  “You didn’t hire me to find you a husband.”

  Her confused blinking against the twinkle of the lights made her dizzy. “I’m quite certain I did.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he assured her. “You hired me to find you a pre-screened pool of potential fiancé candidates. And yes, I have some news on that front. I was actually planning on having my people call your people in the morning, as the yuppies used to say, so I could get on your calendar. I’ve decided since your work is such an integral part of your life, I would benefit from seeing you operate in that environment.”

  “Why can’t you just talk to Jack? He already did a work up of me at my office.”

  Xavier shook his head. “He was approaching the task from a different perspective. He wasn’t looking then for what interests me.”

  “Well, I’m heading out to Japan for a week tomorrow, but I can have Carmen find us something for when I get back.”

  “Good, I’m heading out to Singapore myself.” With a grace a swan would have envied, he dipped her and held her there.

  “There’s no need to mock me. I’m not trying to avoid you. Now pull me back up.”

  He did so slowly, carefully, tenderly. Teasingly. “I don’t mock. I have to go where the talent is. Believe it or not, you’re not my only client, Rosalind.”

  “Just your most important?” she joked.

  The end of the number and ensuing applause prevented his answer as couples around them separated and added in their approval. Rosalind began to pull away when Xavier’s grip tightened. His eyes stayed locked on her mouth.

  “Are you…” He hesitated before turning on the crowd of milling millionaires and taking a wide survey. “Are you here alone?”

  “Not to be curt, Mr. Hommes, but given what I hired you to do, you think I would be here with a date?”

  Faltering, his hold on her began to loosen. “No, of course not. I meant… I didn’t mean anything. Just pleasant conversation.”

  “Okay.” Rosalind crossed her arms over her chest and studied the shifting sands of Xavier’s expression. It then occurred to her that just because she was without a partner didn’t mean that he was. Feeling the pit of her stomach drop out, her eyes began to dart around the room, looking for a hostile glare from a gorgeous woman pointed in her direction.

  Because, of course, Xavier would only pick the best possible date, Rosalind told herself. That was his nature. Plus, given how handsome he was …

  Wanting to showcase the amiable relationship, Rosalind found herself prattling. “Actually, I am kind of here with someone. Two someones: Kamakshi and her fiancé.”

  “The one who put this arranged marriage notion in your head?” Xavier asked. She nodded. “I’d like to meet her. Her engagement won my firm a huge commitment from the head of BetaHouse, after all. I feel like I owe her a finder’s fee.”

  “It’s your lucky day. As a matter of fact, Kamakshi’s the CTO of a start-up herself, and might need your services in the future. Let me introduce you.” She paused on the edge of the dance floor, planted her hands on her hips, and began to sweep the room trying to identify her target. “Now where did she go?”

  Xavier walked up behind her, just close enough so that if she stumbled backward it would be against the wall that was his chest, but not close enough to be touching her otherwise. “Is she about 5’ 6”, long black hair, wearing a beautiful red sari?”

  “Yes, exactly. Where do you see her?”

  His hand anchored on her shoulder, spinning her around as his other hand pointed to a couple retreating in to the shadows at the edge of the room, looking like they were about to single-handedly resurrect San Francisco’s now defunct Exotic Erotic Ball. A few other patrons of the party glanced at them askew, but then only laughed and looked away. Rosalind, on the other hand, stiffened. Kamakshi and Prashant had come as her guests, and their overly familiar behavior might come back to reflect on her. Though, seriously, for some parts of the city, the impromptu groping session was fairly mild.

  That did nothing to soothe her jealousy, of course. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so wrapped up in someone that she’d throw herself at him in public that way. To be so consumed by emotion and desire…

  When Rosalind felt the pinprick of a tear in the corner of her eye, she turned on her heels and put on her best business-ready, stoic face. “Perhaps another time. Seems she’s busy at the moment.”

  Xavier’s hand on her shoulder tightened. When she turned to him, he moved his hands up to cup both her cheeks, holding her eyes locked into his.

  “You’ll have that soon enough. I promise you.”

  Rosalind gasped. “I didn’t say…”

  “Shhhh.” The pad of his index finger fell against her lips, stilling her words but quickening her heart. “I can see it in your eyes. Remember, it’s my profession to read people for who they really are.” His gray eyes narrowed as his hand fell away. “I’m not going to let you down. I’m taking this assignment very seriously. I’m going to find you someone who will set your heart, and your body, on fire.”

  “That’s not exactly appropriate,” she finally got out, though only after a successful go at a gasping fish impression.

  He cocked his head to the side as his eyes flashed quickly to the swooning couple in the shadows. “Tell me you don’t want someone to kiss you like that.”

  Her eyes closed. She didn’t know why it made her feel tight in her skin to admit this to, of all people, Xavier Hommes, the very person in charge of amending her single status.

  His hands pressed into her cheeks, just enough pressure to cause her to open her eyes and stare into his with confusion.

  “We all want to be kissed that way,
Rosalind.” His lips were right against hers. When had he gotten so close? “I know I do.”

  What was she doing? Was she leaning into him? Was he leaning into her?

  Rosalind tilted her head and closed her eyes, not really sure why. Xavier’s breath mingled with her own; she could taste his essence, steely and masculine, on her tongue. Her senses drenched—sound, scent, touch—her being was deluged by Xavier’s existence. Especially touch

  And then, nothing. Coolness fell over her as his heat evacuated her space. When she opened her eyes, he was already halfway across the dance floor, his back the only view his retreat afforded.

  “Xav?”

  Her plea went for nothing. His steps carried him directly across the couples twirling to a Count Basie number, past the bar, around the crowd, and out the door. Never once did he turn back, and never once did she take her eyes off him until he was gone.

  Would That It Were

  Xavier hailed a cab like his life depended on it, pushing past a blonde who tried the old pull-out-a-cigarette-and-look-around-for-a-lighter routine. The voices of the few high-rollers smoking outside the firehouse flattened when they noticed his agitated state. Even the blonde drew back with a “Oh, better not,” look on her face as he began to pace. The cab was only a few hundred meters away, but was moving much too slowly. He had to get away, had to put as much space between Rosalind Betters and himself as possible now.

  As soon as the Black Ford Escape was curbside, he dove in to the trench of a back seat.

  “Ashbury and Waller, please,” Xavier said, righting himself.

  The driver turned on his meter and pulled into traffic. “No problem. Seat belt, if you don’t mind.”

  “You mind if I make a call?”

  The cabbie gave a chuckle. “Such courtesy. No, go ahead. Mi cab es su cab.”

  As the line tried to connect, the silver screen of Xavier’s mind put on a mental news reel, replaying the last few minutes complete with mocking, corny voice over. Hot date, or date with doom? He cursed inwardly.

  What the hell? What the bloody hell? No, he hadn’t actually kissed Rosalind, but he’d set the act in motion before coming to his senses. And, God, how he had wanted to kiss her. Badly.

  Maybe she’d been right. Maybe being around her after having a few glasses of wine had been a mistake. Though, Xavier thought as the scenery flashed by, what self-respecting single man wouldn’t want to kiss her, sober or otherwise? Rosalind Betters was confident, successful, ambitious, and not afraid to do what it took to get what she wanted. In short, she was a lot like him. And beautiful; classically beautiful. None of that Silicon Valley, fake beauty-on-a-stick, with layers of makeup and dripping in designers routine. Rosalind possessed a timeless sense of elegance, a poise that few women of this era possessed. She did not falter, she did not deny her femininity, and yet she was fiercely independent, self-assured, and resolved. Though perhaps that would change if one pushed their professional boundaries a little too far.

  Oh God, what if he had kissed her? It had been so long since he had self-elected to forgo seducing woman after woman and indulging in meaningless passion, but that didn’t mean he thought the playground was any less fun. Surely that deficit of intimacy must explain why his desire to press his lips to Rosalind’s tripped his good senses? He couldn’t remember ever having been so tempted by a woman.

  “Hello?”

  Better than cold water, the voice on the other end of the line woke him up to the reality: his assignment was to find her a husband, and the candidate pool was highly selective and didn’t include him.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said, sounding as slick and normalized as if he wasn’t eating his own soul. “Xavier Hommes here. I wanted to follow up with you regarding the question you asked. Ms. Betters is a fine dancer.”

  “Fine, as in exquisite? Or fine, as in, competent?”

  He wanted to answer, like liquid mercury and as much in danger of poisoning me. “The former, sir.”

  “I take it that you saw out this research yourself?”

  Xavier nodded, though for whose benefit, who could say. “Yes, sir. I’m seeing to everything involving this placement personally and with the utmost discretion, as I believe it’s due. I didn’t want to muddy the waters by bringing in a third party.”

  “Then tell me, Mr. Hommes. Did you lead, or did she?”

  Confusion filled him, followed by heat. Determining the answer forced Xavier to relive the moments when he held her in his arms. “I did.”

  “And what of that other task I asked of you?”

  He swallowed, hoping the sound didn’t carry over the cell connection. “She would have, had I pressed her to.”

  The voice on the other end was suddenly filled with suspicion. “But you didn’t though, right?”

  I should have. “No, sir, I didn’t kiss her. I can only imagine how wonderful it would be to,” Xavier confirmed, then swallowed hard from his stupidity. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. If I may return to the point: Are you satisfied, then? May I include your name in the candidate pool?”

  A low rumble from the other side followed with a sly tone. “Yes, I would be happy to compete for the role of Rosalind’s husband.”

  A Passing Bug

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Rosalind’s watery, bloodshot eyes met the driver’s in the rearview mirror. Looking like a not entirely unattractive corpse in the backseat of the town car, even she doubted her own words. “I’ll be fine. Just need some rest.”

  His thick Pakistani-accented words flew by so fast she could barely catch them. “Says you. Says all your type. You think you control so much money, you can control every little molecule in your body. But, estafullah, last time I had a person looking like you in my cab, he died before paying the fare.”

  Despite the fact that it hurt her ribs, Rosalind laughed.

  “I’m not kidding,” he added, looking between her and the traffic he was whizzing by in turn. “He died right where you’re sitting. D-E-A-D. One minute it was, ‘Transamerica Building, please,’ next it was the city morgue. New definition to stiffing the fare.”

  The rain, of course, didn’t help, yet seemed to compliment the aches and pains. By the time she’d gotten in to her building, her coat was drenched, her roller bag had become a portable water tank, and her hair looked like it had been styled by Picasso. It didn’t rain much in San Francisco in the spring, but when Mother Nature got the notion, she made it count. Top it off with the fact that her cell phone battery was dead, and the trifecta of blah was complete.

  When she got up to her flat after an elevator ride that seemed to take twice as long as normal, she was looking forward to drying off, putting on some fuzzy pajamas, and curling up in bed with Strudel. No bounding, exuberant German Shepherd went insane to greet her when she came through the door, however. It was then that she remembered the dog walker saying that he wouldn’t pick up the pooch from Carmen’s to walk him and bring him back if it happened to be raining. Which, Rosalind decided was a good thing. A loyal pup sharing the blanket with you on a bad day was one thing; a damp canine and accompanying smell was hard to tolerate when you already felt like at any moment your head might explode and your stomach, turn itself on to existentialism. She had barely made it into her loft when she collapsed on the couch and promptly fell asleep.

  Sometime later, Rosalind squinted, making out the time from the DVD player under her TV. She had a meeting in an hour, one that had been chaos for Carmen to pull together. Yawning, Rosalind got to her feet and stretched. Much to her chagrin, that simple act set the world on spin.

  Taking measured steps and half bent over, Rosalind managed the distance to the kitchen, putting on the tea pot as she plugged her phone in to charge. She grabbed the cordless landline.

  “Carmen? I’m back, for better or worse.” A sneeze of epic proportions sealed off the
statement.

  “You… don’t… sound so good.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Rosalind confirmed. “Sorry it took me so long to check in. I must have left my cell on when we took off from Narita. The battery was DOA at SFO. Then I fell asleep the second I got home. What’s up, anything urgent going on?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait or that I can’t push back, except…” Carmen drew out the second syllable, imbuing it with foreboding. “Have you checked your emails yet?”

  “No. I was too busy on the plane going over the patent applications. Sanchez has to pull in some more recent references or we’re going to run into problems down the line. Why? Anything a must-do-now?”

  After a pause more pregnant than a reality show teenager, Carmen said, “I guess you didn’t see the one from Xavier Hommes, or get my text, then.”

  “Damn, he’s supposed to shadow me at the office today.” With a jolt of panic, Rosalind ran to the bathroom and fetched out her make-up bag. She had to do something about the red blotches and bags under her eyes. “I totally forgot about that. Is it okay if he sits in on the strategy meeting, or do you think Bob Clark will think that’s too weird?”

  “I’m sure Bob will be okay with it, but I’m surprised he’s not at your place yet.”

  Rosalind’s hand stopped, levitating the wand of mascara. “What do you mean, he’s not at my place yet? Why would Bob Clark come to my house?”

  “No, not Bob. Xavier. He said he wanted to meet at your place and ride over to BetaHouse with you, to know what your routine is from the moment you leave home. I told him to pick you up at three-thirty.”

  “What, he’s… he’s coming here?” It was at that exact moment that she heard the doorbell. “This isn’t good. I look horrible. I feel horrible. One look at me and he’s going to run away. Unless he came dressed in a hazmat suit or has some crazy fetish for contracting contagious diseases.”