by Amy Marie
Amazingly, I fit the role of a gala attendee. Mostly due to Gigi and Maria’s intervention. They tousled my hair on top of my head into a messy yet elegant updo, then painted my face in natural tones rather than gaudy, overdone colors.
Not bad for an unexpected night at a fancy hotel decorated in golds and bronzes. It’s just as elegantly wealthy as the one last weekend, only more so with all the fancy patrons standing around in gowns and tuxedos.
Everyone is moving in the same direction, so I follow along, pretending to belong. However, the journey ends at a set of double doors leading down into a richly adorned ballroom.
“Invitation?” a male asks me, holding out his hand.
“Oh, uh, I’m meeting someone here,” I offer lamely. “His driver told me to find him inside.”
The tall doorman looks me over. “You’ll need to check in with the maître d’hôtel for a proper invitation.”
“I, um, okay. Where or who is that?” I ask.
Idly, I wonder if Lorraine’s name is on the invitation list, or even Kota’s. Mine definitely won’t be. No one cares about Archibald Ellis’s first daughter.
The man begins to reply as a warm body presses up against mine, a familiar hand going to the small of my back. “She’s with me,” Kellen murmurs.
“My apologies, Mr. Knight. I didn’t realize this was your plus-one.” The male appears visibly contrite.
“Now you know,” Kellen replies, his voice warm. “Shall we, Lucynda?”
“Cyn,” I automatically correct, cringing at the use of my full name. “No one calls me Lucynda.” Well, my father used to before marrying Lorraine. She prefers Cynda, which is why her daughter, Kota, calls me by that name.
“Lucynda sounds too much like Lucifer,” Lorraine once said. “Cynda is much more charming.”
My father caved to her, just as he always did.
It was one more way for him to remove thoughts and traces of my mother from his life, as she was the one who chose Lucynda for my name.
My heart pangs at the reminder of how he pushed me away, too. By the time he passed last year, I felt as if I hardly knew the man I once lovingly called my father.
Kellen frowns down at me. “Are you all right?”
I swallow and give myself a mental shake. “I’m fine, but please call me Cyn.”
He nods slowly before taking in my gown. “You look gorgeous, Cyn,” he says, a devilish little twinkle in his midnight gaze.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I admit, admiring the fit of his all-black tuxedo. “Much better than a chest painted in oil.”
He chuckles. “So I shouldn’t have oiled up beneath the tux?”
I sigh. “Probably not. It’ll leave a stain.”
He nods sagely. “Yes. Stains are bad.” Something tells me he’s no longer talking about oil but about something more sexual.
My cheeks heat as I fail to come up with a clever retort. Fortunately, the growing line behind us speaks for me with a series of cleared throats.
Kellen glances at them all with an expression that quickly shuts them up before leading me into the ballroom. Colors flutter around the room, a series of bird-shaped carnations hanging from the ceiling and the chandeliers. An odd adornment, but surprisingly beautiful.
Matching arrangements decorate the tables along the back of the room and on the array of standing tables near the bar.
This doesn’t appear to be one of those events where a meal is served, just hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Fine by me. The idea of eating in this gown doesn’t appeal to me. It’s rather tight around my rib cage, my breasts just a bit too large for the bust.
“What do you like to drink?” Kellen asks, his palm a brand against my skin.
How did I get here? I wonder, taking in our surroundings and the curious stares flashing my way. Kellen Knight is standing before me in a sinful suit, his hand firmly placed on my lower back, his gaze dropping to my mouth. And I can’t remember what he just asked me because the way his pupils flare has me thoroughly distracted.
This was a very bad idea.
Why did I come, again?
Because you’ve dreamed of him every night this week, my mind supplies. Even after knowing he met with Kota.
I blink.
Kota.
“My stepsister mentioned you stopped by her condo earlier this week,” I say, a hint of annoyance underlining my tone.
“Did she say why?” he asks, canting his head to the side in a way that makes him appear even more handsome.
How does he do that?
Focus.
Right. “Because you want her to be part of the reshoot for the commercial. And she mentioned some other, uh, things.” God, what am I doing here? I can’t believe I let Maria talk me into this nonsense.
Okay, that’s not really fair because I sort of convinced myself to be here.
Because I like him.
I should not like him.
Kellen’s eyebrows are in his hairline. “What other things?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I, oh…” Think, Cyn. “Sketchbook,” I blurt out, remembering why I decided to attend this stupid event. “I want my sketchbook back.”
Wow, this has become the most awkward interaction ever. Seems par for the course, however, given how we met.
Ugh, this guy has seen me practically naked.
Why that thought occurs to me right now, in the middle of this formal event, is a mystery.
“Did you say something about a drink?” I continue, completely mortified by the word vomit spewing from my lips. I close my eyes, stealing a deep breath, and open them to find him grinning.
“Are you tongue-tied, Lucynda Ellis?”
I grimace. “Cyn.”
“Mmm.” He’s very clearly amused. “How about we start over? I’m Kellen Knight. Call me Kellen.” He releases me to hold out his hand.
“Seriously?” I’m not this inept at conversation.
He merely cocks his brow in reply, his palm still wavering between us.
It’s an olive branch, a way to erase the last few minutes of nerves hanging in the air. Except I don’t want to remove them. I still need answers. “What happened with Kota?” I ask. “Are you really reshooting the commercial?” Maria insisted he wasn’t, but only Kellen can tell me the truth.
The amusement in his features dies as his hand drops to his side. “No, Cyn. My team is already in the editing phases. And I went to see Kota to ask for your contact information, but she was too busy trying to seduce me to see reason. Your sister’s a real piece of work.”
“Stepsister,” I correct him, flinching. “You didn’t sleep with her.” Not a question, but a statement. Because of course she lied. Why, I don’t know. Maybe she suspected I liked him and wanted to squash any and all hope of that ever coming to fruition. Not that I required it. I knew nothing would happen here.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I blow out a breath and shake my head for what feels like the thousandth time tonight.
“You must think I’m insane,” I admit, finally meeting his gaze again. “I’m sorry.” I don’t really know why I’m apologizing, but it seems appropriate. “She told me you probably threw away my sketchbook, but I spent all week trying to find a way to contact you—when I wasn’t working, I mean. And then you sent me the dress tonight. I’m just… I’m frazzled. And acting a little crazy. Or really crazy. If you just want to give the drawings back to me, I’ll be on my way.”
“No,” he says.
“What do you mean, no? It’s my sketchbook.” He can’t just keep it. “I want it back.”
His lips curl. “That’s not what I meant. I’m disagreeing with your statement about sanity. I actually find this… refreshing.”
“My rambling is refreshing?” I nearly laugh. Maybe he’s the crazy one, not me.
“Most women would have turned this all into a game, trying to determine if I slept with their stepsister and finding a way to use it against me. But you didn’t do that at all. You
addressed it immediately. So yeah, I find that refreshing.” He looks me over as if seeing me for the first time, which is ludicrous since he’s already seen me in fewer clothes than pretty much everyone in my life. “You’re a complete mystery to me, Cyn.”
“Um, thanks?” Pretty sure that’s not a compliment, but he worded it like one. “So why am I here?” I wonder out loud. “Why not just send the sketchbook to me since you apparently have my address?”
“Two birds, one stone,” he replies cryptically.
When he doesn’t elaborate, I fold my arms and arch a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I wanted to see you again and had to attend this event tonight, so I decided to cross both items off my list at once. But now I’m wondering if I chose the right path.” He studies me intently, not elaborating on that cliffhanger of a sentence.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask. “Because I will, just as soon as you return my sketches.”
“Yes,” he muses, the single word an arrow to my heart.
Yes, I want you to go.
Well, awesome.
That’s what I want, too, right?
“Let’s get out of here,” he continues, holding out his arm.
“Wait, you want to leave with me?” A stupid question considering he just said that, which he immediately points out.
“That’s what I just said, yes?”
I frown at him. “But we just got here.”
“And a hefty donation at the door will excuse my early departure. Technically, you being here offers me an out as well. The tabloids will have a field day over the Beauty of the Gala who caused the infamous Kellen Knight to leave early.” He waggles his brows. “What do you say? Let’s escape the formalities and go have some real fun.”
“I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean,” I reply, narrowing my gaze. “I’m not one of your easy floozies, Kellen Knight.” Yeah, I googled him this week. I’m now fully aware of his womanizing reputation. Which makes my attending tonight that much more idiotic on my part. But I want my damn sketchbook back!
He gapes at me, then bursts out laughing. It draws the attention of those surrounding us, making me want to hide. But Kellen doesn’t allow it, his hand reaching for mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “There’s nothing easy about you, Cyn. If you knew how hard I worked to find you this week, you’d already know that.”
“You tried to find me this week?”
“Oh, Cyn.” Mirth teases his features. “Did you miss the part about going to Kota’s condo to ask for your name and address? Before that, I visited Bobby Bussy.” He grimaces at the name. “And before that, Maria. No one would give me your identity, which is shocking now that I know you’re Archibald Ellis’s daughter.”
I swallow, then remove my hand. “If that’s what this is about—”
He grabs me again, this time tugging me into him, one arm going around my lower back while his opposite hand cups my cheek. “Don’t do that. We’re not playing a game.”
“Funny because this feels like one, Mister Two Birds, One Stone.”
His lips quirk upward. “I wanted to see you again before I knew your full name, Miss Heiress. I’m merely pointing out how strange it is that I couldn’t find you more easily, but now that I have you in my arms again, I’m not letting you run away a second time.”
“I didn’t run away.” Okay, I kind of did. A little. “I just wanted to go home.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, disbelief coloring his tone. “Come on, Cyn. Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you on a proper date that doesn’t involve making conversation with a bunch of New York City elite. Although, I suspect you’re well versed in that already.”
“I’m not,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Intrigue flashes through his eyes. “Daddy dearest didn’t take you to these events growing up?”
“He did.” A memory of our last one flickers through my thoughts. “Then my mom died.”
Kellen immediately sobers, his expression falling. “Shit, I’m sorry, Cyn.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “It happened a long time ago.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, his hold intensifying. “Time doesn’t matter. The pain remains.” A cryptic comment, one that indicates he knows a thing or two about death.
I don’t pry because I know how that feels.
Instead, all I do is nod, agreeing with him.
“What do you say? A proper date, no strings, just something a little less stuffy and a lot more fun.” He arches a playful brow. “I won’t even try to kiss you unless you ask.”
Something tells me that’s a lie. But escaping this gala seems more appealing by the second. Especially as guests are beginning to make their way toward us, a hint of recognition flashing in their depths.
I haven’t attended a public gathering like this in years, leaving the affairs to Lorraine and Kota. They manage my father’s estate, not me. He always chose them over the daughter who resembled his first love.
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I nod. “Yes. Okay.” Anything to avoid the constant rekindling of memories assaulting my every thought.
How did today turn into something so dreary?
Just hours ago, I longed for a night in with a box of pizza.
Now, here I stand in a ball gown surrounded by New York City’s elite. Old acquaintances and family friends who don’t have a clue who I am. Not even the reporters out front recognized me.
“Great, let’s—”
“Kellen Knight,” a deep voice drawls from the side. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Kellen stiffens, his gaze narrowing as he turns to greet a sinfully handsome blond in a suit. “Sterling.”
The male grins, a pair of dimples appearing before his startling green eyes meet mine. “This must be Lucynda Ellis. A pleasure to meet you.” He steps around Kellen, reaches for my hand, and brings it to his lips, his touch lingering a fraction longer than can be considered appropriate. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Chapter 9
Kellen
“Is that so?” Cyn raises an accusing eyebrow at me over Sterling’s shoulder.
I grit my teeth and glare at my friend’s back, contemplating how many ways I can make his death painful.
Starting by ripping his smirking lips off his face.
The ones he’s pressed against her hand for so long I’m surprised he hasn’t licked it.
His eyes glisten knowingly as he finally releases my date.
“Fucking dick,” I mutter under my breath.
Cyn’s eyes narrow. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. Stepping forward, I slip an arm around her waist and motion toward the man in front of her. “Lucynda Ellis, meet my old friend from college, Sterling Quinn.” They nod politely at each other, and I don’t wait for additional pleasantries. “Cyn and I were just leaving.”
I try to pull her toward the door, but she plants her feet. “Kellen, don’t be rude.”
I weigh my options. While throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her out of here is the more appealing exit strategy, I don’t see it going over very well. I glance at Sterling out of the corner of my eye. He’s still grinning. He knows he has me by the balls, and there’s nothing I can do but take it.
The line I’m walking with Cyn isn’t even a tightrope. At best, it’s a piece of floss tied loosely to two sticks. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, but I should’ve known better. It’s always been this way with our trio. If an outsider tried to fuck with us, we’d send everything they hold sacred up in flames, but it’s continual open season on each other.
At least Sterling’s easy to rattle. He’s always been the less lethal point of our fucked-up triangle.
It could be worse. I could’ve had to deal with…
“I know you weren’t going to leave without introducing me to this stunning woman, Kellen.”
Fuuuuck.
Sterling directs his gaze over my shoulder, his grin widening. The bastard is
settling in to watch the show, and why wouldn’t he? Our ball-busting wrestling match just became a pay-per-view cage brawl.
“Asher,” I say, tightening my grip around Cyn’s waist as I turn us both to face the dark-haired man behind us. His aristocratic flair is just as prominent as Sterling’s but accompanied by an edge no one else in the room could dare pull off. “I’m surprised to see you here. You hate these things almost as much as I do.”
He chuckles, his lips peeling back to reveal polished white teeth. “True, saving endangered birds isn’t my philanthropy of choice. I much prefer helping people.”
“Helping them out of their clothes and onto their knees maybe,” I mutter.
“Kellen!” Cyn gasps, lightly smacking my shoulder.
Asher tosses her a lazy wink. “It’s fine, love. I won’t deny my insatiable appreciation for the female form. A woman is a work of art—a fine delicacy to be savored and worshiped. If that makes me a heathen, then I’ll gladly perish in flames. And trust me when I say your date will burn there right along with me.”
What a line. “Give me a break.”
Then I hear Cyn giggling. She’s giggling. And then I remember entire sororities lovesick and crying over this guy in college. Call it voodoo. Call it magic. He’s like the damn pussy charmer.
But I’ve already called dibs, so he can put his snake back in his pants and fuck off.
“Lucynda Ellis, Asher Vaughn.” Not exactly the best introduction, but I’m irritated.
She flinches at hearing her full name again, then extends her hand toward Asher. “Cyn, please.”
Shit. Why do I keep introducing her by her given name? It’s obvious she hates it.
Please don’t mention she’s an heiress.
“Cyn.” He takes her hand with a wink, her name rolling off his tongue, and her face blushes a deep shade of red. “What a devilish name for such an elegant creature. I see my friend has upped his standards.”
