Chapter 5
As we walk into the house, a mansion, really, with an entryway bigger than my entire apartment, he takes my hand. I’m already taking deep breathes to keep myself calm, and I’m glad, because the feel of his hand — a little bit calloused, which I didn’t really expect from a real-estate mogul — does something funny to my stomach. Heads turn as we walk in, and I feel under scrutiny: just who is this strange woman walking in with the most eligible bachelor in New York? I don’t know what to make of it, really, other than to keep my head high and keep walking. If they knew I just got off shift at the Lido’s Loco, well, I don’t even know what they’d say. Probably hand me an apron and put me to work.
I could totally do this job, too. I instinctively smile at the women in black-and-white outfits serving canapés from silver trays. A woman smiles oddly back at me, not sure what to make of me, and I remember that I’m not supposed to make friends with the staff. But the other people! Men in tuxedos and women in fantastic dresses, although none as revealing as mine. They all look too intimidating to even think about. Knox keeps my hand and leads me to a small, gilt edged chair with white cushions where I can sit down. He’s treating me like an invalid, but I have to admit, it’s safer if I’m sitting. I lean back, trying not to think about the fact that he’s clearly worried I’ll fall again, and paste a smile onto my face like I’m having the time of my life.
“I’ll get you a drink,” he says. “Glass of champagne?”
I don’t dare have a drink. “A glass of juice would be nice.” I want to beg him not to leave me alone, but that would be pitiful. The whole point is that he wants to do business here, right?
He disappears, and one of the women in the black and white uniform glides past with a silver tray covered in meatballs, which reminds me that I haven’t had dinner.
I stand up to take one. It’s delicious. I manage to catch up to the server and grab another two. I’m suddenly ravenous, but it probably wouldn’t do to follow her around everywhere. I’m just trying to work out what to do with the toothpicks when a beautiful brunette in an orange and violet dress taps me on the shoulder.
“Hi! I’m Jeanette! I don’t think we’ve met?”
I transfer the toothpicks to my left hand and hold out my right. “Crystal. Nice to meet you.”
She looks at my outstretched hand without taking it. Clearly, shaking hands is not the thing to do here. “Crystal,” I say again, dropping my hand.
“I’m Brent’s fiancée.” She points to a man at the other side of the room. “You’re with Knox?”
“Yes?” I hate how insecure I sound.
“He’s a dreamboat,” she says, watching his broad shoulders disappear towards the bar. “I didn’t know he was dating…” She looks at me with unabashed curiosity. “Have you known him long?”
“No.” I feel like I should manage more than a one-word answer, but my brain has ground to a halt at the thought of having to make small talk.
“That’s a fantastic dress. Is it Versace?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. This is not going well.
“Oh,” she says. She looks around, as if regretting ever having started this conversation with the strange woman who doesn’t know her own dress maker. “Where are you from?”
“Here,” I say. Ugh, it sounds like I’m from the mansion. “New York, I mean.”
I don’t get the question — is she checking my credentials? My parents are from a farming community in Iowa, but there’s no way I’m telling her that.
“What’s your family name? I thought I knew all the East Coast families.”
I’m in way over my head, and I really don’t want this woman checking my family tree. But what am I supposed to do, lie? Besides, the only name I can think of right now is Lockwood, as in ‘please come save me now, Mr. Lockwood.’ “Jennings.”
“Jennings?” She raises an eyebrow. “Really. I thought I knew all the East coast elite.”
Whatever the test is, I’ve clearly failed but, thank God, Knox is back at my side and pressing a wine glass into my hand.
“Crystal’s family is new money,” Knox says without missing a beat. “Not a daughter of the revolution, if that’s what you are trying to find out.” He’s smiling, but I feel like maybe she’s been put into her place.
“Just making conversation,” she says.
I look dubiously at pale liquid in the wine glass before taking a sip and finding it is apple juice. I smile at him, and he winks back. I feel like we’re in a conspiracy now. If I think of myself as under cover, I can just about imagine pulling this off, although it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s a million tiny things giving me away. Am I holding the glass right? What’s the right way to introduce myself?
Jeanette wanders off, telling us she needs to mingle, and I exhale deeply.
“That was fine,” he says, a chuckle in that dark rumble of a voice.
“Everyone is looking at me. I feel like I’m on display.”
“They’re looking at how fabulous you are in that dress, Crystal. Every man here is wishing he were me.”
That fluttering in my stomach is back, and I can’t think what to say.
He leans towards me. His warm breath feels like a caress on my neck. “You smell nice,” he says, and his lips touch my skin, nibbling just below my ear. It’s like an electric circuit runs through me. My breathing goes ragged, and all I can think about is that I want him to touch me, to kiss me properly.
He backs up as if startled at what he’s just done. Then, he changes the subject. “Come dance. It’s a ball, after all!”
I’d heard the music, but it isn’t until we enter the next room that I can hear it’s a live band in there. “It’s a waltz,” he says, and he pulls me close. “Step-slide-step. Just follow my lead, it’s easy.”
It’s a popular love song, My Prince and My Heart, the kind of ballad that is so romantic it can cause diabetes just by listening to it. But Knox is already pulling me onto the dance floor, whispering step-slide-step in my ear with one hand on my hip to guide me. He’s clearly unaware that the feel of his breath on my skin is jolting through me so hard, it’s amazing I can stay upright, let alone follow his lead. But a moment later, I realize I am following his lead. With one hand on my hip and the other holding my hand to his chest, he’s using soft pressure to keep me in time and show me the direction.
“You are fine. You’re dancing just fine.”
My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m pretty sure he can hear it, but he’s right. I’m doing this. I’m dancing with Knox Lockwood.
I half stumble at the thought and then recover again to look up at him. He’s looking down at me with a half-smile and smoky eyes. I lift my chin a bit before it comes home that I’m basically begging him to kiss me. And he must realize it in the same moment, because his face comes down a quarter inch closer to mine.
I should be tired, having been on my feet all day, but dancing with him is magical. He moves slowly, carefully, leading me in circles so all I have to do is keep myself pressed against him, which I’m happy to do. His fingers brush under the hem of my dress, a soft touch on my ass, and I have to take care not to stumble. My chest is tight, and my pulse is racing.
Once he sees that I have the rhythm, he bends his face towards me until his lips meet mine. I feel like the room has melted away. There’s only me and him and the desperate desire for the soft touch of his lips against my skin. He brushes his mouth against mine, stealing a tiny lick of my lips.
“You taste sweet,” he says. “I wonder if you taste that sweet all over.”
“It’s the apple juice,” I say, because I’m an idiot who has never learned when to just shut up. But also, I can’t believe this is happening to me, that this man who could literally be with any woman that he wanted to, is holding me close, dancing with me and teasing me about wanting to kiss me. I’m not sure my heart can take it.
I feel him exhale at the side of my neck and then a tiny nibble of the sensitive skin at my collarbone. “Also sweet,” he says. “You covered yourself with apple juice?”
I can’t help laughing now as he leans back to look at my face, still guiding me with his strong arms. “I love making you smile,” he says.
Then he pulls me close and nibbles my neck again. “I’d like to make you do more than just smile. I’d like to make you call out my name and beg me to taste you again,” he whispers into my ear. It’s like an electric jolt from my ear to between my legs. It shouldn’t be this easy to turn me on — the man hasn’t even touched me — but I’m pretty sure my cotton panties are soaked.
His hands touch the bare skin at the back of my neck and shoulders. Goose bumps follow the trail of his fingertips on my sensitive skin. He looks at my face with an evil smile. “I want to see you flush with desire.”
I turn bright red at that, and he laughs at me. “That’s not what I meant, but it’ll do for now.”
I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I swallow, trying not to think about touching it. His eyes are on my throat now, and I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing. Or maybe the swallowing. Is he imagining me on my knees, pulling it out and bringing my lips to him? I can feel my face heat up as I image running my lips alongside it before opening at the tip of his shaft.
“Tell me,” he whispers. I can’t speak. “Tell me what you are thinking.” His voice is a low growl as he maneuvers me closer to the speakers, drowning out the rest of the party. “It’s written all over your face, Crystal, I want you to tell me.”
“I was thinking I’d like to touch you.”
He pulls me closer at that, and we move slower, no longer moving around the dance floor. “How?”
I’m embarrassed but also so turned on. I feel like it must be visible to everyone around us. The thought of that turns me on even more. I take a deep, shuddering breath and go for broke. “I want to get on my knees and pull off your pants and…” My mouth is dry, and I’m both frightened and turned on.
“Say it,” he says. “Talk dirty to me.”
“I want to pull out your cock.” Somehow, saying the word makes a dam break inside of me, and I’m now whispering fast into his ears, my eyes closed. “I want to touch your cock and then run my lips along it. I want to press the tip into my mouth and taste you. I want to taste the whole thing.”
He groans and pulls me tighter to him. “You are a dangerous little minx,” he whispers. “So sweet and innocent looking, but a little hellfire underneath. I bet you say that to all the men.”
I know I’m more innocent than he can even imagine, but he’s right. I feel like my very blood is on fire, heating up my pussy as I imagine him touching me, taking me. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him right now. But I’m not telling him that. He’s already got way too much control over me.
“I want to take you right here,” he whispers. “I don’t care who is here, I don’t care who sees.”
My breath catches at the thought. I know he wouldn’t… he couldn’t. But the idea of it is like a drug, and my panties are wet with lust.
I’m dizzy with his words of what he wants to do to me, not to mention the dance and the music and the smell of his cologne, and I’m pretty sure I could cling to his hard shoulders forever, but he leads me to the edge of the dance floor. We need to get out of here before I do something I regret. Then, as the music fades, he holds me close for a moment longer. “Stay there.”
“What?”
“I need to think about baseball for a moment,” he says. “Cover me.”
It takes me a moment to take in what he’s saying, and then I start giggling like a school girl. “Seriously?”
He runs a thumb over my cheek. “Don’t blush, it makes it worse.” Then he leans to whisper in my ear. “Say you want me, too.” His breath is hot. I swallow again suddenly finding it hard to breathe. My body is already arching against him like it has a will of its own.
“I’m not sure you’re still talking about baseball,” I whisper back.
He laughs out loud at that, even though I’m kicking myself. What’s wrong with me? The sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and all I can do is make stupid jokes.
A male voice interrupts us. “Knox!”
Knox’s eyes meet mine for one long, lingering second, and I imagine I see regret, that he doesn’t want to pull away. But he turns with a broad smile. “George, how are you! Can I introduce my friend, Crystal?”
George takes my hand and raises it to his lips. “You always have the most beautiful friends,” says George, looking at me like I’m a piece of fruit he’s considering taking a bite out of.
Knox frowns and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. The hands-off message is clear, and George raises his eyebrows.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” he says and holds my hand a moment longer than seems appropriate.
Another man walks up, and Knox introduces me to him. Apparently, both of them are on the board of directors of his company. George finally lets go of my hand and is scanning the room. “Have you spoken to her?”
“I’ve not seen her,” says Knox. “But she agreed we could talk about the waterfront deal tonight.”
Knox ends up deep in conversation about the deal, and I feel a yawn coming on.
I’ve been on my feet all day, and I’m really starting to feel it. I wait for a break in the conversation. “I’m just going to the powder room, back in a moment,” I whisper. He nods and smiles at me, so I feel free to slip away. I don’t dare stop where Jeanette or someone similar can corner me into conversation, so I wander through the house, looking for somewhere quiet to hide.
It’s easy to find the kitchen by watching the staff carrying the silver trays. In there, I find a back door leading out to a garden. No one stops me as I cross the room and go outside, carefully leaving the door cracked behind me so I can’t get locked out.
I kick off my heels and lean against the side of the house, taking a deep breath of night air. As my eyes become used to the darkness, I realize I’m not alone. There’s an old woman in a severe black dress sitting in a high-backed wooden chair on the grass.
She raises an eyebrow as I make eye contact. “Shouldn’t you be in the party, dear? I am sure I’d recognize you if you were working in the kitchen, and this area is for staff breaks, not for guests.”
“I…” Great. Now I’ve been caught wandering around the premises. I wonder if she’s in charge of the kitchen and whether I can flatter her with kind words about the meatballs. I hope she doesn’t drag me in front of Mrs. Scaravelli. Knox would just love that.
In the end, I just go for a straight apology. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t sneaking around, I just wanted a breath of fresh air.”
“I see.” She takes a sip of water. “Stop looking so nervous, like I’m going to search you for missing silverware.” She looks me up and down. “Not that that dress would leave you anywhere to hide it.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment as my hand instinctively goes to my cleavage to try to pull the neckline up. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back inside. I didn’t mean to disturb you on your break.”
I’m struggling to get my shoes back on when something moves alongside me. A black cat rubs itself on my ankles before jumping onto the wooden armrest of her chair and then circles onto her lap. The woman strokes his head, and he settles, closing his golden eyes with a purr of contentment. He looks more like a miniature panther than a house cat, all sleek and sinuous.
“Wow.” There’s me with the great command of the English language again. “That’s the most magnificent cat I’ve ever seen. He’s like something out of the jungle.”
Something like a smile crosses her face, and she strokes the cat again.
He opens his luminous eyes and looks towards me in curiosity, and I can’t stop myself. I reach my hand out for him to sniff.
The cat wrinkles his nose at me and then stretches as if he doesn’t care. I step back again, bend down to fix my shoe strap, and the next thing I know, he’s leaping from the woman’s lap to the floor to wind himself around my feet.
“Max is a Bombay,” says the woman. “Basically, a Burmese and American short-hair cross. They make for a good house cat as they are suckers for a friendly face. Complete sluts for attention.”
The cat head butts my hand, and I give in to his demands and stroke him, glad I don’t have to look this woman in the eye. Did she really just say that? “He’s beautiful,” I say, for lack of anything better.
“You like cats.” She phrases it as a statement, not a question, but what the heck. It’s true.
“I have two. Both just tabby mixes, nothing special.” I reach out and pet Max under his chin. His fur is as soft as silk. He looks at me expectantly, and I stroke him again. “Mine are not as beautiful as you, no, but don’t tell them I said that,” I tell him.
The woman laughs. “Max knows he’s the most gorgeous cat in the universe, you don’t have to tell him.”
I smile back and stand up. “I better let you get back to work,” I tell her. “Sorry for intruding.”
“Yes, well, no harm done. But please, stay out of the kitchen in the future, or I’ll find you a job to do.” Her words are stern, but she’s still smiling as the cat head butts my ankle in complaint.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I say, and head back into the party.
Knox is still talking to his friends, but as I come up behind him, he reaches out and takes my hand. I find it remarkable and a little bit breathtaking that he’s so aware of my presence. I let their conversation wash over me for a few minutes.
“There’s our hostess,” says George. The three men turn to look. “Go charm her, Knox.”
“I’ll do my best.” He squeezes my hand. “I need to talk to Mrs. Scaravelli, but I’ll be right back.”
I smile to let him know that’s fine; that’s why we are here, after all. But as I turn to look, my jaw drops a little bit. Over by the sitting room door is cat woman in the severe black dress.
I chew my lip. Have I messed this up? But I have no chance to tell him, because he’s already striding towards her, nodding hello. I scurry to catch up. I’m going to have to apologize, or something.
She sees him and nods. “Knox Lockwood, I know you’ve been looking for me. Come sit down with me in the sitting room and say your piece, if you must.”
It’s an order, not a request. I’m struck by the tone of voice: a woman who is used to getting what she wants. I can imagine her and Knox head-to-head, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
He glances back at me. She follows his look and clearly notices me for the first time. I can’t help but wince. I’m sure she knows I thought she was the housekeeper.
She doesn’t say anything about recognizing me, just raises one eyebrow. “Well, Knox, aren’t you going to introduce me to your pretty companion?”
“My name’s Crystal,” I say and manage to keep from sticking out my hand to shake this time. I should have let him answer, but I’ve already screwed this up so bad.
“Martha Scaravelli,” she says, like I haven’t already worked it out. She glances at Knox and then back to me. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Crystal, I’m afraid we have some business to discuss.” Knox looks apologetic, but I know there’s nothing he can do.
George catches up to us. “I’ll look after her for you, Knox, don’t worry.” His smile looks like a leer to me. I don’t want to be stuck alone with him, but I don’t think I have a choice.
I’m pretty sure I’ve kept my dismay from my face, but Mrs. Scaravelli isn’t fooled.
“Actually, I think Max was hoping for a chance to sit with her, ” she says, dismissing George with a wave and turning back to me. “You go keep Max company for me while I talk to Knox. He’ll be near the kitchen, no doubt.”
“Max,” I say. The cat. She’s setting up an escape route for me. For once, I manage not to say anything stupid. “I’ll go find him now.” And, before anyone can say anything else, I walk away.