CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Devina Velvet, having gone burlesque, wore a slinky gold gown with a slit, revealing a long, dark, shapely thigh. She had her back to the audience. Gloved arms up in the air, she swayed sinuously to a moody saxophone solo.
With the grace of a trained dancer she turned and sang “My Funny Valentine.” Living up to her name, her husky voice had a velvety sheen. Her act was so emotive that hairs stood up on my arms. Everybody stopped eating for a moment. She’d captured the whole room—such was her charisma.
The music fitted the evening magically. A consummate performer, Devina had the audience enthralled. When she finished with the song “Summertime,” chills moved up my spine. It was by far one of my favorite songs from that era, and suited the slinky chanteuse’s impressive range.
The word “sexy” escaped Bryce’s lips as he worked his sleazy charm on the woman, who, having given up on aloof Aidan, flirted openly with muscle-headed Bryce instead.
Aidan watched the stage. I was grateful for a break from his burning attention.
Greta leaned in and whispered, “This is one of my favorite tunes.”
“Mine too,” I replied. “It’s what sold me. After I googled them, I clicked on one of their YouTube clips, and this song came up.”
“There’s also a male singer, I believe?” asked Greta.
“Yes, he does the dance set. Sinatra-style,” I said, pushing my plate aside.
“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked.
“It’s delicious. I’m just not used to eating this much,” I said, rubbing my tummy.
“Make sure you leave room for dessert. These caterers make the best sweets.”
While the band was on a break, I spied Aidan chatting with the guitarist. He appeared interested in his guitar.
I decided to stretch my legs and headed over to the quieter side of the terrace. As I perched against a wall, high-pitched voices of the supermodels floated my way. There was talk of visiting a nightclub. With a cigar in his mouth, Bryce had joined them.
Greta, meanwhile, stood close by with a cigarette. I approached her. “Do you mind if I call it a night?”
She frowned. “But you haven’t had dessert yet.”
“I’ll grab some in the kitchen for breakfast,” I said.
In the distance, Aidan had been drawn into the group of supermodels. By his side, Bryce placed his arm around one while pinching the bottom of another. Gross.
“Have Monday off. We love what you’ve done here tonight. Many of the patrons have commented that it’s the best one by far,” said Greta, smiling warmly. “And I agree with them.”
Aidan came and joined us. “Who do you agree with?” He flashed me a rare smile. My legs went to jelly as I fell under his spell again.
“I was just telling Clarissa that the guests are raving about the evening,” said Greta.
“I agree, it’s the best by far. I love the band. The crooner has got a Sinatra quality, which is saying something.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off me even though he spoke to both of us.
“Are you into Sinatra, Miss Moone?”
“Please call me Clarissa.” Greta snuck off, and we became the only two people in the universe again. “Yes, I do. My father was a keen fan. I grew up with his music.”
Butterflies churned through my meal. How could some-one be so handsome? Aidan Thornhill had a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, an adorable cleft chin, and full, sensuous lips. He also had a small bump on his otherwise regular nose, which only added to his masculine perfection. But it was those eyes that changed from dark blue to the most dazzling sky shade that ravaged my senses. Phew. I imagined fanning my face. If only this was Jane Austen’s time, I could hold a fan and flick it gracefully. I’d be able to hide the blush and dry the sweaty brow in one coquettish wave.
Bryce stumbled over. He was clearly drunk.
“You’ve had too much, Bryce,” said Aidan coldly.
“I’m having a fun night.” He directed his attention to me. “Look at this little beauty.” Before I could move away, he grabbed my arm and drew me in close.
Aidan’s brow went into battle mode, his eyes dark and threatening. “Let go of her, Bryce.”
I pulled away from his grasp as Aidan pushed Bryce off me. Drunk and disordered, Bryce stumbled and fell.
“I think you should leave now, Bryce.” Aidan bent down and picked up the heavy man effortlessly, showing his incredible strength.
Bryce shrugged Aidan off. “Fuck you, Mr. Perfect.”
Unsteady on his feet, Bryce went to swing at Aidan, who moved away, and Bryce fell onto the ground.
The women around the pool covered their mouths. Shocked expressions painted their faces. Some were even laughing, which made me angry, on behalf of Aidan, who held Bryce in a headlock.
Bryce’s face remained red with rage as he struggled in Aidan’s hold. My suspicions that he was dangerous were confirmed by that fierce display of belligerence.
My loathing for Bryce went up a notch. Not only did he treat women as sex toys, but he also took money from Aidan’s charity to fund his own lavish lifestyle. Something I’d discovered while going through the accounts of the Veterans’ Health Center.
Greta led me away by the arm as a mother would. “He always drinks too much. Bryce is such a brute. I don’t know why Aidan puts up with him.”
“Why does he?” I asked.
About to respond, Greta was distracted by the scene playing out in front of us. Linus was there. The burly man took a hold of Bryce as one would a child and dragged him away.
“I won’t forget this, Thornhill,” bellowed Bryce, thrashing about like a wild beast.
Aidan smoothed back his hair, focusing on me all the while. His once easy stride had become urgent and edgy. And—oh my, could it be possible— he was even sexier. Perhaps his battle-ready hormones were gushing up my nose because my panties were as sticky as my throat.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Aidan’s eyes had gone so dark blue and serious they resembled the night. It was a different face—still alluring, if not more so.
Greta stood by his side. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” Aidan glanced down at his Rolex. “I’m off. Can you deal with the guests?” Before leaving, he turned towards me again. Was he trying to say something? With Greta there, I returned his gaze. Uncertain whether to smile or look earnest, my face remained blank.
He nodded then left.
When we were alone in the kitchen, Greta pointed to a plate of food and cakes that Melanie had made up for me.
“Why does Aidan put up with Bryce?” I asked.
Busy selecting sweets for her plate, Greta replied, “That’s a question I’ve been asking Aidan for as long as I’ve known Bryce. They were in Afghanistan together. That’s always his response.” She took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. “I can’t stand the brute. And next time you’ll take someone with you to VHC. Aidan doesn’t want him coming near you alone again.”
At that point, I had to admit, I’d fallen into the grip of Aidan’s spell. Recalling Melanie’s warning not to fall in love with him, I wanted my job more than I wanted my handsome boss. Or did I?
With those thoughts fighting for space in my tired brain, I traipsed back to my cottage barefoot. My expensive shoes dangled in one hand, while a plate of leftovers, enough for a week, balanced in the other.
That night, I dreamt of Aidan, his roaming hands undoing my dress. With a silken touch, he slid down my tingling flesh. I woke to such a profound throbbing that my fingers had to finish off what my overactive imagination had started. The fantasy came to an explosive conclusion when my handsome boss entered me with his large, thick cock, and the orgasm roared through me. I tumbled about in warm, gooey splendor for longer than I’d ever experienced before. Awake or asleep, Aidan had gotten under my skin.