Come on,” Caspian said, letting me go at last.
Once again, my body decided that the best place for me was in a wobbly heap on the ground, but he grabbed my hand just in time. And pulled me, along with my case, toward the exit. Into the waiting—oh fuck—limo.
And onto his lap.
Where we kissed again. Again. Again. Forever.
As the streets of London unraveled around us in ribbons of gold.
Finally, we stopped. Mainly, I think, for breathing purposes, rather than any particular desire to separate our mouths.
“I’m going to put a collar round your neck,” Caspian murmured, “and chain you to my bed.”
Thankfully I knew how to interpret this. “I missed you too.”
I thought he might laugh. But, instead, he pulled me against him so tightly that I flailed and squeaked like a squeezy toy. “Oh Arden.”
“It me,” I wheezed.
“My Arden.” He pressed his face against the crook of my shoulder. “You make me so happy.”
I wasn’t sure what to say so I snuggled. Snuggled like hell. What were ribs for anyway? And, besides, it was rare for him to let me get this close, his need to be touched, his need for me, overwhelming his need for control.
“How do you have this power?” he asked.
From anyone else, it would have been a rhetorical. But he sounded so genuinely bewildered—almost plaintive—that I did my best to answer. “We like each other. It’s not magic.”
“It’s magic to me.” He slid a palm up the back of my neck and into my hair. Made me look at him. His eyes were wild and a little shadowed. Hadn’t he been sleeping well? “I don’t deserve this. Or you.”
Urgh. That was a mood-killer. It reminded me of some of the stuff he’d said about Nathaniel and now I knew more about their relationship it was not a comparison I relished. To put it mildly.
Since I was unusually unrestrained, I took major advantage, cupping his face gently between my hands and brushing my lips across his again. “Caspian, I love that I’m a good thing in your life. Please don’t take that away from me.”
“I’m sorry.” A shudder ran through him and I felt it in my fingertips.
“And you deserve me. You have a right to be happy.”
“I’m just…not used to it.”
“Then get used to it, Mr. Hart.”
My world tilted abruptly. Probably because I was tilting abruptly. I landed on my back on the seat of the limo and Caspian came down on top of me. And it was ridiculous—we were all limbs and elbows, and there wasn’t actually enough room, so one of his knees was on the floor and my foot was in the air, and everything was hot and clumsy and precarious and desperate. We’d gone from Casablanca to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” rolling around like horny teenagers, our mouths clashing as much as they were kissing, and our hands tangled up in each other, and I loved it.
It took me somewhere I’d never been. Gave me something I never thought I’d have, since I’d spent my adolescence mostly playing board games, walking on the beach, and wanking (not all at the same time obviously). Sex wasn’t really on the cards until I got to university, where being skinny, queer, and bookish wasn’t an unsurmountable triple threat of nope. Also I didn’t have to walk miles to find a human who wasn’t related to me or in love with someone related to me or married to someone who was in love with someone related to me. Things got easier, personally and logistically, is what I’m saying. And I made up for lost time. Boy, did I make up for lost time.
But, in the strangest sort of way, this felt timeless. It didn’t matter that I’d just disembarked from a private jet and we were in the back of a Rolls on the way to a luxury apartment in Kensington. This was every behind-the-bike sheds snog I’d never had. A fumbling mess of hope and eagerness and sheer impossible joy.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to cry or giggle.
Or, y’know, come in my jeans. Because it was fucking ludicrously sexy. Being kissed like you were better than dignity. More important than air.
“I’m not going to that damn party,” Caspian gasped. “I’m not.”
That brought me back to the here and now with a bump. “I though you said it was a charity thing your mum was organizing?”
“It is. But have you any idea how many such events I have attended over the years? I want, and will have, this evening with you.”
Oh dear. Conflict.
On the one hand: Caspian being all bossy, which I found incredibly hot. On the other hand: fucking charity. And probably there was a special place in hell for people who stopped good deeds happening because they wanted to get laid.
“I’ll still be here tomorrow,” I said.
“It’s already been too long, Arden. I’m done with waiting.”
He got all with the lips and hands again, so I was pretty distracted. And, even when I remembered there were protests I ought to be making, I kept putting them off because…well…kissing was better. Eventually, though, I drifted out of the sensual haze and gave his shoulder a little shove. “Caspian. Stop. Seriously.”
I’d meant stop putting your mouth everywhere while I was trying to have a conversation. Not pull away abruptly and relocate to the other side of the limo. Leaving me cold, bereft, and disheveled.
“Um.” I sat up too. Made a vague attempt to do something with my hair, which had fluffed up monstrously. “I just don’t want your mum to hate me.”
Fuck. That sounded incredibly presumptuous.
“Not,” I rushed on, “that I ever expect to meet her.”
He gave me an unreadable look from across the car. “But you will. At Ellery’s party.”
Oh. Oh gosh. I hadn’t even considered that. “Then all the more reason for me not to fuck up her event by stealing her son.”
“I wasn’t intending to tell her, Arden. I would have made some other excuse. My work often requires me to miss things.”
“But…but…” I gazed at him, shocked. “You can’t lie to your family.”
“Surely you’ve lied to yours.”
“No. Never. Why would you do something like that?”
He shrugged. “The same reasons you might lie to anyone: social nicety, personal convenience, simple necessity.”
How had I forgotten Caspian was like this too? Merciless in ways I could never find appealing. Cold in ways that hurt my heart.
“Do you lie to me?” I heard myself say, in a very small voice.
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure it’s not just personally convenient to tell me that?”
“Not at all. It’s never convenient to commit to a course of action that is limiting.”
I pulled a pouty face. “I can’t tell whether that’s reassuring or not.”
“The truth is rarely reassuring. Which is rather my point.”
I…didn’t have an answer to that. Damn it.
“My mother won’t be upset,” he went on. “She understands that I have many demands on my time.”
Frankly, she sounded terrifying. I mean, all I knew about her was that she organized charity auctions—an act of moral carbon offsetting if ever there was one—and that her children were Caspian and Ellery. Because, y’know. I adored both of them but I’d be kind of worried if I’d raised them.
Also, while it was super nice that Caspian wanted to be with me, I was getting increasingly…not insulted, exactly. But it rankled, somehow, the easy way he was willing to pass me off as work. Not that I actually wanted him to declare me like he was going through customs, either. Urgh. Logic and me: not the bestest of buddies.
“Okay,” I said. “But what about the people with cancer or the kids in Africa?”
“What about them?”
“Well, this auction is for something, isn’t it?
“Bellerose handles my philanthropic concerns. And I assure you, they are substantial.”
I drew my feet up and hugged my knees—since it was clearly the only hugging likely to be happening for a while. “Very much not the point here.”
“Then please enlighten me. Because I was rather under the impression you wanted to spend time with me.”
“God. I do,” I wailed. “I really do. But I feel incredibly weird about being the reason you’re not going to do something that would help people who…well…need help.”
No answer from Caspian. Unless you counted the way his fingers curled tightly against his knee.
I felt awful from about six different directions at once. “You can see where I’m coming from, right?”
“I can.” He reached up and flipped on the intercom. “Change of plan, Lloyd. To the Sheldrake. And quickly, please.”
Wait. What was happening? I slithered along the seat as the limo swung round. Was he going to make me sit in the car like a puppy while he went to a society party? I opened my mouth to say, well, I wasn’t sure what, but Caspian looked so forbidding that all my words dried up on my tongue.
And so we just sat there in the worst silence.
Great. I’d spoiled my own homecoming. But Caspian was kind of being a dick too. Not that mentioning it to him was going to improve the situation. I wished I could turn back time to the holding and the kissing—except, nothing would change. I’d still get squicked out. Because while Caspian wanting to cast the world aside for me had the potential to be incredibly exciting, on this occasion it was simply selfish. And in the ugliest possible way.
I didn’t want that for him. Or me. Or whatever us we were.
A glance out of the window revealed lots of Georgian geometries: pale, rectangular buildings, bristling with columns and pediments. Which probably meant Mayfair. Ho hum.
The Sheldrake Gallery—should I have heard of it? I had a feeling the answer was yes, but I didn’t dare google—was a lanky, white-fronted place, its windows shining brightly, and the pavement outside thick with reporters and people in black tie.
The limo drew to a halt. Caspian eased past me and stepped elegantly out of the door the moment the chauffeur opened it for him.
I…sat there like a sad lemon.
“Come, Arden.”
Normally, I would have been pretty into Caspian commanding me to come. Right now? Not so much. “W-what?”
He held out his hand to me.
Oh my God. He’d gone mad. “I can’t go in there. I’ve just got off a plane. I look—”
“Charming. And we won’t be staying long.”
“If you aren't staying long, why do I have to go?”
“Because I want you to.”
Well. There was no way I was going to be able to resist that. I reached out, took his hand, and fell out of the limo.
Thankfully, Caspian’s body was in the way so I ended up smooshed against his side, rather than face-planted onto the pavement.
The insectoid clicking of shutters filled the air. And I was immediately camera-dazzled.
Then someone called my name. I turned instinctively and a flash went off right in my face.
“First the sister, now the brother. You do get about, Ardy baby.”
I couldn’t see anything except snowflakes and afterimages. Had no idea what was happening. But there was something about that voice. Like a crossword clue you always were on the brink of solving, I felt I should have recognized it.
Then Caspian grabbed my hand and strode off toward the building, dragging me along behind him as you might a recalcitrant child. Which was fair enough, since I didn’t wanna go to the fancy charity event.
Even my lovely coat couldn’t hide how I rumpled I was. And I felt horribly out of place in that gleaming white gallery, among the beautifully dressed visitors. Someone shoved a guidebook in my direction, but the caterer with the tray of champagne actively turned away—clearly, he didn’t want to waste the good stuff on me.
A few people greeted Caspian as he cut a swathe through the crowd. He stopped only long enough to acknowledge them before sweeping on, me still bobbing in his wake like a rubber duck after a frigate. A couple of minutes later, he was bearing down on one of the gallery assistants. At least, I assumed that was her role here, since she was wearing a classic little black cocktail dress and had the sleek, self-satisfied air of someone who could afford to do a notoriously underpaid job. Something I was sensitive to because I was probably headed that way myself.
Some of her complacency fled at the sight of Caspian. “Can I help you, Mr. Hart?”
“Yes, Lenora. I’ll take it all.”
“All the…all the pieces?”
“Everything.” He reached into his inside pocket, produced a business card, and pressed it into her limp hand. “Contact my office. Bellerose will handle the details. Oh and”—a minuscule pause—“please apologize to my mother. I’m afraid I can’t stay.”
And then we were off again, Caspian in full stride and me at full scamper: back through the gallery and the people and the electric maze of cameras and, finally, into the waiting limo. Which immediately pulled away.
“What…just happened?” I asked, collapsing breathlessly onto the seat.
Caspian settled next to me, graceful and composed as ever. “You were concerned that my desire to spend the evening with you would have negative consequences for the hypothetical beneficiaries of the event. I have resolved the situation.”
“But you ruined the party.”
“Arden”—he gave me one of his coldest looks—“most likely there are people present who care more about the party than the charity, but they are beyond my consideration. And should be beyond yours.”
“I guess.” I couldn’t figure out was going on in my feels. I think I was comprehensively overwhelmed. And Caspian seemed so far away—literally and figuratively—that I might as well have been back in Boston. I screwed my courage to wherever it was courage got screwed and clambered awkwardly back into his lap.
Caspian drew in a sharp breath but didn’t dump me onto the floor or anything, so I counted it a win. He tilted his head slightly to meet my gaze. “Does this mean you’ll spend the evening with me?”
“Did you even like the art?”
“I didn’t look at it. I’m sure it’s very nice.”
“Caspian!”
“What?”
“You can’t do things like this.”
His lips twitched into the faintest suggestion of a smile. “That is demonstrably untrue.”
“Gah. You know what I mean. You shouldn’t.”
“Will you,” he said, slowly and softly and full of delicious menace, “spend this evening with me?”
I wriggled happily. “You know the answer is yes. But you have to promise me this won’t happen again.”
“Since you won’t let me lie to you, I can’t make that promise.” I was going to protest again but he put his fingers gently across my lips. “I would do far more than buy some art for you, my Arden.”
“But now,” I pointed out irrefutably, “you own some art.”
“My mother has an excellent eye. Most likely, the pieces will only increase in value. In ten years or so, I can hold another auction.”
Tucking my head against his shoulder, I let myself breathe. The sweet, dark scent of Caspian’s cologne wrapped itself around me, as familiar as his touch. “I still can’t believe you did that,” I muttered. “Just to spend an evening with me.”
“I’m a very selfish man.”
“Hey, you’ve done a really good thing for what someone referred to as hypothetical beneficiaries.” I smirked into his jacket.
Caspian’s fingers moved lightly through my hair, sending shivers all the way down my spine. “Dear me. What pompous friends you have.”
“I”—eeeeep—“I hope he’s a bit more than a friend.”
“I’m sure he’s quite taken with you.”
Oh wow. Carve that out of stars and write it across the sky. I sat up again, regarding him gravely. “Yes. I truly believe he holds me in moderate esteem.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Caspian put a hand across his face and burst out laughing. And, oh God, it was beautiful—that pure, bright sound, rare as an English spring, and the flashes of his mirth-struck mouth, half hidden behind his fingers. It made me want to kiss him. Dip my tongue into his laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment or two, blinking the glitter of moisture from his lashes. “I more than moderately esteem you.”
“You mean you deeply esteem me?”
“I more than esteem you to any measure.”
“Gosh.” I clasped my hands to my palpitating breast. “Can it be that you…regard me?”
“Come here, you wretched monkey. I treasure you.”
He kissed me, long and sweet and thorough. And, by the time he was done, I was blissfully melted.
He nudged his nose against mine. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“Um, what are the options?” It was, honestly, dizzying. Caspian’s time was so insanely valuable and here he was just pouring it into my lap, as if was as abundant as Inca gold.
“Anything you want. Do you have a favorite restaurant in London? Or is there somewhere you want to go? Paris? I understand people find Paris very romantic. I could have the helicopter readied within the hour.”
That sounded…well, like something that happened to people who weren’t me. And not necessarily in the “would if only I could” sense. “You know,” I said, awkwardly, “I think I’d rather go home, have a long hot bath, order pizza, and maybe watch a movie.”
“Oh God.” Caspian drew his fingertips down my cheek. “What am I saying? You’ve barely got back. Of course you need time to rest.” He switched on the intercom, directed the driver to take us to One Hyde Park, and settled me comfortably against his side.
Although I was starting to worry he’d missed the point.
Missed the point in a significantly major way.
“With you,” I said quickly. “I want to do all that stuff with you.”
He looked genuinely startled. “You’d prefer me to stay?”
“Hell yes. I’m especially hoping you’ll come in the bath with me.”
He went little pink at that—but appeared no less confused. “If this is really how you’d like to spend the evening, then…certainly.”
“You ridiculous man.” I shoved my hand in his and he let me, folding his fingers tightly around mine. “I can’t imagine anything I’d like more.”