CHAPTER FIVE
LAINEY’S HEART HAMMERED like a toddler beating tin pots together, the feeling vibrating through her body right down to her thankfully uninjured toes. That moment in the bathroom, where Damian had asked if they knew one another, she’d thought it was all over.
James Bond she was not.
But her response must have satisfied him, because his suspicion had drained away.
Holding her hem tightly in one hand, she lifted the fabric as they ascended to the next floor of Patterson House. According to the little sign at the bottom of the stairs that politely directed guests back to the ballroom, the balcony was supposed to be off-limits. But Lainey figured if they really wanted people to stay downstairs, they would have roped it off.
In any case, she needed to get Damian in private again. He’d been about to kiss her before that bumbling idiot and his digestive issues had interrupted them. She was sure of it. And that kiss was dancing in her head. She wanted it. Bad.
As they stepped out onto the balcony, warm air swept over Lainey’s skin, reminding her how much she had on display. A shiver rippled through her.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Damian said.
“It is.”
The balcony was as ornate as the rest of the building. White fretwork closed the balcony in while letting light filter through. The sun had started to set, and shades of orange and pink streaked the sky, making the greenery of the Patterson House gardens seem all the more vibrant. Lainey felt like a star waiting for nightfall.
“Cheers.” Damian held his glass up, and she clinked her own against it. “Here’s to masked strangers and wayward wineglasses.”
“And fairy tales and guessing games.” She sipped her drink.
“I notice you haven’t asked for my name,” he said.
Shit. She’d been too busy worrying about protecting her own identity that she’d momentarily forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to know him.
“You’re awfully hung up on names,” she replied, walking to the edge of the balcony and peering down at the garden below.
“And you’re awfully evasive.” He smiled, his head tilted slightly. She recognised that look; he was trying to figure her out.
“Let’s just say that being able to wear a mask was the reason I decided to come here tonight.”
The scent of gardenias floated past on a breeze. The balcony overlooked the garden rather than the courtyard, and she could see two people stealing away.
Was it Imogen? Lainey tried to get a better look, but the haze of dusk made it hard to tell.
“Are you hiding from someone?” he asked. “Or pretending to be someone else?”
“A little from column A and a little from column B.” She took another sip of her champagne. “And that’s the truth. I’m not trying to be evasive.”
“You can still be things even if you’re not trying.” His lip quirked. “Tell me, Ariel. If you’re not yourself tonight, who are you?”
He was close. So close she could smell the cologne on his skin and the bare hint of his soap underneath. He’d used the same sandalwood soap since forever. The clean, woodsy notes were burned into her brain—and never ceased to shock her with a mix of memory and fantasy.
The visuals played like a film reel in her head, flickering images from that day years ago when she’d been studying at Corinna’s place. She’d watched him strip down to his board shorts and dive into their pool. She’d imagined what would come next. Following him into the water, pulling him close, running her hand over his naked chest...
“I’m no one.”
He reached for her champagne and placed the two flutes on a table. Then he did the same with her clutch. It was like being stripped down, and her empty hands felt naked without something to do. “You are most certainly someone.”
“Maybe I’m a figment of your imagination.”
“I hope not.” His voice lowered, the sound rough yet silky. Like satin dragging over gravel.
Her breath hitched as his fingertips came to her waist, confident and firm. With the dress sucking her in, his hands looked enormous against her. He could overpower her, control her. She wanted him to.
The voice in her head shouted at her to press against him, but she wanted to draw this moment out. Stretch it like toffee and give her brain time to soak in every minute detail. This moment would have to sustain her for the rest of her life and become the thing she could cling to late at night. Her fantasy come to life. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush it.
“Why?” Her hands came to his chest.
Beneath the thick cotton of his dress shirt, he felt like sculpted stone. Hard and unyielding. Powerful. She had to remind herself to breathe, not to lose herself entirely and let something slip. Like his name.
“Because imagining things is a waste of time. Why spend energy on something that isn’t real?” His hand slid around her back, pulling her closer.
“Life doesn’t always measure up to a fantasy.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thin and soft and unnatural. The rest of her body struggled to function with all the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“That’s sad, Ariel.”
“It’s the truth.” Not just that, it was the story of her freaking life. The world she’d created in her head—the world that matched the romantic stories she loved so much—was way better than reality. If real life truly lived up to her fantasies, then she wouldn’t be wearing a mask tonight.
His head lowered to hers, hovering for what felt like her life three times over, before he ended the torture. He crushed her to him, his lips landing on hers and opening in a hot kiss, delving and exploring and tasting. Making her head spin and the world shift beneath her feet.
God help her, she was done for. Ruined for all other men. For all other kisses.
His lips were soft and full, the taste of champagne and the scent of something earthy and male lingering in her senses. Heaven. Her hand found the back of his head and her fingers thrust into his hair, pulling him closer, hoping it might stop her from levitating in his arms. From floating up into the night air.
When his hand slipped up her thigh, parting the slit in her dress, her body sang out: yes, yes, yes.
She ached everywhere. In her head, in her heart, between her legs. For him. Because of him.
His palm was hot against her skin, his thumb moving in slow circles against her inner thigh. Inching higher, then retreating. Moving forward and back in a maddening, teasing dance that left her breathless with need. She tightened her grip while her tongue ran along his lower lip. She nipped at him, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. The sound rubbed her nerve endings raw, heightening her sensitivity.
He kissed her as if all of his pent-up lust and attraction and protective urges spilled forth at once. As if he’d fantasised about this for the past decade just as she had. This was everything she’d wanted, and holy hell did it live up to expectation.
“My God,” she groaned into his mouth, thrusting her body forward so their chests pressed together.
He backed her up against the railing, keeping one arm around her waist and pushing his other hand up higher so he could slide it around to cup her ass. Warm air caressed her everywhere, the tiny scrap of lace masquerading as underwear covering only the necessities. He moaned into her mouth as he grabbed bare flesh.
“You feel so damn good,” he gritted out as his teeth scraped along her neck. “And you taste like heaven.”
“Touch me,” she whispered into his ear. “Please.”
He traced the lines of her body, the curves of her hips, and felt for the heat between her legs. Pinpoints of light danced behind her shuttered lids as he finally brushed his fingers over her sex. The thin silk and lace of her underwear hid nothing. He crushed his lips against hers, kissing her rough and hard and dirty. With teeth and tongue. Ferocious. Demanding. Every cell in her body fired as if fighting for life. Fighting for survival. Fighting to hang on for that one moment of pleasure.
“Please,” she whimpered. “I need more.”
“The next step is you coming against my hand, princess.” The growl in his voice rippled over her skin. “Because once I start, I won’t stop until you’re shaking with my fingers inside you.”
“Yes,” she gasped as he toyed with the edge of her underwear, the back of his knuckle rubbing against her sex.
“Be sure.” His teeth were at her neck, scraping the line from her jaw to her collarbone.
“I am.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I couldn’t be surer. I am so sure right now.”
He chuckled against her neck. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“And I like a man who’s good with his hands.” She arched her back as he pushed her underwear to the side, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out.
The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of the people milling below. But it was hard not to let the groans fall from her mouth as he stroked her. Played with her. His fingers pressed into her, dragging the moisture from inside her sex and rubbing it over her clit. Her whole body throbbed.
“That’s it.” He dragged one of her legs over his hip to open her further. “Let me feel how wet you are.”
His hand moved against her sex, his thumb strumming the swollen bud of her clit like he knew exactly how to make her fly. The edge of release rushed toward her, tremors starting in her thighs and spreading out, until it felt like she was going to fall. But his other hand held her steady, cradled her with a gentleness that belied the demanding fingers between her legs.
“It’s too soon,” she gasped, trying to hold on—to draw it out—but he knew her body too well. Way too well.
“It’s perfect, princess.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Don’t fight it.”
She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. Release rose up from her depths and blanked everything out—sound, sight, smell. It was all lost. Nothing but the electric feel of the orgasm rocketing through her.
Her hands clasped his head, her nails biting into his scalp as she tried so very hard to muffle her cries against his neck. His voice broke through as the intensity ebbed, soft and low. A whisper.
Princess.
She melted in his arms, liquid in the wake of her pleasure. But he had her. She wouldn’t fall.
“That was so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and bringing it down to his cock. He was like marble, hard and rigid beneath her trembling fingers. “You got me all worked up.”
She righted herself, smoothing her dress down with one hand and keeping her other on him as his body pinned her to the balcony railing. “I did?”
“Those quiet little cries as you came are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”
She swallowed. This man...he was everything she’d known he’d be. Her body and soul were alive, filled with a satisfaction so vibrant, she wondered why she’d never realised that she was only half-awake before.
But when she opened her mouth to respond, the sound of footsteps froze her.
“Ahem.” Three men stood at the edge of the balcony, all in tuxedos and without masks. “Looks like we’re interrupting something,” the one in the middle said.
Lainey wanted to shout that they were and tell them to get lost. Her perfect moment with Damian had been interrupted, and for what? So these beefcakes could judge them? She had to fight the urge to slap the smarmy smirk off the middle guy’s face.
“Looks like you are,” Damian said.
“Can I see your ticket?” one of the goons asked.
Lainey’s heart leapt into her chest. She hadn’t counted on being asked for her ticket once she was inside the venue. Crap. How was she going to explain that issue away?
“We’ve had a report of someone sneaking into the event,” goon number two added. “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously.”
Damian slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed his invite over. Mr. Damian Edward McKnight was written in scrolled font across thick cream paper. Lainey would bet money they’d spent more on having the invites printed than she forked out for rent each year.
“Damian McKnight,” he confirmed. “My apologies to have to interrupt you, Mr. McKnight. I’m sure you understand that we have to take these matters seriously.”
Damian nodded. “Of course.”
Just as the goons turned to Lainey, someone came up behind them. This man was in a mask, so obviously he wasn’t one of the security staff.
“I thought I heard a familiar name,” he said. “I was coming up here to get away from the crowd, and it looks like you two had the same idea.”
“Mr. McPartlin.” Damian’s tone was flat.
As in Jerry McPartlin. The Jerry McPartlin. Lainey knew his name because her parents were huge fans of his first restaurant, Ora. They couldn’t afford to eat there regularly, but once a year on their wedding anniversary, they splurged.
“Are you going to introduce me to your lovely guest?” Jerry motioned to Lainey.
* * *
Fuck. Of course it had to be Jerry McPartlin who stumbled across him with a gorgeous, nameless girl in his arms in an area of the building they weren’t supposed to be in. He and the redhead had broken apart the second the security team had walked in, but why else would two people be hiding up here on a private balcony? Any hope he had of changing the man’s opinion had vanished into thin air. Unless...
An idea sprang to his mind. Hadn’t he been saying to Aaron that he needed to look like a family man? Like a guy who’d finally settled down?
This was either going to work brilliantly, or everything he wanted—needed—was going to come crashing down around him. Saying nothing would mean certain failure, and his motto had always been Go Big or Go Home.
“I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ariel.” He squeezed the redhead’s hands in what he hoped was a silent plea for her to go along with his plan.
“Your fiancée?” Jerry cocked his head. “You never mentioned that you were getting married.”
Damian glanced at the woman beside him, who’d stayed mercifully quiet. “Didn’t think it was a necessary part of doing business.”
“It’s a pleasure.” Jerry stuck out his hand, and the redhead hesitated a moment before accepting the gesture.
“Likewise. I’m a huge fan your restaurants, Mr. McPartlin.”
“Please, call me Jerry.” He kissed the back of her hand before looking back at Damian. “Charming and glamorous. Looks like you’re a lucky man.”
“Not lucky enough to secure your business, on account of my image.” He couldn’t resist the little barb, especially since it appeared as though his story had been bought. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to steal a moment away with his soon-to-be wife, can you?”
“Perhaps I was too quick to judge.” His gaze lingered on the redhead’s hand, which wasn’t wearing a ring. “Didn’t you propose with a diamond?”
Shit. His mind whirred again.
“We’re having something custom-made,” she said, her voice silky smooth as though she hadn’t been panting and breathless a few moments ago. “Damian knows how much I like things to be perfect.”
She knew his name? He turned to the woman and her face tilted up to him, her lips full and pink. They curved into a smile. Of course, the security staff had said it aloud when they’d checked his invite. At least that bit of detail could lend extra authenticity to their story.
“That’s my Ariel.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He sensed McPartlin’s eye lingering on her. “She knows exactly what she wants.”
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” McPartlin nodded.
“We still need to check your invite, miss,” one of the security guys said.
The redhead stiffened beside him. Her hand tightened around his, squeezing in a way that told Damian she was exactly who they were looking for. No wonder she wasn’t keen to give up her name.
“I’m afraid Ariel’s invite met with an unfortunate end,” he said. “In the bathroom.”
The guards looked at one another, unsure how to handle that information.
“It’s my fault,” the redhead said, her voice perfectly pleasing and yet slightly breathy. “I was at the sink and my clutch got caught and spilled open.”
“It’s not your fault, darling.” He rubbed her back in slow circles, the role of doting fiancé taking him over fully. A wicked smile curved on his lips. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”
A small gasp sounded on her lips, but it was cut off by one of the guards clearing his throat. “Well, then. We should get moving.”
“It was great to see you again.” Damian nodded to McPartlin as he turned to leave, as well.
“Yes.” The older man looked them both over once more, as if trying to figure something out. “Enjoy the evening.”
Damian and the redhead stood close together on the balcony without saying a word until the men had descended to the ground level. Her relief was palpable in the evening air, and she sagged against him.
“So you’re a gate-crasher, huh?” Damian glanced down into her wide hazel eyes. “That’s a bold move. This is a very important event.”
“It certainly is,” she replied smoothly. “Oh, dear future husband of mine.”
He chuckled. Neither one of them was in a position to judge—they were both liars. Or both saviours, depending on how you looked at it.
“I guess this means I’m stuck with you for the rest of the evening, then?” she said, resting her head against his arm.
“Looks that way.”
He could think of worse ways to spend an evening—and at least having company would keep him from going crazy with all the snobbery in the ballroom. However, he’d put himself into a tight spot with Jerry McPartlin. While letting the man think he had a fiancée could work to his advantage, he’d have to make sure that Jerry McPartlin didn’t need to see his “future wife” ever again.