The Hedgington hotel is a mass of old world brick and cement architecture in the center of Rayleigh. Even with countless renovations, it’s still managed to keep that classic edge to it. Isla’s driver pulls the Town Car up outside the drop-off zone, and he comes to open my door for me. I grab the black silky material of my gown and my clutch in one hand, allowing him to take my other hand and help me out. He runs over to the other side to assist Isla and Cleo while I step up onto the curb, smoothing down the layers of my dress and surveying the line of cars behind Isla’s.
I opted for a midnight black gown with tiny crystals imbedded across the bodice, which wraps tightly around my chest in a corset. The skirts billow out to the floor with feathers draped over my chest and shoulders. My own rendition of the wicked queen from Snow White. And, if I must say, much better designed. Once the girls join me—Isla dressed as Cinderella and Cleo as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz—we link arms and walk inside. The upholstery, carpet, and furniture have remained its signature cream and red; the Halloween decorations are sparse, no doubt to keep from looking tacky.
We make our way to the ballroom and immediately grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray before finding a corner where we people watch while the last of the stragglers arrive. We discuss the usual culprits who take the liberties of Halloween too far with outfits that would have gotten them turned away from this establishment if it weren’t for the money exchanging hands. That’s when my eyes find Dexter. Dexter and Lisa. The champagne bubbles strangely in my stomach when his gaze falls on me, a malicious glint in those brown depths. I don’t give a damn if he’s with her. I really don’t. But I do care about being made to look a fool, and he probably knows that. Scoffing, I tip my champagne flute back in a rather unladylike manner and down the rest of its contents.
“God, what a prick.” Isla stares over at Dexter, who’s now smiling down at Lisa’s chest and likely ignoring whatever she’s babbling about.
“Don’t spend another minute of your time worrying about that moron,” Cleo declares, grabbing another glass of champagne when a waiter stops by to take our empty glasses.
“I can totally see why you would waste your time, though,” Isla interjects with a sigh. “The asshole is too good looking for his own good.” She tips her champagne into her mouth and eyes them over the rim of the glass.
I’m just glad my father isn’t here. I also wish I hadn’t shown up, my father’s temper be damned. But this dress … I glance down at it. It’d be such a waste not to show it off.
Even if my boobs feel as if they’re about to burst out of the bodice.
Dexter’s gaze returns to me, so, like the true lady I am, I lift my middle finger to my cheek and pretend to scratch something off it, effectively flipping him off before turning away.
Isla giggles. “You’re lucky your father isn’t here.”
I really am. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. You two coming?”
They shake their heads. “No, the food is starting to circulate, and I’m starved.” Cleo looks over at the waiters who are starting to circle with trays of finger food.
Leaving them to it, I weave my way through the crowd, smiling thinly at anyone who says hello but not stopping. That champagne went right through me, and I need in that bathroom, now.
Once I’m done, I spend a good few minutes righting my dress and then applying another coat of red in the mirror. I move my head side to side, pleased that my braided updo is holding. Not bad, considering I did it myself. I grab my clutch and head for the door. As soon as I step outside, my hand is grabbed, and I’m being tugged farther down the hallway.
“Dexter,” I growl. “Let go of me.”
“We need to talk; this is getting ridiculous.”
“I’ve said all I need to say.” I turn to go when he releases me, but he steps closer, placing a hand on my waist. Bristling, I stare glacially at him. “Remove your hand, now.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think you quite understand, darling. But …” His hand lifts, fingers trailing softly down the side of my cheek. I recoil from the touch, feeling my blood ignite to a steady simmer with anger. “You’re mine. You and I both know that. No matter what I do or who I do, you’re always going to belong to me.”
“Is that so?” My tone is laced thick with biting sarcasm.
“You’re damn right it is.”
“Look, it’s bad enough you’ve embarrassed us by showing up with the biggest airhead in Rayleigh. Don’t make it worse by causing a scene after I’ve already dumped you.”
He laughs, the sound rich and dark, but it does nothing for me. It stopped doing things for me months ago, which only reaffirms I’ve made the right decision.
“Appearances, appearances. God, your shallow heart knows no bounds, does it?”
I inwardly flinch from his words, but outwardly, I keep the bored mask plastered to my face. “In all honesty, you’re making a grave mistake. Daddy dearest isn’t always going to want to pay your way. I’ll take care of you; you know I will.”
“I don’t need taking care of.” I spit the words at him.
“Really?” He gestures down the hallway. “Then tell me, my cold, beautiful, temptress, what are you without all this?” He laughs again when I don’t answer, curling his arm around my waist. “Exactly. You need me, and I want you. So stop with the games and—”
I shove his chest. “Shut up and let go of me.”
He ignores me. “Don’t make me—”
He’s interrupted again but not by me. “I believe the lady asked you to kindly fuck off.”
Him. Here? A shiver rolls down my spine, and Dexter finally steps back, revealing Jared, who appears to be wearing a valet uniform.
“Who the hell are you? We’re having a private conversation here. Now scamper off and go attend to somebody’s car,” Dexter sneers.
Jared steps forward. “I’m sorry for the confusion, but you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck about your privacy.” He takes another step forward. He’s a bit taller than Dexter is and more muscular. His mere presence, in general, is just more. “Now, quit hassling the lady and beat it before I tell management that some suspicious character is hanging around outside the bathrooms.”
Dexter’s nostrils flare as he stares hatefully at Jared, but then he finally tears his gaze away and glares at me. “This isn’t over, Vera, and you know it.” He stabs a finger at me then stalks off down the hallway, heading back to the ballroom.
“Boyfriend who left you on the side of the road?” Jared stares at his retreating back before his eyes fall on me. They then stalk up and down my body in a way that makes my blood heat for a whole different reason. The way he looks at me is almost feline with its laziness, as if he’s found something he wants to take his time devouring.
I clear my throat. “Ex and yes.”
“Vera.” His eyes attach themselves to mine, my name leaving his mouth in a husky rasp like he’s sampling the sound of it. My gaze stays glued to his for a heartbeat too long. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s the valet, for Christ’s sake. Not to mention a foul-mouthed flirt. I should go. I need to go. But my feet don’t move, and I can’t stop staring. “You seem to be in the habit of rescuing me.”
His teeth sink into his bottom lip. He drags them over it before releasing it and saying, “I can be in the habit of doing anything you need, beauty. Say the word, and I’ll put you on the back of my chariot and whisk you away.”
“You’re persistent.”
“You’re probably more than worth the effort,” he fires back.
My brows rise, but my heart kicks forcefully at my ribcage at his words. “For what?” I ask. “A quick fuck?”
His eyes narrow. “Well, I wouldn’t say quick. In fact”—he holds up a finger and steps forward, crowding me into the wall—“I can make it last. All. Night. Long.” His finger drops to the exposed skin of my chest, his gaze following and no doubt catching the way my breathing escalates. He trails it over the swells of my breasts, lifting his gaze to fix itself to mine. He’s barely touching me, but I feel it in every part of my body. Zapping every one of my nerve endings to life like an electrical current.
“And then what?” I manage to breathe out.
His brows lower over those captivating eyes. “What do you mean?”
“What happens after?”
He shakes his head. Disappointment washes over me when his hand leaves my chest to drop down to his side. “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”
I just stare at him in response. He blows out a heavy breath. “Well, it goes a little something like this …” His lips tug to the side. “I take you home, or anywhere you want, strip you naked, and lick every inch of you. Then, if I should be so fucking lucky, you might wrap those perfect bee stung lips of yours around my cock so I can fuck your mouth. Then …”
Feeling so turned on that my panties are now wet, I almost scream, “Stop.” I take a deep breath. “Please, I get it.”
He tilts his head. “Oh, I think you’re starting to. But as to what happens after?” He shrugs, placing his hands in his pockets. Like he’s teasing me. Like he knows I need them on me and is taunting me. “We both go our separate ways. And if I’ve done my job right, which I always do, then you’re officially ruined for anyone else.”
I squeeze my eyes closed then open them and direct them to the wall behind his head, scared he’ll see my crumbling willpower.
I quickly search for some bravado. “Why would I want to do that? If it’s a one-time thing, I mean. A girl can’t go through life having mediocre sex, now can she?”
He frowns. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”
He says it like it’s a disease he doesn’t want to catch. It makes me laugh.
“Right. Just fun?” I straighten from the wall and adjust my dress.
“Right. I’m not in the market for anything more than that.”
“You’re making a really convincing argument; you know that?” I huff out another disbelieving laugh.
That mischievous smile returns. “Women know what they’re signing up for with me. No reason you shouldn’t be aware, too.”
I stare at him for a minute, wondering what it’d be like to let go. To allow this man—who’s nothing like what I’m used to—to have his way with me. My panties grow wetter, but my head says to walk away. “Good night, Jared.”
I leave him without a backward glance, heading straight for the bar to try to wash away the heat coursing through my veins.
“Vera, darling. How are you? How is your father?” Margaret Collins, wife of one of my father’s colleagues, asks as she sidles up next to me. Fantastic. I’ve barely had a sip of my champagne, and someone has already found an opening.
“He’s good. Busy, as usual.” I don’t offer up any questions about her well-being in return. Because, to put it mildly, I don’t really care. Margaret smiles thinly then purses her lips as her eyes skim over my outfit. Whatever. Many of the older crowd usually choose not to dress up. Well, not to dress up as anything other than their soulless selves. “Good to know. Have you tried the crab cakes? Divine. Anyway, I really should be getting back to Richard. Have a good night, dear.”
I nod my head and give her a forced smile before taking a huge swig of my champagne. The girls finally find me a few minutes later, thankfully distracting me from searching the crowd for Jared. Not that he should be out here anyway, being the hired help and all.
“We thought you might’ve fallen in and were about to come see if you needed rescuing,” Isla remarks while frowning at my still flushed cheeks.
Tipping my glass back, I relish in the feel of the icy liquid sliding down my dry throat. I place it down and gesture for another one. “Someone else rescued me,” I tell them. “From Dexter.”
Their brows rise as they turn to face me fully. “What happened?” Cleo whispers.
“The guy who took me home earlier this week? When Dexter left me on the highway?” They both nod. “He’s here, a valet, and told Dexter to leave me alone when he found him harassing me in the hallway.”
They both smile. “Oh, my God.” Cleo claps her hands together. “What are the odds? Wait, valet?”
I nod. “Oh …” she says.
Isla elbows her. “Who cares. He’s hot, right?”
Hot isn’t really a term I’d use to describe Jared. Too much is what comes to mind, instead.
“He’s a cunning bastard who offered to whisk me away.” I laugh hoarsely.
Their faces morph with eager excitement when I whisper what he said to me.
“Holy shit, Vera.” Isla starts fanning herself.
“You should totally hit that,” Cleo says firmly.
“He’s not for me.” I take a sip of my champagne.
“So?” Cleo says. “He doesn’t have to be your type to rock your world.” She winks, but it looks more like she has Tourette’s.
Isla laughs. “Lord, give up trying to wink already.”
Cleo huffs and sips some of her cocktail. We move into the room and grab some food, dodging our family’s business associates and their wives with expert precision. Dexter doesn’t move from his spot by the wall, his hawk eyes watching my every move as Lisa vies for his attention.
When it nears eleven o’clock, I find a secluded table on the outskirts of the room while Isla and Cleo dance and laugh with the Devon brothers. My feet are killing me, and I’m tired, but I’ll wait until they’re done to tell them I’m going home.
Resting my head on my hand, I watch them, observing the casual joy that radiates from them as they do something so simple. And in doing so, I can’t help but wonder where I went so wrong. Why I can’t stumble across something—feel something—other people take for granted just as easily?
It doesn’t seem fair.
Then again. Life is never fair. There always needs to be balance.
The organ that beats in their chests is good. Pure. It makes sense that they get to tip the scales when they should feel like it.
My peripheral vision locks on a figure in the doorway to the ballroom, and my gaze shifts to take in Jared. Who’s watching me. Nothing about his playful expression gives anything away, but I know he’s giving me one last chance to take him up on his offer.
Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s sitting here feeling disgustingly sorry for myself … but indecision wars within, making my stomach coil into a tight knot.
Looking back at the girls and taking in their laughing faces once more, I decide to do something I know I’ll likely regret. But my feet carry me across the room anyway to say goodbye. They both giggle and demand I call them tomorrow with every last detail, but I hardly hear them. My ears are ringing with the sound of my stampeding heart beat as I turn and walk over to the exit. To Jared.
“My place or yours?” I ask once I’ve reached him.
His eyes widen a bit, but he replies instantly. “Yours.”
I nod and let him grab my hand, reveling in the rough warmth of it as he leads me toward the back of the hotel. “How’re you planning on getting us there?”
“My bike’s out the back.” I stop and glance down at my dress then raise my eyes and brows pointedly at him.
“Right.” He scrubs a palm over his mouth. “Never mind. We’ll make it work.” He starts walking again.
“Hey,” I hiss. “Stop. I’m not getting on that thing in this dress.”
He doesn’t answer me, just turns us down a bunch of hallways before finding an exit. He pushes the door open to an alleyway, and the late October chill instantly assaults my bare arms. We stop at his bike, tendrils of fog drifting in the night air as I glance around at other employees’ cars, dumpsters, and garbage cans. Lovely.
His hand gently tips my chin around to face him; he removes his hold on my hand to tuck the helmet gently over my head. His gaze roams up and down my body while he buckles it. “Wank bank material for months.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He grins, turning and throwing a leg over his bike then taking a few minutes to start it up while I just stand here. Trying to think about what to do with my clutch, I start to wonder how the hell I even ended up in this situation. This isn’t me. I don’t do this kind of thing. Why the hell am I inviting this valet into my bed?
A steady rumble follows the roar of his bike, echoing off the brick walls in the deserted alley. Then he’s taking my clutch and tucking it away in a bag attached to his bike.
“Come on.” He revs the bike and gestures with his head for me to climb on.
Despite hating everything about myself right now and my confusion, I can’t help but feel a little excited as I climb back on this death machine. I know, I need to make an appointment with a psychiatrist or something. Stat. I place a hand on his firm shoulder and use my other to lift the skirt of my gown into a bunch of material as I climb on behind him. I stuff it all down between my legs as best as I can, my bare legs protesting the chill. Jared reaches into the bag on the side of the bike and passes me a jacket. I stare at it dumbly for a moment before he says, “It won’t bite, Frost. Put it on.”
“Frost? What is with that?” I ask, taking it from him and reluctantly pushing my arms through the leather sleeves.
“You’re a little frosty, sweetheart. But that’s okay; I’m not looking for nice tonight. Wrap your arms around me.”
Dumbfounded by his statement, I do as I’m told and wrap them tightly around him. Then we’re moving down the alley and turning onto the busy city street. The lights and sounds all blur into one sensation that wrap around me like a bubble. Some of my dress escapes and flutters into the air behind us, but my thoughts have flown away in the wind, so I can’t find it within myself to care.