EIGHTEEN
SCANDAL
SERA
“You look like…” Fix stepped back, scanning me from head to toe. He grimaced. “I don’t like the color. I don’t like the dress. Fuck. I don’t like any of it. Only thing I like about it is the fact that it’s so sheer.”
“Why’s that appealing? You can’t see through it.” Still, I curved my shoulders, rounding them in, just in case I was wrong and my boobs were currently on show for everyone to see.
“I like the fact that it’s so thin, because I know you’re not wearing any underwear. There’d be…lines or something. I’d be able to see your panties, and I don’t see panties. Which means your pussy’s completely naked under that thing right now and it’s making me fucking hard.”
Jesus wept. At least he was consistent. He hadn’t let up since we’d met, using every opportunity he could to slide in an innuendo or a sexual pun into our conversations. But this…this was a little more direct. “My pussy’s none of your business, Fix. Don’t talk about it. Don’t even think about it.”
He’d found me in back in our hotel room, where I’d briefly returned to plug in my cell phone. Fix was a leaner. Guaranteed, anything he could use to prop himself up with was going to be leaned against. Right now, he was leaning against the TV cabinet, hands in his pockets, watching me as I rifled through my bag, looking for a charger.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he said.
“Ask you what?”
“How it went with your father.”
My hands stilled inside my purse. I’d known what he was referring to, but even mentioning that man’s existence caused palpitations in my chest. “Did he leave?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt you?”
Fix snorted. “Please.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“Uhhhh…”
“That’s all I need to know.” I pulled the cable out of my bag and plugged it into the wall. “We should go downstairs. Amy wants me in the photos.”
“I’ll get changed. I have a shirt I can wear—”
“Don’t. You don’t need to get changed.”
A small, entertained smile. “You really don’t want me in these photos, huh?”
“You’re going to be gone from my life in a couple of days, Fix. Why would I want you in my sister’s wedding photos? They’re gonna be hanging over her gaudy ass fireplace for the rest of time. That’s not the reason why I don’t want you to change, though. I don’t want you to change, because these people are all assholes, and I don’t give a fuck what any of them think. Amy won’t care what you’re wearing. It’s only Ben and his stuck up relatives, who can frankly go fuck themselves. Screw it.” I’d been boiling over since the chapel, getting madder and madder about Ben’s parents interfering, nearly ruining Amy’s day by inviting Sixsmith here. They were snooty, miserable, belittling motherfuckers, and I wasn’t going to bow and scrape in order to make a good impression with them. I loved Amy with all my heart, but I wouldn’t change myself for her, or for anyone else.
Fix was right. The dress I was wearing was fucking hideous; I looked like a goddamn macaroon. Snatching some clean clothes, I headed for the bathroom.
“Don’t lock yourself away in there on my account,” Fix called after me. “I swear I won’t peek.”
“Yeah. Right. There’s no way in hell I’m getting changed in front of you,” I retorted. “I’m not wearing any underwear, after all.” I really wasn’t. He’d been perfectly right in his assumption, and the knowledge he was turned on by the idea of me in nothing but this monstrosity of a dress had affected me more than I thought I would. I slammed the bathroom door, tearing the dress over my head, and tried not to gasp in horror when I realized just how wet I was between my legs. Goddamnit. I wasn’t ready to find myself embroiled in an attraction with another human being. A normal human being, who had a steady job, hobbies, was good to his family and friends. How the fuck had I found myself in this situation, becoming more and more attracted a guy who was never going to spell anything but trouble for me? Fix might not have been a priest anymore, but he was still in possession of the holy trinity: a killer smile; an ass you could bounce a quarter off; and a set of abs so perfectly defined that gazing upon them made you want to weep.
He wasn’t just a man. He wasn’t even of this planet, as far as I was concerned. He was either an alien, crash landed here from some distant galaxy, where everyone was unbelievably attractive, or he really was an angel, who, having fallen from grace and tumbled from heaven, was now living amongst us mere mortal, confusing us all with his surreal, otherworldly hyper-masculine beauty, and generally causing chaos and disruption wherever the fuck he went.
If I valued my sanity, I would get through this next few days, and I’d walk away from him. There was no future for us. I had to go back to work in Seattle, and Fix was constantly on the road, taking jobs, doing things that made my hair stand on end. I’d realized something, as Father Richards had been talking to me just now. I wasn’t horrified by what I’d seen in that auto shop anymore. Yeah, I could have done without the imagery inside my head, but… Franz hadn’t been sick. He hadn’t acted out of some mental health issue that drove him to behave in depraved, cruel ways. He was just a fucked up, evil piece of shit that had liked hurting people. That was the end of it. Franz would never have stopped. He wouldn’t have reformed, or suddenly not wanted to rape and torture young girls. I was never going to agree with what Fix had done, but…
He was right.
I wasn’t afraid of him.
Not anymore.
I pulled on my own ripped jeans, shoved my feet inside my tan ankle boots, slid the black, silk cami over my head, and ruffled my hair out, ridding myself of all the pins and clips that the stylist had shoved in there. Looking in the mirror, I felt much better. I was me again. Weirdly, I realized I’d actually learned something from Fix. He was far from perfect—like a galaxy away from perfect—but he owned himself. He owned his actions. He didn’t hide himself away. I’d been hiding myself away for so long now, trying to be something I wasn’t, that I barely even recognized myself anymore.
How long had it been since I was happy? How long had it been since I’d felt comfortable in my own skin?
I blinked at the woman staring back at me in the bathroom mirror, and felt kind of sorry for her. She’d been lied to. She’d been promised that making a lot of money, and winning high profile clients would enrich her life. She’d been sold an idea—the idea of happiness—and that idea wasn’t something that could be bought, or faked until it came to pass.
Happiness was a byproduct of embracing your own flaws, your insecurities, and your desires. I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that, but it seemed, against all the odds, that Fix had.
******
Amy didn’t say a word about my change of clothes. She was probably so relieved that I’d taken care of the Sixsmith business that I could have come to the wedding reception wearing a hessian sack and she wouldn’t have given a shit. The other members of the wedding party traded some pointed looks and raised eyebrows, though. I was uncomfortable for all of three seconds, thinking about rushing upstairs and getting changed back into the dress, but then I watched Fix grab a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and down the bubbling golden liquid, and I shed my nerves. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought of me. It sure as fuck didn’t matter what anyone else thought of Fix. I snagged my own glass of champagne, downed it, and shot Fix a grin.
“If we have to do this, we might as well get fucked up, right?”
He didn’t give me his usual, wolfish smile, but I could see the wicked delight lurking behinds those silvery blue eyes of his. “I knew you were hot as fuck. I didn’t know you were fun, Sera.”
“Don’t get carried away.” I took another glass from a short, balding waiter, who grunted at me disapprovingly when I thanked him. “I just use alcohol as a crutch when I’m stressed or nervous.”
“Can I get a Jack on the rocks please? A double?” Fix didn’t even look at the waiter. He remained focused on me, the tip of his tongue running along his top row of teeth—the actions of a hungry man. Fuck, he looked like he was starving, and I knew he wasn’t interested in the hors d’oeuvres that were floating around on trays. He was hungry for me.
“Why are you bothering with this?” I murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you bothering with any of this. You believed me when I said I’d keep my mouth shut about Franz. You did. So why bother driving me all the way out here? And why…why bother with the constant flirting? You’re attractive, and you know it. You could have any woman who catches your eye. So why keep trying to wear me down?”
“You don’t think you’re worth my attention?” A muscle jumped in his jaw, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. I’d tried to avoid looking at him for too long up until recently. If I did, I found myself transfixed on some small detail of him—the three, faint freckles under his jaw; the large, worn-smooth callouses on his palms, at the base of each of his fingers; the dark, short hair that twisted into a tiny whorl at the base of his neck—and I couldn’t look away.
“This isn’t about what I think. It’s about what you’re thinking, Fix. What’s motivating you at this point? Because I’ve tried, and I can’t figure you out. Not even a little.”
Fix accepted the glass that was proffered to him by the waiter, drank some of the burnt amber liquid in the bottom of the highball, took a step toward me and lowered his head. “You’re right. I know how I look. I’ve used my appearance to take whatever I’ve wanted, whenever I’ve wanted, for a long time now. But you’re selling yourself short, Angel. You’re fucking beautiful. Your body is so fucking distracting, I can’t look at you without forcing myself not to stare at your tits. They’re fucking perfection. Your nipples are…” His eyes rolled back into his head. “God, they’re fucking amazing. I can’t stop thinking about licking them. Teasing them between my teeth. Your ass is a goddamn gift from heaven. Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. Jeans, a skirt, sweats…whatever. I’m constantly imagining that I’m behind you, in between your legs, holding you by the hips while I rail you from behind. Watching your ass bounce while I was fucking you like that was one of the most amazing, erotic, sexiest things I’ve ever fucking seen.
“Your eyes are full of fire,” he continued. “They’re clear and commanding. Every time you turn those things in my direction, it feels like I’m being speared to the floor. Normal people look at me. They see the surface of me, the appealing outer shell. They never delve any deeper. But you…your eyes probe and they search. It feels fucking real when you look at me. After thirty seven years of being admired and coveted because of the way my genetics predetermined what my features would look like, it’s refreshing to be fucking seen, Sera.
“I’m not stupid. I know you. You’re not shallow enough to be won over by a good-looking guy with freaky eyes. I’m drawn to you, because you’re brave. Your courage and spirit burn through you, even when you’re scared. You don’t back down. You were terrified of seeing your father today, but you didn’t respond by running and hiding. You asked me for a gun, so you could threaten that motherfucker. That’s not how normal people react. You want to know why I keep hitting on you, even though I know you’re too smart to fall for my shit? It’s because I think you’re courageous, and unique in all the world. That’s worth more than anything to me. I think you’re remarkable, Sera.”
My body had turned against me, and my palms had started to sweat. I’d expected him to…shit, I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say. Maybe spin me some self-deprecating line about how he wasn’t that good looking, or that he’d never do something so morally corrupt as use his looks to his own advantage. But he hadn’t done that. Not even close. He’d told the truth, and then he’d said a number of things about my anatomy that made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Could he really be so enthralled by my sheer stubbornness, and my refusal to let my fears overtake me, though? Could I really wrap my head around that?
Fix took another step toward me, stooping low over me, bending so that he didn’t tower over me quite so badly. “There’s something else…” he whispered. “One more reason why I’m so addicted to you, Sera Lafferty.”
He could have used those eyes of his to hypnotize people. “What?” I said breathlessly.
“Your cunt, Sera. Your cunt is fucking magnificent.”
Three feet away, an old woman dropped the side plate she’d been holding to the floor, sending a helping of shrimp cocktail flying in all directions. She gasped, hand pressed to her chest in horror, her mouth hanging open so wide that her jaw was almost resting on her voluptuous chest. She’d heard what Fix had said. Of course she had, because he hadn’t lowered his voice in any way when he told me how great he thought my vagina was. He’d raised his voice, in fact, to the point where anyone within a ten feet radius of us heard his words with perfect clarity.
He was positively beaming with glee as he continued. “Your cunt is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love how you taste when you’re wet. I love burying my face in between your legs and fucking devouring you. I love how pink and fucking delicious you are. I can’t wait to slide my tongue inside you later. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until I break you. You’re going to be begging for my cock by the time I’m done with you.”
Everyone had stopped talking. Everyone. Silence reigned supreme as I stood stock still, stunned, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Was he…? Did he really just…? Oh…my…god.
“I have never heard anything so disgraceful in all my life,” the woman who’d dropped her plate muttered. She did exactly as Fix had, raising her voice, making sure she could be heard.
My immediate response was to bow my head and hide my shame. That’s what I would have done a month ago. Fuck, it was what I would have done a week ago. But when I saw the challenge in Fix’s eyes, I knew all too well that he was playing games with me. Issuing me with a challenge. Daring me to be as brave he believed I was.
No one had moved. Everyone was still staring. Still horrified. I’d hoped at least one person would have started laughing, brushing it off as a joke, but it appeared I was out of luck. The judgmental bastards were all sneering down their noses at us, disapproving and disgusted.
Fuck ‘em.
I tossed back the remainder of my champagne, and then I set the glass down on the table next to me. “Thank you, Felix. That’s incredibly sweet. I’m one lucky, lucky girl. The way you eat my pussy makes me lose my freaking mind. It’s a miracle I’m even capable of speech. But, honestly, all I want to do is tie you to the bed and fuck you with my tits. I love oiling them up and sliding your cock between them until you come. It’s so fucking hot.”
A waitress entered the room, carrying yet another tray filled with food. She stumbled to a halt when she saw the stunned looks on everyone’s faces. I reached out and picked up a mini kabob, taking a bite out of it. I chewed a couple of times and swallowed. “You have no idea how insane it drives me, using both my hands on your huge cock, Felix. You get so fucking hard. And when I dip down and tease the tip with my tongue…”
I held out the kabob to Felix, flashing him a triumphant smile. I’d won. I’d accepted his challenge, and I’d beaten him. “Want some?” I asked.
He slowly shook his head, a dark, high sexual energy vibrating from his body. He didn’t need to speak; I knew I’d pleased him by playing along with his game. “No thank you, Sera,” he said calmly. “The only finger food I want to eat tonight will be sucked clean from these,”—he held up his right hand, wiggling his fingers—“after I’ve made you come with them.”
“Goodness! What on earth do you two think you’re doing?” A tall man with tiny, round spectacles perched on the end of his nose shoved through the crowd, throwing down his napkin onto the drink’s cart. He reminded me, weirdly, of Larry David. “Are you both sick or something? This is a Catholic wedding, not a…a…debauched night of sin at some sort of a…a…sex club!”
I burst out laughing. He’d put such a weird inflection on the words ‘sex club.’ His face had turned purple, and his cheeks were shaking with every word he spat out. I’d remembered who he was—Ben’s old college professor—and the ridiculousness of the entire situation suddenly seemed hysterical to me. A number of scandalized hisses traveled through the reception party, but I didn’t bother to seek out their outraged expressions. I was trapped, laughing so hard my stomach was hurting, and there was nothing I could do to stop myself. I was never going to stop laughing.
At least, I thought that was the case until…
“WHO THE FUCK PISSED IN MY LAMBOGHINI?!”
I stopped laughing, swiveling my head toward the entrance of the reception ballroom, and there, hands balled into fists at his side, cardigan half slipping off his shoulders, hair in disarray and sticking up in five different directions, stood Gareth Douvillier. I hadn’t looked for him during the ceremony. I hadn’t even thought about him. I’d been dreading seeing him here for weeks and weeks, and then, ironically, I’d forgotten all about him. He was fuming, his whole body visibly shaking, the tips of his ears bright crimson. Arianna tottered over to him in six-inch heels, cooing and murmuring, trying to soothe him, but Gareth pushed her away, grinding his teeth together. “I know it was you, you fucking prick. Marcosa! Where the fuck are you?!”
Marcosa? Gareth was accusing Fix of pissing in his car? Gareth had met Fix? I had no idea when that had taken place—Fix hadn’t breathed a word about it—but clearly he’d made a lasting impression.
“Did you piss in Gareth’s car?” I whispered, looking at Fix out of the corner of my eye.
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I kinda did. Maybe we should get out of here.”