chapter 14 #2
Eventually, dinner is served, dessert offered, and music begins.
Unfortunately, the tunes are ragtag oldies, and only the older people in attendance are dancing.
Mainly, the wives. As I’m sucked into another conversation with several members of the board, I watch Angelica talking to Maxine near our table.
Her head tips back and she laughs at something Maxine said.
Something that is certain to be a jab at me.
Walt approaches the two women.
“Excuse me,” I mutter mid-sentence on Martin’s chatter about another major department store that has shut its doors.
Setting down my drink on a random table, I near the triangle of Walt, Maxine, and Angelica, just as Walt asks Angelica, “May I have the next dance?”
The old man hasn’t even danced with his wife, and he wants to dance with my date? I don’t think so.
Extending my hand toward Angelica, I cut off any response. “Actually, Walt, I have the next one.” And every other one after that.
As the music shifts from something fast-paced to the deep wail of a diva, Angelica sets her hand in mine, and I silently lead her to the dance floor.
I twirl her around, watching the long hem of her dress flare before I draw her close to me.
“You know, if you peed in a circle around me, it might have made it more obvious. Yellow snow and all.” She grimaces.
“Yeah, well, I don’t trust Walt.” I’d glance over Angelica’s head to glare at the old guy, but I don’t want to focus on him when I have this beautiful creature in my arms.
Glancing at her, I catch her peering up at me. “This was one of my parents’ favorite songs,” she says quietly.
I tilt my head, unable to recognize the tune.
“Etta James. “At Last”,” Angelica clarifies.
Ah. “My father loved blues and jazz.” And because of that, I hated the music. The throaty songs. The raspy tenors. Saxophone. Harmonica. Piano. “He was part of a band when he was young.”
Angelica arches a brow. “Anything I’ve heard of.”
I shake my head. “Probably not. Colt45 was their original name. They regrouped after Tucker quit and became The Chrome Teardrops.”
Angelica continues to watch me. “Why did he quit?”
I swallow thickly. “My mother was pregnant.” Not the entire story, but enough of the truth for right now.
Sensing that’s all I’ll say, Angelica settles in, and we spin in slow circles to the lyrics about lovers finally found and loneliness being over.
I’m not certain loneliness ever really disappears, but for the past twenty-four hours, I haven’t felt the constant brick of emptiness in my gut. I’ve simply enjoyed my time with Angelica.
Pulling back, our eyes meet, and I stare at the flicker in hers. The warmth and mirth inside them.
I bet she never gets lonely.
“Why didn’t you have a date for your brother’s wedding?” I’d heard her partner say he’d take her. A woman like Angelica should have men lining up to date her. Hell, she should already have that one man in her life, worshipping her.
She shrugs. “Just haven’t found the one. At last.” She wrinkles her nose, playing off the song and brushing off my question.
“What about you?” she asks. “You’ve dated hundreds of women. You could have easily found someone else to pretend with you tonight.”
Respectable, I’d told her. I needed someone the board didn’t know or recognize, but the situation also called for more. I didn’t know what that more was or why I felt she had it, but I didn’t think I could pull this off with anyone other than her.
“I didn’t want anyone else.” Honestly, I didn’t. I only wanted one person by my side for this party, and she is in my arms.
Still staring at one another, the song fades and almost instantly another one begins. Angelica steps out of my embrace and starts moving her body in jutting, jerking motions, pausing occasionally at the staggered beat of the new song.
“Oh, God. No.”
“Oh, goddess, yes,” Angelica smiles, her grin growing three sizes right in front of me while those blue eyes dance.
“Not . . .”
“Yes.” Angelica continues moving, smoothing out her motions, while holding her fist in front of her mouth and singing along to a Taylor Swift tune.
Suddenly, I’m a fan, as I watch Angelica spin, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and mouthing the words in my direction. The most prominent of those terms being the song’s title, “Lover”.
I’m hyperaware of eyes on us. Or rather, on her, making an intriguing spectacle of herself while hammering in that I’m her . . . lover.
With a sharp bark, resembling a laugh, I step closer to her and pull her into me with her back to my front. We sway side to side for the rest of the song.
“Has anyone ever told you you are a temptress?”
“Never,” she breathes out, replacing the song title with the singular word.
“Well, I’m telling you. You’re delectable.”
Angelica spins in my arms. “Chocolate mints are delectable. I am just . . .” She sweeps a hand down her front without realizing she’s only emphasizing my point.
She is a chocolate mint, and I want to devour her.
When the song ends, Maxine saunters over to us, waving a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. My assistant looks rather tipsy.
“Oh no,” Angelica teases, holding out her hand and waving them at Maxine. “Shoo.”
I bite my inner cheek. She’s so fucking adorable.
Maxine, however, is wily like me and steps closer to Angelica, holding the mistletoe like she’s dangling a treat in front of a pup.
Angelica laughs harder and tucks into me like I’ll protect her from a piece of greenery with white berries tied by a red bow.
Instead, I cup Angelica’s cheek and tip back her head. Our eyes meet, and Taylor Swift’s song echoes through my head about lovers and lights on and saying someone is mine.
Stroking my thumb over her soft skin, I brush over the freckles covered by a dusting of makeup. Then I swipe at the corner of her lip, erasing the cover-up so I can see that freckle that draws my attention over and over again.
“Kiss the girl,” Maxine playfully barks, and while I want to snap this isn’t a Disney fairy tale, there isn’t anything else I want more than to kiss Angelica again.
When our mouths meet, the kiss is soft like the one we initially shared. The one that quickly turned more intense. Not hurried but a slow hunger, like a deep ache in my belly, where I knew I had to savor every sip of her or that ache would grow to a gut-wrenching pain.
I took my time again, plucking at her lower lip and teasing the upper one, eventually dipping my tongue to the corner of her mouth, as if claiming that freckle.
Angelica’s breath hitches, and then she bests me once again, nipping my lower lip.
Not hard. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make an impression.
Like everything else about her, she’s getting in my head and underneath my skin, and when I pull back, startled by the claiming bite, our gazes lock again.
Something new is in her eyes. Sweetness and joy, but a little bit of playful mischief, and it hits me hard in the chest—
I don’t deserve her.
Not like this.
I don’t want to pretend with her. Like she demanded last night—stop acting. Stop playing a part. Maybe I can do it in front of this crowd, in front of the board, but not with her. Not when it’s us.
Like breaking the surface of a frigid lake, sound rushes around me. The whoops and cheers of our audience brings our position back to me. We’re standing in the middle of a dance floor, encouraged to kiss by a weak collection of leaves and a co-worker.
If I ever even entertained there being an Angelica and me, I’ve blown my chance by asking her to participate in this farce.
Deciding our appearance has been noted long enough, I nod at the faceless crowd around us, slip my arm around Angelica, and lead her wordlessly into the hallway, guiding us back to our room.
I’m done pretending for one night.