Chapter 25 Cynthie #2
“Sasha, this is my date, Jack Turner-Jones.” I make the introductions, and Jack is charming enough that Sasha is soon smiling and making small talk—a feat that took me years to achieve.
“Let me show you through,” Sasha says finally, after her assistant whispers something in her ear. “Are you both happy to have your picture taken?”
“Of course.” I try not to laugh because that’s basically the whole reason we’re here.
I realize that if it wasn’t for Jack coming back into my life, I would probably still be hiding out at home, having sent Sasha a check along with my regrets.
Now, I’m here, and the anxiety and tension that has been dogging me is finally loosening its grip.
I can’t deny that I owe a lot of that to the man beside me, and I squeeze his arm. When he looks down, I smile at him and his expression is quizzical.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.
His face softens. “Me too.”
Sasha guides us through the large reception area to a space where backdrops have been set up with the charity’s logo on them.
Instead of the wall of photographers we often face, this time there are only two, a young man and an even younger woman, hired by the event, and they greet us, slightly wide-eyed.
I shake out my skirts and look up at Jack. “Do I look okay?” I ask. “Anything in my teeth?”
I bare them at him, and he shakes his head. “You’re perfect,” he says with feeling.
The girl who’s about to photograph us melts just a little. “Great, if I could just get you guys to stand over here…”
She gets us into position and Jack’s hand slips easily around my waist, as if it belongs there.
“Okay, excellent,” the photographer says, snapping away. “And if you could look at each other?”
I lift my chin so that I can look up into Jack’s face, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles. His gaze drops to my lips, and then to my throat, lingering there. His breath hitches; his fingers tighten around my waist and heat flares in his expression.
I feel that look all the way down to my toes, and bite my lip.
“That’s wonderful, thanks,” the male photographer says.
The young woman clears her throat, nervous. “I know I shouldn’t say anything,” she says in a low voice, “but I think you make such a great couple.”
“That’s very sweet, thank you,” I say.
The woman beams and turns back to greet the next guests to be photographed.
“Shall we get a drink?” I ask Jack.
“One second,” he says, tugging me over to the side of the room.
When we’re in a shadowy corner, largely hidden from view by a leafy palm, he crowds me back against the wall.
He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping my face up, and I let out a huff of surprise.
Slowly, slowly, he draws his fingers down the side of my bared throat.
I can’t help the shiver that passes through me as his thumb brushes across my clavicle, gently hooking under the delicate gold chain around my neck.
“What is this?” His voice is little more than a growl.
“I thought it would give them something to talk about,” I say, breathless, “when the photos get sent out to the press. They like to dissect every picture of us so much.”
The gold chain holds a single charm, a tiny letter J , currently resting in Jack’s large hand.
“I like it,” he says, and something in his voice has me swallowing back a whimper.
“You do?”
“Mmmm.” He lets the necklace drop and turns his hand, palm down, fingers splayed so that he’s loosely gripping the base of my throat.
His thumb strokes up and presses gently against the pulse in my neck; I feel it thrashing under his touch.
It’s the first time he’s really put his hands on me, and the relief of it is almost painful.
My back is pressed more firmly against the wall, and all I can see is him.
“Maybe a little too much.” His voice is deep and dark now, the gentleman falling away.
I fidget, rubbing my thighs together, so painfully turned on I can hardly breathe.
All I can feel is his hand on me, the warm, rough caress of his fingertips on my sensitive skin, the light pressure on my throat.
We stay where we are for a beat, then two.
I wanted this, I realize. When I chose the necklace, it wasn’t just for our audience, it was for him: a challenge, a dare.
Something to upset his perfect manners, something to prove I’m not the only one affected.
Only I hadn’t thought it all the way through, hadn’t thought about what would happen if I did provoke him, how that would feel, how I would find myself drowning in lust in the middle of a party.
Somewhere nearby a glass shatters, a clumsy guest knocking it to the ground, and the sound is a sharp, sudden shock causing both of us to freeze.
Our eyes meet for an instant before Jack carefully eases himself back.
“Sorry,” he says, fingers going to the knot of his bow tie. “Got a bit carried away there.”
“I think we both did,” I agree, my heart pounding in my ears. “We should get back to the party.”
I press my hands to his chest. He catches my wrist in his fingers and brings my palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss against my skin before bringing it down, twining his fingers through mine so that he holds my hand at his side. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture.
“Sure,” he agrees easily, already back in control. “Let’s go and find those drinks you mentioned.”
We step out from our hiding spot while I try to keep my knees from shaking, and find that the crowd has grown. I’m about to tug Jack in the direction of the bar when I hear a familiar voice.
“Oi! Cyn!”
I turn, and I’m met with the sight of the man standing near the entrance, his smile so wide that his dimple is out on full display.
“Oh my God! Theo!”