Chapter Five #2
The last two hours were a rush of phone calls to Dominic and Cassian to speaking at length with my human resources and public relations consultants to ensure Seraphina and I stay within legalities while presenting the best possible front.
I also called George Randolph again. He didn’t sound like he was about to spit bullets, but he was still gruff and short.
He declined my offer to have dinner with Seraphina and me this week.
But he is coming to the Violet Masquerade next weekend.
And he’s agreed to meet with Seraphina and me the day before to discuss not only our engagement but the New Field deal.
The clock’s ticking. A week to convince the world that Seraphina and I are desperately in love and create a positive narrative that will convince Randolph to continue to do business with me.
I think of David. Of Mom. I will not fail.
The lock disengages and I walk in. Brenda comes down the white marble staircase at the far end of the store.
“Hello, Mr. Hawke!”
“Hello again, Brenda.” I glance at the stairs. “How’s Seraphina doing?”
“Wonderful,” Brenda beams. “She’s picked out some lovely pieces. Needed a little encouragement, but I think we got her set up with everything she needed.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She hesitates. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but she’s very kind. You’re a lucky man.”
I smile slightly. “I am.”
Brenda nods toward the stairs. “She’s trying on one last gown. I’ll be up in a few minutes with boxes for her purchases.”
I pass by a grand piano and ascend the circular stairs.
The jewelry box gently taps against my thigh with every step.
When I walked into the store next door, I had a plan: buy the most expensive ring.
I don’t know how to share my feelings, nor do I care to learn.
But I do know how to treat the women in my life well, showering them with gifts in lieu of emotional fondness.
To date, only a couple have pushed for more in terms of affection.
But as the owner pulled out some of his priciest rings, one caught my eye.
As soon as I took a better look, I knew it was the one for Seraphina.
The engagement might be fake, but her loyalty is real, as is her commitment to seeing the New Field deal through.
She deserves a ring that’s more her style.
The last time I bought something for a woman because I thought she’d like it was Melanie. A silver necklace with a crescent moon after weeks of saving change from the wallets we stole. When I presented it to her, she’d told me she liked it even as she played with the diamond studs in her ears.
Idiot. The signs were there almost from the beginning. She used me, and I was too lovesick, too desperate for an emotional attachment, that I let myself be blinded.
Never again. I’ve kept that vow for the past twenty years. I won’t break it for anyone. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something nice for Seraphina, especially after seeing how much her parents’ reaction to the news of our engagement hurt her.
I near the top of the stairs. A not insignificant slice of guilt powered my decision-making.
I hadn’t thought about the impact our engagement would have on Seraphina’s loved ones.
I’ve seen the photo of her and her parents on her desk, know that she visits them at least twice a month.
I’d lay my life on the line for Dominic and Cassian, but I don’t share personal details with them.
Even David and I keep our private lives private despite getting together once a month.
But it hurt her. Hurt the people she loves. The stricken look on her face when I asked if everything was all right, followed by that empty laugh I’ve never heard from her before, cut me.
This is just one of many reasons I’m not meant for a long-term relationship. I become fixated on projects, on goals and deadlines, to the point of not seeing anything or anyone else. It’s a hard habit to break, especially when it’s led to so much success.
I reach the top of the stairs. Another long hallway with alcoves leading into private dressing rooms, complete with antique-inspired lounge furniture, small chandeliers, and silk curtains hiding the changing room behind the gilded mirrors.
I glance to my right. And freeze.
Seraphina is standing on a dais in front of a mirror. She’s facing away from me, her hair still pulled up into the same loose bun, leaving her back bare to my gaze.
My cock grows so hard it’s almost painful. My eyes roam over the line of black satin that starts just above her waist and falls into sweeping folds about her feet. As my gaze travels up, I note the satin looped around her neck.
From my vantage point, I can see part of Seraphina’s face in the mirror and a hint of the satin crossing over one breast. She’s staring at her reflection as if she’s never seen herself like this. There’s a hint of wonder, a shy smile as she turns this way and that.
The ache in my chest grows, a desire to peel back the layers of Seraphina Clark and find out…everything. It may not be as satisfying as sex, but if it’s the only thing I can have without crossing the line, I’ll take it.
“Stunning.”
She immediately stiffens. Our eyes meet in the mirror before she turns around.
“How long have you been standing there?”
I would answer, but I can’t, not with my tongue in my throat after I just swallowed it. The satin swaths crisscross just below her neck and cover her breasts. But then there’s nothing except black lace in the middle. Lace woven thin enough I can see the swells of her breasts.
“Long enough.”
I drag my gaze back up to her face. The wariness on her face doesn’t fully hide her awareness of me. The faint glossing of her eyes, another blush creeping up her neck as her breathing quickens.
I enjoy every single second as I walk closer.
“It’s just missing one thing.”
She frowns and glances down. “What?”
I pull the box out of my pocket and hold it out. “This.”
I close the last steps between us and hold it up. She watches every move I make. Her eyes are the only thing moving as she watches me open the box.
Her gasp makes me smile.
“Oh my God.” She stares at the ring before wrenching her gaze up. “Mr. Hawke—”
“Aiden.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Aiden, I can’t accept that.”
Irritation creeps in. “Would it help if I told you it wasn’t the most expensive ring in the store?”
There. The tiniest quirk of her lips.
“Perhaps. Still, it’s…”
“It’s what?”
She arches one brow with that never-before-seen sass I’m coming to enjoy so much.
“It was more than a thousand dollars.”
“True. But it reminded me of your eyes.”
Damn. I didn’t mean to let that slip. But as her eyes soften and she looks at me with warmth instead of the distaste she did earlier this morning, I don’t regret it.
I pull the ring out of the box and grasp her hand, relish her sharp inhale.
Almost as much as I enjoy the feel of her hand in mine.
It’s been three years since I held her hand when we shook hands at the end of her interview.
There’s been the occasional brush of fingers when she handed over a report, shoulders nudging when we stood in an elevator or crowded conference room.
But holding her hand like this isn’t just sexy as hell. The intimacy of our palms stressed together sends a shockwave through me.
I slide the ring on her finger. The sight of that emerald winking up at me from her hand, a ring I picked out to mark her as mine to the world, deepens my craving for her. She’s not mine. Never will be. But I’m going to thoroughly enjoy pretending she is for the next ten months.
Seraphina holds her hand up and takes a closer look at the ring.
“It’s breathtaking. Thank you.”
The gratitude in her eyes hits me square in the chest. I can’t recall a single woman I’ve dated look at me with such simple appreciation. But the women I’ve dated have all been from the world I’ve spent nearly twenty years in. They’re used to lavish jewelry and high-end fashion.
And this is why I’m so selective. So that emotions like the ones I’m witnessing play across Seraphina’s face don’t come into play.
“You’re welcome.”
Her smile dims a little at the abrupt change in my tone. She glances down at the ring again, then turns back to the mirror. I grit my teeth at the sight of her back. It’s all too easy to imagine trailing my fingers down the smooth skin, followed by my lips as I slowly undress her.
“Did Brenda say when she was coming back up?”
“No, she mentioned grabbing boxes for your purchases. Why?”
Seraphina huffs. “The zipper is stuck. I’m afraid if I tug too much, I’ll rip the fabric.”
I should go get Brenda. Have her help. Keep my distance from Seraphina like I just told myself I would.
Instead, I walk toward the dais. Watch as her chest rises and falls, her eyes fixed on mine in the mirror.
“May I?”
Slowly, she nods. Points to the zipper just above the small of her back.
I grab the dress with one hand and tug. The zipper doesn’t budge.
But my knuckles graze her skin. Possessiveness strikes, sinks its fangs into my chest, the initial bite followed by a burn as I glimpse blue lace beneath the satin.
Slowly, I raise my head. Seraphina is watching me, eyes glittering with an answering desire that has my finger tightening on the back of her dress. She leans back slightly, as if giving me permission to pull her off the dais into my arms.
I knew she wanted me last night by the lakeshore. But to see it in the light of day makes me want to keep unzipping, peel the dress off before turning her around and kissing her senseless. Finally taste her lips, run my hands over her incredible body.
I let go of the zipper and step back. Regain some composure before I speak.
“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”
I don’t wait to see her reaction. I need distance. I don’t mix business with pleasure. But after just a brief time in Seraphina’s company this morning, I can barely keep my eyes or hands off her.
I won’t cross the line of having sex with my assistant, won’t risk introducing a dynamic that could potentially devastate our working relationship. She is far too valuable, knows my quirks and preferences, knows my clients.
And damn it, I like her. I don’t like many people, but I like Seraphina, respect her. Which means I just need to leave her untouched during this charade.
No matter how much both of us seem to want otherwise.