26. Anna
ANNA
Despite the trip itself being relatively quick, getting inside the event is not.
Going through the valet process alone takes a half hour, and then there’s security.
By the time I get through the metal detector wands and machines, identity verification, and ticket processing, it’s nearly eight o’clock by the time I make it inside the history museum.
Unlike when I first entered high society, I’m familiar with the format and what kinds of people you can expect to be in attendance, making it surprisingly easy for me to fall into my comfort zone.
Between the designer gown and the jewelry adorning my wrist, neck, and ears, nobody would suspect me of being out of place.
The fact that I’ve been to the Palais Garnier also helps to prevent this place from seeming so intimidating.
Don’t get me wrong. The museum is beautiful, clearly inspired by Greek and Roman temples, but when you’ve seen some of the most stunning architecture Europe has to offer, the American equivalent is rather…
cute in comparison. The artifacts, on the other hand, are something to behold.
I take my time perusing the displays around the outskirts of the party, doing everything I can to distract myself from searching the crowds.
Working my way through the World War II and Civil War exhibits, I eventually stop in front of a weapons display to get a closer look at some of the armaments when I sense more than feel the presence behind me.
Sure enough, a silken voice purrs, “You have an affinity for knives, I see,” right into my ear.
Turning to face him, I confirm there’s no way I could have ever braced myself.
Unlike the other men dressed in tuxedos or three-piece suits, my stalker wears nothing more than a simple black pair of slacks, a matching blazer, and a dress shirt unbuttoned far enough down his tanned chest that I can glimpse the edge of a tattoo on the right side.
The wild black hair I had seen once and have felt between my fingers many times since is now neatly combed back.
And his face…
There’s almost a “prettiness” to his eyes that you typically associate with teen heartthrobs, and I assumed the rest of his features would be too.
He has all the characteristics. A straight nose, high cheekbones, and full lips.
But even clean-shaven, there’s still a ruggedness to his appearance that no one could call pretty.
It’s the kind of hardened masculinity you might associate with the depiction of an ancient Greek warrior.
He’s stunning and strong and looking every bit as mischievous as I’d imagine he’d be. It’s the face you’d expect to see on the sexy villain of a young adult television show.
That wicked grin of his only widens when I don’t say anything. I know I should, but words evade me. Hell, I can’t even think of a letter. Not when I’m staring up at him.
“Damon. Damon Knox.” Taking my hand into his, he raises it to his lips and presses a kiss on top of it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”
The question is clearly for the benefit of our spectators. As far as anyone can know, this is where we’ve met.
“Annaleigh…Evans.” High five to me for remembering that much. Once my brain recovers from the skip in the record upon seeing him, the only thing I can think to say is, “Can we leave?”
Because that rendezvous he promised me in the limousine now has a face to go with my fantasy, and I’m not about to let that plan fall through.
It also doesn’t escape my attention that he’s catching more than a few eyes.
Everybody here is dressed in Armani and the like, drinking champagne and overpriced Scotch while discussing stocks. Yet, my stalker looks like he wandered away from his buddies out on the Las Vegas strip during a bachelor party and that he’d be more at home cradling a beer in his hand.
I love it.
He leads me out onto the dance floor, and we quickly get swept away in the lazy, sensual strum of the music. It’s the kind of song that’s both mellow and romantic, like a slower tango, encouraging its listeners closer.
And that’s precisely what I do. When I spin into him, I press my entire body to his, and feeling my tits rubbing up against him, the difference in our heights providing him the perfect view of them, he isn’t unaffected.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he lowers himself enough to whisper into my ear. “Don’t tempt me, love. Not when you’re dressed like that.”
I bite my bottom lip, practically pushing my tits into him now. “ What? Do you not like it?”
His grip on my neck tightens. “Keep it up and I’ll be fucking you in front of everyone in this entire room.”
After these past two days of not having him? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Damon .”
Yeah, trying to de-escalate this by using his name really isn’t the way to go, but it’s too tempting not to say it.
Under the protection of the live music drowning out anything more than two feet away, neither of us has to shy away from speaking our minds, but I’m pretty sure security will at least notice the visual cue if my stalker is true to his word.
We can’t risk getting thrown out, at least not until I’ve made contact with my target.
Still, it’s impossible not to play with him.
“You’re fucking killing me here,” he growls.
“Why? Do you not prefer to be called that?” I tease, stepping up on the tips of my toes. Using my best phone sex operator voice, I moan into his ear, “Damon.”
I grin, feeling him twitch against me, but his grip also tightens so hard that I can’t move.
“Don’t think you won’t be paying for this later, canary.” It’s meant to be a warning, but I don’t think it has the desired effect if I’m infinitely more turned on than I am scared.
Or maybe I’m turned on more because I’m scared.
I don’t even know anymore. All I’m certain of is that I need and want him in equal measure. “Is that a promise?”
With the way he’s looking at me, I know we’re both thinking the same thing. We want to say fuck it to the plan and bolt out of here in favor of the limo, but we have business to tend to first.
We need to get our heads into the game.
Damon loosens his hold and begins leading us again into the next dance, making me narrow my eyes on him.
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance. Is my stalker also a liar?”
He mentioned last week that the most he can do is a basic slow dance, but he’s proving differently, adding in a few moves above his supposed pay grade.
“I had to watch some tutorial videos,” he admits sheepishly, “and Georgia practiced with me.”
“Who?” I know it’s irrational, but hearing him say another woman’s name immediately sends a pang of jealousy through me.
He no doubt sees this, that devious smile of his softening into something far more boyish. “Relax, canary. She’s married, and I’m taken.”
But I still recall him mentioning that one of his close friends is an ex-stripper.
Yeah, I can’t exactly compete with that.
If a guy has to choose between a woman who can tango and another who can work the pole, there’s one he’s obviously going to find far more enticing. I say as much, but Damon lowers his mouth to my ear, his teeth nipping the bottom of it.
“She’s the closest thing I have to a mother figure. And despite my array of sexual appetites, an Oedipus complex isn’t one of them.” His deep chuckle warms my ear. “Though, I certainly wouldn’t object to her teaching you a few lessons on the pole.”
I’ve honestly always wanted to take a pole dancing class, and when I mention this, he groans.
“Are you trying to torture me?”
Now I’m the one chuckling. “No, I just wanted to give you an image to think about when I walk away. Speaking of which, you haven’t told me your stepmother’s name or what she looks like. How am I supposed to find her?”
He smirks, his breath tickling my ear. “Don’t worry. She ’ ll find you.”
“Is it smart then to be around one another so publicly?” Enough people, as well as surveillance, saw our “introduction” back at the exhibit. Making a potential spectacle of ourselves at this moment doesn’t seem like the best idea.
“My dad used to joke that his wife will be fashionably late to her own funeral,” Damon laughs. “He said she never arrived at any event until at least an hour in, and I doubt that’s changed. We should be good. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep making the rounds. Let yourself be seen.”
“I believe I’m already doing that.” I don’t have to look behind me to know that at least two of the men at the nearby table are still staring at my ass.
His hold around me hardens, and I’m not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it. “Looking may be free, but it’ll cost them a hand and anything else that touches you if they decide to try something more.”
I have to bite back my smile. “Possessive, are we?”
Damon stops dancing, his hand coming up to the back of my neck and his mouth so close to mine that our lips touch by a hair’s breadth.
“Baby, I’m the last and only man who’s ever going to be inside of you again, who’s going to taste that pretty little cunt.
And if anyone tries to take what’s mine, they’ll get a Colombian necktie. ”
I honestly don’t know what that last part means, but it’s safe to say it’s not a fashion accessory.
The song ends too quickly, and I’m forced to excuse myself. I don’t need to use the bathroom, but I sure as hell need the breather.
Because I’ve seen his face.
Because I know his name.
Because we’re here.
Because I’m soaking wet.
Jesus, just being in the proximity of that man is enough to get me going, but being able to put a face with that body, knowing I’ll have a name to cry next time I climax…
I’m barely keeping it together.
Fuck my anxiety. I’m aching so badly that it’s the only thing I can concentrate on. I want to go back out there, find my stalker, and drag him into the first dark corner I can find.