Chapter 9 #2
After pudding, an enormous cheese board is placed in the middle of the table. I press both hands to the bones of my dress and confirm that I really can’t fit anything else beneath them. A waiter hands a decanter of port to Lawrence.
‘Pass the port!’ Lawrence announces. ‘The decanter doesn’t touch the table until it’s empty.’
When the port reaches me, I fill my glass and take a sip. ‘I really can’t eat or drink anything else,’ I whisper to Gregory. ‘Perhaps get me a size up next time?’
‘Next time?’ he grins, raising one eyebrow.
I narrow my eyes on him. In response, he shuffles, straightens his trousers and leans back in his seat.
His leg rests against mine, his heat searing through both our garments.
I’m acutely aware of each curve of my body.
Alcohol is making me confident… or stupid.
I press back against him with my thigh and watch his seemingly impassive face.
My arm moves before my mind can think to stop it, bringing my hand to rest on his thigh beneath the table.
His lips part and he seems to pause momentarily before he puts his fingers gently on the nape of my neck and slowly traces my vertebrae down my back.
My eyelids feel like steel as I melt into his touch.
‘Gregory, would you treat your mum to a dance to her favourite song?’ Lara asks.
We each snap our hands away from the other. He half-smiles at me, then stands, taking his mother’s hand in his and leading her to the dance floor. Closing my eyes and inhale deeply.
Amanda whisks Williams away to dance to the Rat Pack tribute band, leaving Lawrence to ask me to partner.
I, of course, oblige. I’m impressed by his slightly offbeat but nimble dancing.
His pace is similar to my dad’s. They both seemingly have one set tempo counting in their mind as they move, ignorant to the rhythm of the music.
I fall relatively easily into Lawrence’s mistimed steps and we move in stagnated circles.
‘Is this awkward for you?’ I ask.
‘Why? Should it be?’
‘Well, it’s just that I’m your legal advisor and?—’
‘Scarlett, even an old fool like me can see that Gregory hasn’t brought you here as a legal advisor.’
I pull away from him and twirl under his arm, my cheeks ablaze.
‘So you’re like a father to him?’ I ask, returning my free hand to his left shoulder.
‘As much as I can be. Gregory’s a man. He’s always been much older than his age. He had to grow up quickly.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I think that’s his story to tell.’ He pushes me away, turning under his arm again. ‘He’s a good man, Scarlett: the best. He’ll move the earth for the people he loves.’
‘Can I cut in?’ Gregory says, standing to our side, his legs parted and strong, his shoulders broad, his hands folded behind his back. He’s a man who demands attention.
Lawrence raises the back of my hand to his mouth Leo in Titanic style, then passes it to Gregory.
His hand is big but his hold gentle when it wraps around mine.
He runs his other hand from the bare flesh between my shoulder blades down to the small of my back and pulls me close to him.
My legs are locked either side of his, my left thigh pressed up against his right.
I stare at where our bodies connect and inhale a nervous breath.
He gently lifts my chin with his index finger until I’m gazing into his hypnotic, brown pools.
We stand like this until I realise that everyone in the room can probably read my thoughts and must know that, despite my better judgment, I’ve unequivocally fallen for this man.
His shoulders rise and fall with his breath, then he begins to turn us, slowly at first, growing faster with the music – Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin.
’ He leads me into each step, never missing a beat.
We turn faster and faster still, until the room is spinning and everything except his face is a blur.
I’m flying and there’s no one else in the space but the two of us.
I submit to his hold, allowing him to move me.
My head tips back as I laugh, genuinely happy.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in his hench arms.
He slows us down with the rhythm of the music and pushes me away, twirling under his arm.
As I return, he drops his foot in front of mine, bending me back towards the floor, the weight of my body resting in his arm at the small of my back.
He leans his face towards mine, so close, I can feel his next breath on my lips.
My body aches for his kiss. My lips part and my hips rise reflexively towards him, silently begging.
He raises his head excruciatingly slowly, blowing caressing air up my neck, to my ear, and he whispers. ‘I’m not going to kiss you.’
He pulls me back up to standing as the band switches to the next track.
I can’t tell whether my head is fuzzy from dancing, alcohol, or the ten thousand thoughts and emotions running in all directions through it.
Taking my hand again, he begins to turn me, slower this time.
‘I know you have your reservations,’ he finally says.
‘Yes,’ I manage, fighting to remember what they are. ‘You’re a client, for a start and?—’
‘And?’
‘And I can’t help but wonder whether I can trust you. I just can’t figure you out. You’re up and down. Your family and friends tell me you’re a great guy. Yet, I know you’re hiding something from me and I don’t like it.’
He turns us through the legato verse, his gaze penetrating me, challenging me. His Adam’s apple moves under his skin and I force my eyes shut to stop myself from wanting to bite it.
‘All you need to know is that I always get what I want.’
‘And what is it that you want, Gregory Ryans?’
‘You.’
He presses his thigh between my legs until I can feel my blood pounding in my clit, my entrance wet, craving him. I bite down hard on my lip. I can’t let him take the upper hand.
‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’ he asks.
‘I can let it go. I can forget about it. God, that would be so much easier right now. But I’m hoping you don’t want me to.’
‘How much do you need to know to just let go?’
‘All of it. All of you.’
‘I’m not the kind of man who exposes himself.’
‘Then just tell me something. Tell me something true.’
There’s a momentary flutter of panic in my chest, which I think is fear that he might not let me in, a feeling that makes no sense to me at all.
Then he sighs. ‘Like I said, Lawrence has been with my mother since I was ten. He moved us over here from South Africa and we’ve lived with him ever since.
He met my mother when we were still living with my biological father. ’
He swallows as he pushes me away to twirl but I’m not numb to his delay tactic.
‘My father was a drunk, probably still is. The only thing he ever cared about was work, his businesses. He’d come home late, stinking of drink and he’d beat my mother. The first time I saw him do it I swore to myself that I’d make him pay.’
I feel his chest rise then fall with his exhale, pressing against mine, as he continues to turn us to the beat, but his attention’s set over my shoulder, detached.
It’s that small shift that brings realisation crashing into me, almost throwing me from my feet. I stop turning and release myself from his grip.
‘That’s it. That’s the connection. Your father, he’s… he’s Sea People International, isn’t he? Your father is Pearson.’
Gregory stands motionless, silently giving me his answer.
‘You want to kill the company he made. That’s what this is all about.’
He reaches a hand to my face but I recoil on impulse.
‘It’s unethical, Scarlett, I know that. But it isn’t illegal. You aren’t doing anything wrong. I wouldn’t let you.’
‘But Lawrence and Williams. They know. Lawrence has such a big stake in the company.’
Gregory sighs. ‘Lawrence has known my father for a long time. They don’t see each other, don’t really know each other socially, but Lawrence keeps a stake in Sea People through Connektions. Keep your enemies close and all. As long as Lawrence holds that stake, he can keep tabs on Pearson.’
The room starts to spin. ‘I – I need to leave.’ I need to get my head straight.
I rush from the dance floor, grabbing my bag from our table, and seek out fresh air. ‘Scarlett!’ I hear him call after me as I run up the grand staircase.
Outside in the freezing dark night, he grabs my arm, turning me to face him.
‘Scarlett,’ he pants, ‘if you don’t want to work on the deal, tell me, but don’t just leave.’
Emotion I can’t explain balls in my throat as I stare at his pleading face. ‘I get why you want to do it, Gregory, I do but I don’t think I can be part of it.’
He drops his hands to his sides and looks at me through a wounded child’s eyes.
‘I need space to think,’ I say, placing a hand over my mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’