20. Duncan
DUNCAN
I adjusted my bow tie one final time as the elevator ascended to the hotel's ballroom floor.
The doors opened to reveal Ivy waiting in the hallway, and I smiled warmly at seeing her without her jacket.
She wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, the fabric flowing elegantly to her ankles.
Her auburn hair was swept up in a sophisticated twist, revealing the graceful line of her neck.
When she turned toward me, her hazel eyes sparkled with nervous excitement.
"You look stunning," I said, offering her my arm as I leaned in to kiss her cheek.
A blush crept across her cheeks. "Thank you. I wasn't sure about the dress."
"Trust me, it's perfect."
"Thank you for dropping me at the door… So chilly out tonight."
"Speak nothing of it, just let me get you a drink." I winked at her and she slipped her arm through mine, which was more than I expected from her this evening, with everything being so public.
We entered the ballroom together, and I felt the familiar shift of attention that came with these events.
The space glowed with warm candlelight, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the crowd of tuxedos and evening gowns.
Soft jazz filled the air while guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand.
I'd attended dozens of these charity galas over the years, but tonight felt different. Tonight I had Ivy beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, and I found myself standing straighter, smiling more easily than I had in months.
"Duncan Walsh," came a familiar voice. Nick Martinez approached with his wife Miriam, both beaming. "Good to see you here."
"Nick, Miriam, lovely to see you both." I placed my hand gently on Ivy's lower back. "I'd love you to meet Ivy Whitmore, my executive assistant."
Ivy smiled gracefully and shook their hands, falling into easy conversation about the charity we were supporting tonight. I watched her navigate the small talk with natural charm, asking thoughtful questions and listening intently to their responses.
"Your assistant seems delightful," Miriam murmured to me while Nick and Ivy discussed the silent auction items.
"She is," I replied, unable to keep the warmth from my voice.
Miriam's knowing smile told me she'd caught the subtext.
We moved through the crowd, stopping to chat with colleagues and donors.
Ivy handled every introduction with poise, never seeming overwhelmed by the wealth and influence surrounding us.
She laughed at appropriate moments, asked intelligent questions, and somehow made everyone she spoke with feel heard and valued.
I found myself stealing glances at her throughout the evening, captivated by the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear or how her eyes crinkled when she genuinely smiled. The months of professional distance had only intensified my awareness of her every gesture.
"You're staring," she whispered during a lull in conversation.
"Can you blame me?"
Her cheeks flushed pink again, and she looked down at her champagne glass. "People will notice."
"Let them."
The boldness of my response surprised us both. For months, we'd maintained careful boundaries, but tonight felt different. Tonight felt significant.
When the band began playing slower melodies, couples drifted toward the dance floor. I set down my champagne and extended my hand to Ivy.
"Dance with me."
She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in mine. I led her onto the polished hardwood floor and pulled her into my arms. Her body fit against mine perfectly, her hand resting on my shoulder while I held her waist.
We moved together in easy rhythm, and I caught the subtle scent of her perfume—vanilla and roses. The ballroom lights dimmed further, creating an intimate atmosphere despite the crowd around us.
"This is nice," she said softly, her breath warm against my ear.
I tightened my hold on her waist, drawing her closer. "Better than nice."
She looked up at me then, her eyes reflecting the candlelight, and I saw my own desire mirrored there. The professional mask we'd both worn for so long was slipping away, revealing the truth beneath.
Other couples swayed around us, but I was aware only of Ivy—the way she moved, the warmth of her skin through the silk dress, the soft sound of her breathing. My hand spread across her lower back, and I felt her shiver in response.
"Duncan," she whispered, my name a question and invitation combined.
The music continued, but we'd stopped moving, standing frozen in the middle of the dance floor while tension coiled between us. I wanted to kiss her right there, in front of everyone, but some rational part of my brain held me back.
"Come with me," I murmured against her ear. "There's a quiet place we can talk."
I took her hand and led her away from the crowd, down a hallway lined with oil paintings and crystal sconces. The sounds of the party faded behind us as we walked, replaced by the soft whisper of her dress and the clicking of her heels on marble.
I found what I was looking for—a coat closet tucked between conference rooms. I opened the door and guided her inside, closing it behind us. The space was small and dark, filled with the scent of cedar and expensive fabrics.
"Duncan, what are we?—"
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, cutting off her words.
She melted into me immediately, her arms winding around my neck as I backed her against the wall.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, disrupting the careful styling, and I didn't care.
All I cared about was the way she tasted, the soft sounds she made against my mouth, the feeling that I'd been waiting my entire life for this moment.
My hands roamed her body, tracing the curves emphasized by her dress. She arched against me, and I groaned at the contact. Her lips moved to my neck, pressing kisses along my throat that made my pulse race.
The narrow space intensified everything—the heat between us, the sound of our breathing, the electric current that seemed to spark wherever we touched. I'd never wanted anyone the way I wanted Ivy in this moment.
But then her phone buzzed loudly in her small purse, the sound jarring in our intimate cocoon. She pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, her lips swollen from our kisses.
It buzzed again, like a gnat at a picnic, annoying me.
"I should—" she started, but I captured her mouth again.
The third buzz made her push gently against my chest. "Duncan, I need to check."
She fumbled for her phone, the screen's glow illuminating her flushed face. I watched her expression change from desire to worry to outright panic.
"It's my dad," she whispered, the color draining from her cheeks.
She was already moving toward the door, her hands shaking as she tried to answer the call. "I have to take this."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the darkness with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and a growing sense of unease.
I straightened my shirt and ran a hand through my disheveled hair, my mind racing. The terror in her eyes hadn't been about getting caught by her father at a work event. It had been something deeper, more personal.
Standing in that closet, staring at a stranger's coat hanging on the rod, I felt the familiar chill of suspicion creeping up my spine.
There was more to Ivy's story than she'd shared, and if I was about to be made a fool again—if she was hiding another man or playing some game I couldn't see—I swore I'd find out before it destroyed me.