Chapter 5 #2
“How long until you have to give your speech?” Kira asks, exactly as I’m turning my wrist in order to consult my watch face to ascertain that fact.
“Not long. Someone will come and let me know.”
“Okay.” She taps her heels impatiently, and watches the dancers.
Ewan digs his elbow into my side. “You should ask her to dance. It’s the done thing, when you bring a woman out to a gala dinner.”
Oh, dear God. How old-fashioned. “She doesn’t want to.” I tell him.
“You mean you don’t want to.” He smirks at my inability to hide my revulsion to the idea. “Two left feet, mate? I’d offer to step in for you, but—” he tips his fork towards his plate, “—cheesecake. Also, I’m sure you can dance better than a man missing half his toes.”
“I’m not dancing,” I insist. It isn’t that I can’t dance, it’s more than I don’t want to. I’m looking for ways to create distance between myself and Kira. Can you imagine how horrific it’s going to be entwining my arms around her, and risking the possibility of her hips brushing mine?
“Incoming, two o’clock,” my bodyguard mutters.
Rosie lands back at our table, and chaperones Adam Bask into one of the empty chairs. He immediately sets his beady gaze on me. Jeezus, I’m surrounded by vultures.
Ewan smiles to himself as he continues to feast on cheesecake.
Okay, so desperate times call for desperate measures. I hold out my hand to Kira, and she accepts.
“We should dance too, Adam.” Rosie jack-in-the-boxes out of her seat.
“I thought you said you needed to sit down for a bit,” her new companion replies.
She peeps at him seemingly puzzled.
“You said your shoes were pinching.”
“Oh, yes. That’s true. Maybe in a bit.”
I see through Adam’s ploy to avoid the dance floor.
He doesn’t want to lose his claim on the seat at our table, and he’s assuming that I’m going to return to that spot, because how else will the ushers locate me ready for my keynote address?
If it was just Adam to contend with, I’d weather it out, but the Adam-Rosie-Kira combo is too much.
Dancing with Kira is definitely the lesser evil.
“Is dancing one of Falchard’s recommended activities for seamless integration into your role for the evening?” I ask as we find a space amidst the other dancers.
“He never mentioned it, but I’m sure he’ll approve. It does keep us suitably close.”
Too close.
“You’re sure you don’t need to close the gap a little further?”
I pray otherwise. She’s pressed against me already in a way that’s making my blood heat. The band segues into a waltz. Seriously, we’re waltzing. Who dances like this anymore? Who knows the steps?
Me apparently.
And Kira too.
“Are you sure you can keep an adequate watch out for undesirables pressed this close?”
She clacks her tongue at me. “You keep telling me there are none. That this is all a plan by your production company to keep you on a short leash.”
“It is.”
“Why does your leash need shortening, Dylan?”
God help me, I’m starting to enjoy the press of her body against me, and the tone of disdain in her voice. She disapproves of me, but at least part of her is enjoying this.
“You’re a worldly woman, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Hm.” She nods so that her chin briefly brushes against my shoulder. “Well, I do recall reading that you were involved in a dodgy threesome, and there was that horrid kerfuffle with the transgendered kid. Wasn’t he underage? Still sweet sixteen?”
“Only if you ignore the decade he spent transitioning.” She’s quoting incidents from my soon to be released autobiography.
I’ve got to wonder how she’s got hold of a copy.
Maybe my agent sent along an ARC to the security firm as background reading when he hired them to watch out for me.
“I see you’ve been doing your background research. ”
Amusement flares in the centre of her eyes. “You don’t exactly keep a low profile, all your dirty laundry is out there in the public domain.”
“Not quite all of it.” At least not yet. Not until the book officially releases. In Kiss ’n’ Tell, I do exactly that, minus the names, of course. No sense in inviting lawsuits.
Kira sniffs, and makes a little ‘ha’ noise as if she’s stumbled upon an important clue. “Are any of those secrets big enough to rile someone up enough to want to hurt you?”
My book is a combination of lewdity, lust, and scabby horrible memories that I can’t help but pick at once in a while, the sort that refuse to mend and grow silvery with age.
Laying it all out there is supposed to help me move on.
Maybe I undermined that when I chose a humorous style to relate everything in.
Any good shrink will tell you that’s a coping mechanism right there, and a prime example of me trying to diminish the seriousness of some of the crap I endured by making a mockery of it.
The book’s not all doom and gloom stuff though, there’s plenty of crass and ass too.
“Are you imagining I’ve a psychotic ex who’s out for revenge?”
“Have you?”
“That would involve me dating.”
“So, a disgruntled one-night stand?”
For some reason I’m immediately back to thinking about Oscar on his knees and Kira watching us. “Nobody I spend the night with leaves unsatisfied.”
Laughter bubbles up her throat to tinkle inside my ears. Her smile is wide and mocking. “You’re an ass,” she says, sliding her hand down from where it was to rest upon the top of my rear. Our gazes lock. “Mighty full of yourself too.”
“Are you saying you don’t think I’m up to much in the sack?”
The tip of her nose wrinkles as she considers. “I’m sure you know what you like and you’re full of confidence.” She twirls beneath our arms before pressing in close to me again.
“But?” I enquire, because there’s definitely a but at the end of her sentence. Also, she still has her hand resting on mine.
“Selfish, I reckon.”
I raise both brows to suggest I’m shocked by the suggestion, but her assertion doesn’t generate a genuine sting. “I guess you’ll never find out,” I say.
Her smile loses some of its elasticity, like she’s just now remembering why that is.
“Lucky for me. You’re walking talking trouble, Dylan Drake, and I don’t involve myself in that sort of nonsense other than in a working capacity.
If any crazy idiot shows up and tries anything on, I’ll be right here to defend you, but I don’t enjoy that sort of drama in my private life. ”
I believe her sincerity, but refrain from telling her that safe is definitely not how I feel around her, or that the biggest danger shaking my world right now is her.
There are butterflies doing a tango in my stomach from the way her thigh brushes mine when we make each turn, and her hand on my arse is making my dick extra twitchy.
The worst part is that I’m not altogether sure whether she’s oblivious to that fact, or if she’s testing me deliberately.
I’m almost tempted to push back in order to determine that.
“Are you anticipating someone stabbing me in the arse?”
She flutters her fingers, but doesn’t move her hand. “Is this not the correct position? You’ll have to forgive me my ignorance. Is there somewhere else you’d prefer me to put my hand?”
Unfathomably, yes. Wrapped around my dick and working some of the tension from it.
When did being given a handjob by a girl become a thing that cranks my horn?
This woman’s a witch or something. She’s hexed me, or is somehow in the process of brainwashing me in order to recruit me for the other side.
I’m not sure she’s working for Falchard at all.
Maybe she’s a mole within his team, planted there by the bigoted god-botherers outside.
Her true mission is to cure me of my queerness and turn me into a respectably straight man, thus proving anyone can be cured of their perversity if they’re willing to embrace God’s truth.
It’s a scheme just about ludicrous enough to be real.
The only inexplicable part is how could they possibly know Kira would affect me the way she is?
No other person has ever caused me to question my identity, and some of them tried bloody hard.
Is that what I’m doing, questioning myself?
Jeez, I know who and what I am. That’s why I’m here, about to address the crowd in support of a charity that’s embraced me as their patron with as much heartfelt affection as they show the kids they watch out for.
Kids, who like me, end up in dark places through no fault of their own because they can’t change who they are inside.
“You’ve gone awful quiet, Dylan. Is there something you need to tell me? A threat?”
“What are you doing to me?”
“What am I…?” She takes a pace back, breaking the contact between us. “I’m protecting you. Exactly as I’ve been hired to do.”
“Dylan? You look rattled. What’s the problem?”
She makes a quick survey of those around us, even going so far as to turn her head to ensure there’s no danger coming from behind.
“I’m not rattled, I’m fine.”
“No. You’re twitchy. I’m trained to notice this stuff. What’s the problem?”
“You.”
“What?”
“What are you doing to me?”
She closes the gap between us again, and reaches up to touch my face near to where the cut lies from earlier. I don’t want her to touch me, yet simultaneously crave it with every ounce of my being. I lean in to the caress of her fingertips. I’m such a glutton for punishment.
“What is it you think I’m doing, Dylan?”
Like I’m just going to blurt out what’s in my head. That and her puzzlement is a ruse. She knows the effect she’s having. I’m sure she’s well aware of her attractiveness and how to manipulate the emotions of guys who do girls.
Not that I do.
Leastways, I never have, and have never wanted to, until she came along. Not even girls who looked like guys.
“Should we go somewhere quiet to discuss this?”