Chapter 17 - Augusto #2
When a number of heads turn toward the entrance and I follow their gazes to a woman arriving in a floor-length waterfall of dark green satin, it suddenly becomes crystal clear what is bothering me.
Erin’s gaze meets mine and her bare shoulders instantly relax.
My chest aches with a need to turn her right around and take her far away from this place, because I now can’t escape the highly inconvenient realization. I don’t want this to be a business transaction any longer. I want it to be more.
But that makes our arrangement muddy and complicated, and I can’t afford to be distracted. I need to find out which Russian players are holding all the cards to this deal, so I can end it. Cristiano needs me to figure it out, for the sake of our entire organization.
Of course, it would only be complicated if she felt the same way, but given the amount of crap she gives me, I’m not sure she does. So, maybe I’m on safe ground for now.
I hold onto that gaze and don’t let it go, even when she reaches the table. I don’t want her looking around and noticing that the eyes of every other man in here are on her.
I stand to greet her, then I do something we haven’t yet discussed. I slide my hand around her nape, pull her head toward me and kiss her. On the lips.
Her body goes rigid with shock, but only for a second or two. When she relaxes, her mouth softens and I catch her lips again before pulling away.
“You look beautiful,” I say, enjoying her flustered glow as she sits on the chair I just pulled out for her.
Staring at the table, she tentatively touches her lips as though she’s never felt them before.
I unfold a napkin and lay it over my thighs. “How was your afternoon?”
“Um…” she flicks her lashes toward me, then looks away again, fast. “It was fine, thank you. I went for a swim. You?”
I smile to myself. “Meetings.”
She nods, still unable to look at me. “Right.”
I lower my voice and lean in to her. “It’s been noticed that we’re not particularly… amorous toward each other. I thought we should probably dial it up a touch.”
She nods again. “M-hm. Dial it up. Sure.”
I chew my lip. “Can I hold your hand?”
She glances up, finally. “But… no one will see.”
“Practice.”
She slowly lifts her left hand, dangling it between us as if it’s infected.
I roll my eyes and enclose it in mine, brushing a thumb over the rock I gave her. Then I rest our clasped hands on my thigh.
In my periphery she seems to be swallowing a lot, so I beckon over a member of staff and request some water.
Conversation picks up around the table, but I can’t focus on it when I’ve got Erin’s hand on my lap, loosening and molding to mine.
I release her when the starters arrive then take it again when the plates are cleared.
I release her again for the main course, but when those plates are cleared, her hand finds its way to me.
By the end of the meal, our fingers are entwined and relaxed, and it feels like they belong together. This is good, I tell myself. It all helps with our cover, and it’s just a happy bonus that I like the feel of her skin.
“I’d like us to stay and mingle,” I tell her as the waiters clear away the coffee cups.
Keeping a hold of her hand, we move through the room making polite small talk with the other guests. Pausing by the couple I’m now convinced are part of the Russian contingent, I turn to another couple adjacent and ask them about their evening. While they’re talking I lean into Erin’s ear.
“I need you to listen in to the blonde’s conversation,” I say, nodding to the Russians.
She lifts a champagne flute to her lips. “Got it,” she murmurs.
I engage the couple as best I can in conversation about the weather, the forest, the drive up here, while Erin eavesdrops on the Russians. Then I feel a sudden urge to pull her closer, so I do.
I let go of her hand, slide my palm around the small of her back and pull her into my body. She obliges without a single hesitation. And before I know it, I’m drifting my fingers over the length of her waist and the curve of her hip bone.
I don’t want to move from this spot, but the couple I’m talking to make their excuses to leave. When I don’t release Erin straight away, she looks up at me, her eyes softened by champagne.
“You’ve got some strong moves,” she says, in a sultry voice that I feel in my balls.
“I have some strong motivation,” I reply.
Her eyes widen.
“I mean… the deal. The reason we’re here.”
It’s not often I feel flustered but the way Erin is looking at me has me feeling all kinds of bothered.
The brightness across her features dims. “Oh. Right, yes. The deal.”
“You’re playing the part flawlessly,” I murmur.
“I have a good director,” she clips. “Are we done here?”
I look around the dining room. Some of the key players are still present but I need to download what Erin heard tonight and anything she may have noticed today.
“Sure.” My tone is flat as we walk hand in hand out of the dining room. We’re almost at the exit when the Russian steps out in front of us.
“Are you retiring already?”
“I’m afraid so. Early to bed, early to rise.” Instinctively, I pull Erin close. “And this one’s had a very busy day.”
Erin snuggles into my side. “I’ve been taking full advantage of the activities.” She blinks up at me. “I may have overdone it.”
The Russian laughs but there’s an undercurrent to it that makes me uneasy.
“I’ve been meaning to ask… How did the two of you meet?”
My arm tightens around Erin. Our story only goes as far back as ‘we dated in our twenties’ so I need her to let me handle this.
Unfortunately, we both speak at the same time. This is a part of our story we haven’t pre-planned. So, when Erin says, “At a coffee shop,” I say, “Through mutual friends.”
An awkward pause stretches. I tighten my grip on her waist and smile. “We remember it differently,” I say lightly. “She likes the romantic version.”
“Well,” the Russian says after a beat, a curious glint in his eye. “Goodnight. See you in the morning.”
I press a hand to Erin’s back and guide her through the exit to the corridor that leads upstairs to our suite.
I’m vibrating with tension.
I can’t afford for anyone, least of all the Russian, to see through our story.
Turning my head slightly to the right, I catch movement in the far corner of my eye. It’s him, and us, in a long, quiet corridor. As far as he knows, we think we’re alone.
Gripping Erin by the shoulders, I shove her back against the wall, a small squeal slipping from her lips.
Her head smacks against the coving but her eyes are wide for another reason. I’m coming down on her with an almost violent force. She only just parts her lips in time for me to crash into them.
In seconds, her hands are gripping onto my arms for stability while I ravage her mouth in a single-minded assault.
A small moan works its way up and out of her throat, which makes me feral. She doesn’t know I’m doing this for show, and she isn’t stopping me.
I have no idea if the Russian is still behind us or not, because I’m sinking.
My tongue has slipped into her mouth and she tastes so damn sweet. One hand has wound up through her hair, gripping her tightly, while the other is coasting down her side, holding her in place while I push up against her.
More moans drift from her mouth when I nip at her lips, catching them in another heated kiss. I’ve forgotten why I started this now, and I can’t stop.
Her hands leave my arms and skate up my shoulder blades. It feels like she can’t get enough either.
Abruptly, I pull away and she almost stumbles into me. I stare at her wide-eyed, panting for breath. Her hair is disheveled, her lips swollen, her cheeks ripe with blood.
I did that to make our act seem genuine, but now I’m not sure if it’s even an act at all.