Chapter 6
six
. . .
Alice
I tug at the hem of the borrowed designer gown, wondering for the hundredth time tonight if I'm fooling anyone. The ivory silk feels like a costume on my skin, the price tag still burned into my memory—more than three months of my rent. Alexander's hand rests at the small of my back, warm and steady, guiding me through the glittering crowd. His touch shouldn't feel this possessive already, but it does, and the worst part is how much I like it.
"Stop fidgeting," he murmurs close to my ear, his breath stirring the wisps of hair his stylist artfully arranged hours ago. "You look stunning."
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to look down at my feet. My entire body feels like it's vibrating with nerves, a tuning fork struck against the marble floor of this ballroom.
"Everyone can tell I don't belong here," I whisper back.
His fingers press more firmly against my spine. "You belong with me. That's all that matters."
The Grand Horizon Hotel ballroom has been transformed into something from a fairy tale—if fairy tales featured hedge fund managers and tech moguls in bespoke suits. Crystal chandeliers throw diamonds of light across the ceiling. Ice sculptures melt slowly on tables laden with food I can't pronounce. Women dripping in jewels eye me with thinly veiled curiosity.
"Mr. Grant!" A woman with a permanent smile approaches us, clipboard in hand. "So glad you could make it. Your usual table is ready."
"Thank you, Melissa." His voice is smooth as expensive scotch. He doesn't introduce me, and the woman doesn't ask.
As we navigate through the crowd, heads turn. I feel the weight of their stares—some curious, some dismissive, some outright hostile. The women, especially, track our progress with narrowed eyes. I wonder how many of them have been in my place before. How many have walked these floors on Alexander's arm, only to disappear when he lost interest.
The thought makes my stomach clench.
"Champagne?" He plucks two flutes from a passing waiter's tray.
"I probably shouldn't." My voice sounds small even to my own ears. "I need to keep a clear head."
One corner of his mouth lifts. "This isn't a test, Alice. It's a date."
The word 'date' sends a flush of heat across my skin. I take the champagne to give my hands something to do.
Alexander steers me toward a table near the front of the room, populated by men in dark suits and women in jewel-toned dresses. They all look up when we approach, conversation pausing.
"Alexander, you made it." A silver-haired man rises. "We were just placing bets on whether you'd show."
"James." Alexander shakes his hand. "You should know better than to bet against me."
"Indeed." James's eyes slide to me, curiosity evident. "And who might this lovely young lady be?"
"Alice Reynolds." Alexander's hand returns to the small of my back, fingers splayed possessively. "My date for the evening."
The simple declaration sends ripples around the table. I see raised eyebrows, exchanged glances.
He pulls out my chair, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as I sit. The touch is brief but deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
I sip my champagne to hide my discomfort. The bubbles tickle my nose, but the alcohol does nothing to calm my nerves. I'm an imposter here, playing dress-up in clothes that cost more than my car.
Throughout dinner, Alexander keeps me close. His attention never wavers, even when engaged in conversation with others. He touches me constantly—a hand on mine, fingers brushing my arm, leaning in to whisper observations that make me laugh despite myself. Each touch is casual but deliberate, as if he's marking territory.
"Have you seen the auction items?" he asks during dessert. "There's a vacation package I think you'd enjoy."
"I don't think my budget extends to charity auctions," I say quietly.
His eyes darken. "Did I ask about your budget?"
My cheeks heat. "Alexander, you can't?—"
"I can." His voice leaves no room for argument. "I want to."
After dinner, when the dancing begins, he leads me to the floor without asking. His hand at my waist pulls me closer than is strictly proper, but not close enough to cause a scene. Just enough to make his intentions clear—to me and everyone watching.
"You're quiet tonight," he observes, guiding me through steps I barely remember from my one semester of ballroom dance in college.
"I'm...processing." It's the most honest answer I can give.
"Processing what?"
"This." I gesture vaguely with my head. "All of it. You, bringing me here. The way you're treating me."
"How am I treating you?"
I look up at him then, meeting those dark eyes that seem to miss nothing. "Like you want everyone to think I'm yours."
His hand tightens at my waist. "I do."
The music ends before I can form a response. Alexander leads me off the dance floor, his touch still firm, still possessive.
"I need to speak with some people," he says. "Will you be alright for a few minutes?"
I nod, secretly grateful for the chance to breathe without his intoxicating presence clouding my judgment.
"Don't go far." It sounds like an order. It probably is.
I find my way to a quiet corner near one of the ice sculptures—a swan with wings outstretched, already beginning to lose definition as it melts. I watch the crowd, feeling slightly less out of place now that I've survived dinner and dancing without embarrassing myself or Alexander.
"You must be a special one."
I turn to find a man beside me, younger than Alexander but with the same air of wealth and privilege. His smile is practiced, predatory.
"I'm sorry?"
"To catch Alexander Grant's attention." He extends a hand. "David Mercer. Alex and I go way back."
I shake his hand briefly. "Alice Reynolds."
"So what's your secret, Alice Reynolds?" He moves closer, invading my space. "What did you do to get our Alexander to break his no-dates rule?"
"I wasn't aware there was a rule." My voice is cooler than I feel.
"Oh yes." David's eyes travel down my body and back up, taking inventory.
I shift uncomfortably.
David laughs. His fingers brush my bare arm. "You know, if you ever want to explore other options, my company is always looking for talent."
The innuendo is unmistakable. I step back, but David follows.
"I'm quite happy where I am."
"I could make you happier." His hand settles on my waist where Alexander's had been during our dance. "I have a suite upstairs. We could discuss...opportunities."
"She's not interested."
Alexander's voice cuts through the conversation like a blade. I hadn't seen him approach, but suddenly he's there, his face a mask of controlled fury.
David doesn't remove his hand from my waist. "Alexander! Just getting acquainted with your lovely companion."
"Take your hand off her." Each word is precise, deadly quiet.
Something in Alexander's expression must convince David, because he drops his hand and steps back. "No harm done. Just friendly conversation."
"There's nothing friendly about you propositioning my date." Alexander moves to stand beside me, his body radiating tension.
David holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Misunderstanding. Won't happen again." He looks at me with a smirk. "Lovely meeting you, Alice."
As David walks away, Alexander turns to me, his eyes burning with an emotion I can't quite name.
"Did he touch you?" he demands.
"Just my arm. And my waist." I feel oddly breathless. "It was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing." His jaw clenches. "He knows better."
Before I can respond, Alexander's hand cups the back of my neck, and then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is hard, possessive, claiming. His other hand finds my waist, pulling me against him until I feel the solid wall of his chest. His lips are demanding, coaxing mine open, his tongue sweeping in to taste me.
I should push him away. We're in public, at his company's charity event, surrounded by his colleagues and competitors. But my hands fist in his lapels instead, and I kiss him back with a hunger that shocks me.
When he finally breaks the kiss, I'm gasping for air. My lips feel swollen, sensitive. His eyes are nearly black with desire.
"Now they know," he says, his voice rough.
"Know what?" I manage to ask.
He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, "That you're mine. And you're very, very lucky we're in public right now, or I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."
A shiver runs through me at his words, at the promise they contain. My body responds with a liquid heat that pools low in my belly.
"Alexander..." I don't know what I want to say. What I can say here, now.
His thumb traces my lower lip. "I want to take you home, Alice."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway.
"Yes."