Chapter 23 The Ball #3
“How about you go somewhere else in the room to write your conspiracy theories? Do be sure to start the story with ‘once upon a time’ though, won’t you?”
He merely scowled, then looked across the bar, his lips twisted like he was visibly repressing whatever it was he wanted to say. The waitress passed him another drink without asking. He nodded, thanking her, and waited until she moved off. Then he looked back.
“I don’t know about once upon a time, love. But let me give you some words of advice. Every story around here seems to cut short in a premature ‘the end.’”
“Mike.” Karson appeared from nowhere. “I see you’ve managed to crawl your way out of the sewers for the night.”
My heart kicked up a notch.
He looked overwhelmingly handsome. He wore black suit trousers and a white shirt, but, like Ethan, he didn’t adhere to standard dress. He wore no tie. It was a casual, sexy, confident style. I curled my ankles up to hide my shoes.
“Karson,” Mike said coldly. “I was invited by Mr. Jefferson.” He took a sip and looked across the room—at Jefferson, I assumed. “He has a story he wants me to run. I’m hoping it involves some information on Lucy.”
Karon rolled up the sleeves on his shirt casually. The move was the kind of thing a man might do right before they stepped into a physical altercation, and the vague threat rolled in all around us. Mike watched his actions with a mildly unsettled look.
“And yet, Jefferson is on the other side of the room,” Karson said. “Why don’t you scamper over there and get your hot little story.”
Mike’s lips thinned. “You all stick together like a pack of wolves who just slaughtered a lamb!” He jerked his whiskey off the bar, sloshing it over the top again, then leaned over Katrina’s shoulder. “When I find out what you’re covering up, I guarantee I’ll make you pay.”
Katrina reeled back.
I thought of the kitten and the ritual. For a brief moment I wondered if human sacrifices were a possibility.
Would it explain the disappearances? Would it explain the sudden uncomfortable air at the dinner party when I asked about the missing hikers?
I dismissed it as fast as it landed. If humans were sacrifices, they wouldn’t regress back to kittens.
“I won’t ask you to leave nicely again,” Karson said, with a terrible quietness.
Muttering a curse, Mike strode off toward Jefferson.
“Son of a bitch,” she hissed, watching him leave. I placed a hand on hers, and she gave it a grateful squeeze.
“Why does he think something happened to Lucy?” I asked carefully.
“He was her boyfriend. She rang him and left a message that said she had some information on the missing hikers and that she was heading into the mountains to camp for a few days and check out some things. She said she’d call him back that night.
The silly girl went alone, and a massive storm came through.
We couldn’t search for a week—it was too dangerous.
When we could finally go, there was ten feet of snow, and we had no hope of finding her.
We went again once the snow cleared, but there was no trace.
We don’t even know which part of the mountain range she headed to.
She could be anywhere up there, or animals—” She stopped and didn’t finish.
Katrina sighed and drained her glass and ordered whiskey.
The barmaid poured three and slipped them in front of us.
“He thinks,” Karson said, neither grim nor disturbed like Katrina, more matter of fact, “that because her body wasn’t found, she must have been murdered. He’s a city boy who couldn’t cut it as a reporter in the big smoke. He works for the paper in Two Peaks. He has no clue about the wilderness.”
“Oh dear,” Robert said lightly, eyeing Katrina’s glass. She swung her head toward him and smiled with relief. “You’re on the hard stuff. What have I missed?”
She stood up and drained the glass in one big swoop.
“Nothing that your arms wrapped around your wife on the dance floor won’t fix.
” He took her hand, and they moved off in that direction.
I watched as he pulled her into his arms, and they did an old-fashioned waltz.
I found myself smiling wistfully at them, then I looked back at Karson, and he was studying me.
I smiled, conscious of his gaze, and dropped my eyes to the bar.
“I’d be honored if you would dance with me,” Karson said, with the full magnificence of his debonair charm.
He held out his hand expectantly, and I didn’t need asking twice.
As soon as his hand touched mine, thousands of bubbles from the champagne I’d just consumed danced around my body.
He leaned forward and kissed the top of my hand, and as he did so, he set his smoldering, intoxicating eyes on mine.
There were people all around us, but in that moment, I forgot about Lucy.
I forgot about everyone. The whole room faded until there was just him. Us.
He looked away first, leading me to the dance floor.
“I’m not a very good dancer,” I admitted as we wove between people.
“I think my toes will survive.” He glanced at my feet. “Especially given your choice of footwear.”
He stopped, pulling my body toward him and wrapping his hands around the small of my back. I settled mine around his broad shoulders and we moved slowly to the music.
“Amelia,” he rasped into my ear, sending warm tingles over my skin. “Has anyone told you yet how delectable you look tonight?”
I tilted my head up and looked into his eyes.
I could’ve been mistaken—perhaps it was just his choice of words—but his eyes were dark and . . . hungry, as if he wanted to devour me.
My heart skipped a beat. “Thank you. You look quite dashing yourself.” It was an automated, mundane response, but my brain had departed, and it was all I could think to say.
He leaned in closer, his chest inches from mine. Our hips were so close I could feel the current pulsing between us. His sweet scent filled my nose. His hands whispered ever so lightly over my back, and shivers of delight raced through my body.
“Are you cold?” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. A lightning bolt fired from my stomach to my groin.
Oh my god, I’m wet.
“Oh, um . . . no, I’m okay.”
“I see you didn’t wear the red dress, but green suits you—it’s a good choice.”
I smiled, secretly pleased he liked what I wore. “Thank you.”
I risked a glance back up. His lips parted and curved up, revealing straight white teeth. He had the kind of smile that when it touched his eyes, it made me bask under the glory of it. When it faded, it left me yearning for more.
How many hearts had he broken with it?
I felt a strange, trembling excitement through my entire body. I wanted to press my breasts into him. To wrap my hands around the back of his neck and thread my fingers in his thick, luscious hair as I tilted my lips to his.
I did none of those things; instead, I pulled my body away a little and asked lightly, “Why do you call me Amelia, and not Amy like everyone else?”
“Amelia is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. You are way too special to be called Amy.”
I snorted. “Please, that’s a little cheesy, don’t you think?!”
“Ahh. But, Amelia, how can it be cheesy if it’s the truth?”
I shook my head, a smile upon my lips as my body melted into him. The song “Take My Breath Away” floated across the room.
He leaned into my ear and whispered, “When I first saw you tonight from across the room, you took my breath away.”
I was elated at the hope of what lay beyond the murmur of those words.
Beyond the touch of his fingers on the small of my back.
Beyond his breath on the side of my neck.
I knew it was silly, but my heart raced like a girl with a massive crush on the hottest boy at school when he paid me attention.
The nerves rolled, the champagne took hold, and I laughed.
“Too cheesy again?” he asked with a wry smile.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me, Karson, do those kinds of lines work on all the girls?”
His smile broadened. He scanned a point over my shoulder. “It appears some are a little harder to please.” He looked back, his gaze capturing mine, and it was electrifying. His light tone shifted; it became husky . . . sensual. “So, tell me, what would please you, Amelia?”
I blushed under the heat of his words, under the connotations behind them.
My brain cells went into meltdown, and any thought process that might herald words—witty, or reflective of any ounce of intellect—ended up in a soup-like state.
To my dismay, nothing came out. If I could have kicked my own leg to jolt the words from my lips, I would have.
He pulled me closer, dipping his head so his nose nuzzled my hair, and his breath feathered the side of my face.
The electrifying feeling increased, heightening every inch of my body. My core tingled, then began to throb to be touched. “That will suffice,” I murmured.
It was a lie.
The ache to move even closer was unbearable. I didn’t know why I felt the way that I did. Maybe it was of how unbelievably attractive he was, maybe another man’s touch would help heal my broken heart, maybe it was because I felt sheltered in his arms.
I felt safe.
I felt as if his hold was a piece of a puzzle I’d been missing, sliding back into place. Which made no sense at all, and I put it down to, way too much champagne.
The song came to an end far too quickly and I waited for another to start so we could keep dancing.
“Excuse me, may I have your attention, please?” A male’s voice said over the speaker. He swaggered across the stage, holding a microphone. He wore a black suit, with a white shirt and gold tie. The crowd quietened immediately and the music didn’t come back on.
“Who’s that?” I whispered, reluctantly stepping back.