21. Nora
CHAPTER 21
NORA
“Does he have to know?” I ask.
“People will probably tell him. People who see us here.”
Oh. “Good thing no one can photograph us, at least.”
“Thank god,” he mutters.
But his words make me think. “Have you done… that ? At other parties?” Then I stiffen. “Oh my god, has my brother? Wait, don’t tell me.”
He chuckles. “I told you, spectacles aren’t for me.”
“And yet here we are,” I say. There are several people at the poker table who have clearly taken notice that West is here. One of them is a man a few years older than us, sitting dead center and in our line of sight.
He looks up with wide eyes and then back down at his cards.
“Yes, but we’re not going to do what the others are doing.” West’s other hand comes to rest on the side of my thigh, his arm draped over me. It’s a possessive, casual gesture. He’s resting his arm around the woman he brought here.
The shots have helped make me feel lighter. Less in my head. I run my fingers along his forearm where it rests on the side of the chair. I’ve never touched a man like this before. Casually, no expectations, just to explore.
His sleeve is rolled up, and his forearms are thick, dappled with dark hair.
“Because you don’t date,” I say. “That’s why you’ve never been on one of those couches.”
“No, trouble. Because like I said, I don’t share. And that includes letting others watch when I make a woman come.”
His hand is big and curved over the end of the armrest, and his words whisper through me in a heated echo. When I make a woman come.
I’ve only come by myself. Heated touches in my own bedroom, to fantasies with nameless, faceless men. To stories and my own imagination. His hand, though… what would it feel like if it was him?
I run my nails lightly over his skin, from wrist to elbow. “Who are we performing for?”
West’s mouth shifts to my ear. “The man in the pin-striped suit. He’s sitting directly opposite us.”
The man who can’t stop watching us.
“That’s your cousin?”
“Yes.” Beneath my searching fingers, his hand tightens on the end of the armrest. “He’s a nuisance.”
“You’re not close.”
“No. We’re not.”
“And he needs to think you’re committed? Or in love?”
West’s head turns, and I catch sight of his narrowed eyes. “Is there a difference?”
“Of course. Why would he think you’re committed and not just… bringing a date here to have fun?” I shift in his lap. This isn’t unlike a few of the modeling gigs I’ve done, when I’m posing with male models. It’s choreographed. Clinical. Acting.
To tell a story .
“He should think we’re serious.”
“I’m in love with you. That’s what you’re saying.” I put my hand flat on his chest and smile like I’m charmed by something he’s saying. My forehead is pressed against the warm, bare skin of his neck. He smells good.
His hands tighten their hold. “Yes.”
“I’m good at pretending,” I say.
“Yes, I know you are.”
“I’ve posed like this before for shoots.” I reach for his hand, the one around my waist, and pull it more thoroughly into my lap. I play with his long fingers, weave them around my own, and look like I’m the happiest, laziest, most content woman in the world.
It’s not a difficult mask to wear.
It might not even be a mask at all.
West’s voice is by my ear. “You pose with male models a lot?”
“Sometimes. But I’m turning down most modeling gigs now.” Or trying to, at least. It’s hard sometimes, when my brother is asking. I have a shoot for a Valmont brand just a week from now that I wasn’t able to get out of.
“They must ask you out.”
“Sometimes,” I say again. My finger brushes over his signet ring. The golden B , for the Belmont Academy. The school in Vermont. The one he attended with my brother and Alex and James. I don’t know what happened there. But Rafe was sent away a rowdy teenager and returned ready for university with three best friends, a ring he never took off, and a purpose.
“Do you ever say yes?” he asks. His other hand is on my low back now, brushing over the bare skin.
“Almost never. I say I would have loved to, but I travel so much…”
“You lie.” His voice holds only wry understanding. Not judgment. “You turn them down, cloaked in niceties.”
“Yes.”
“You’re the prettiest little liar I’ve ever met.” His large hand is warm around mine, where it lies on my thighs, fingers woven through my own. “And you make it look so easy. But it’s not, is it?”
“Not always.” I look out at the game again. “Why your cousin?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I told you that there’s an expectation that I need an heir. If I don’t, the next Calloway in direct line is my cousin Dave.”
“Not Amber?”
“No. She hates that. I hate that. I’m working on getting it fixed,” West mutters. “But I dislike him immensely, and I don’t want him to think he’s close to getting… everything.”
“He might kill you. That’s motive right there, isn’t it?”
He laughs. The sound makes me turn to him fully. “West?”
“Your mind works in wondrous ways sometimes.”
“But I’m not wrong.”
“No, you’re not. Too bad I couldn’t bring the guards inside tonight.” He doesn’t sound troubled. He sounds amused, and his hand tightens around mine. “Everyone’s looking at you. You’ve never been here before. They’re interested. And you look…”
My breath catches. From somewhere left of us, a loud moan cuts above the music. “Like what?”
“Like you don’t belong,” he says. “Like an angel that’s wandered into hell.”
His hand is tan against the silky white of my dress. It’s ridden up, showing off most of my legs from just above my knees. My heels dangle from my high spot on his lap.
“I dressed on theme.”
“Devastatingly so.”
Another moan echoes from somewhere in the space, followed by a low, masculine groan. My cheeks burn, but I can’t help glancing toward the sound.
His fingers brush over my neck, my cheek. Push my hair back. “Would you like to get closer? Watch more?”
“No,” I say. Too quickly.
“You’re too good for this party. I should feel bad for bringing you here. For corrupting you.”
“But you don’t,” I murmur. My eyes land on the couple on the other side, and my entire body tightens.
They’re having sex now.
He’s on his knees, and she’s laid out in front of him on her back. He’s thrusting into her in slow, rolling motions. Her eyes are closed and her arms stretched up above her head. I can see the thickness of him disappearing and reappearing between her legs with each thrust.
“That can’t be normal,” I say.
My fingers are still playing with West’s idly, and at my incredulous tone, they twitch.
“Having sex?” he asks.
“No, but she looks like it’s the best thing she’s ever experienced.” My head is swimming again, and my tongue feels loose. Looser than it’s ever been around West. “He’s not even touching her… her… god. Never mind.”
“Continue that thought.”
My entire body is too hot. “I don’t think I should.”
His lips brush my ear. “Some women can come from penetration alone, but it’s rare. Even if she won’t, she can still get pleasure from it.”
“Mhm. Or maybe she’s performing,” I say, “for her partner, and the people in the room.”
“Has that been your experience with sex?”
“I don’t think we should talk about my sex life.”
“But you seem so very interested in mine,” West says back. “You asked me just a few minutes ago if I’ve done exactly that at one of these parties.”
Damn it.
I make my voice teasing. “I don’t care.”
“Mhm. I think you’re lying.”
“You think far too highly of yourself.”
“Or I’m good at reading you,” he says, his hand flattening against the curve of my waist. It’s big and steady, pressed against my body. His thumb is only inches from the underside of my breast. “Don’t perform in bed. If that’s what you’ve done until now.”
“I’m not taking advice from you on what to do in bed.” My voice is all bravado. Another lie. If only he knew that I’ve never had sex. The most I’ve done is make out with someone.
That’s my greatest secret and largest shame, and I’ll be damned if I ever let West in on that.
“Good.” His voice is rough, at odds with the velvet curtains and the swirling smoke. “You and I shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to call Rafe and recount it word for word.”
“If you do, let me know before so I can up my security.” He rolls his neck a little and looks straight ahead.
At his cousin Dave with the pin-striped suit. His eyes are narrowed and his skin is flushed and ruddy. I wonder how much he’s been drinking and how much he’s already lost at that table. West said they play for more than money.
My heart is beating fast. Maybe it’s the place, the moans around us, the shots I’ve taken, that cause butterflies to swirl inside me.
“He’s watching us,” I say.
West’s breath is hot against my ear. “Time to really sell it, trouble.”
His hand slides up my bare back, leaving goose bumps in its wake. His fingers tangle in my hair, and he curves my head up, bending his own face to my neck. His lips brush my cheek and then move down to my neck, like he’s pressing soft, barely there kisses.
Except he’s not.
His lips aren’t touching my skin.
I wrap my hand around his neck. My fingers dig tentatively into the short, thick strands of his hair. He’s warm. And his face is still buried in my neck, hovering there, lips close but not touching, stubble brushing my skin.
Playing to the audience.
We’re both pretending.
“He’s still watching.” I shift in West’s lap, turning to face him more. My legs are now fully draped over his thigh, and my dress rides up dangerously high. His hand is there, on the bare skin of my knee, a finger beneath the ivory silk.
“The fucking pervert,” West mutters against my neck.
It’s so unexpected that I giggle. His hold tightens around me, and I slide my hand down to his cheek and stubbled jaw.
I kissed him yesterday and I liked it. It’s the safety of that, and the pounding of heat through me, that makes me ask for more.
“We should kiss. To really sell it.”
His eyes darken. “You’re done kissing men just to be nice.”
“I’m not being nice. I’m going to knee you again tomorrow.” I lean in another inch, breathing his air. “You told me I could practice with you. Whenever, wherever.”
“I did, didn’t I?” His eyes dip to mine. “I’m not going to stand still this time, trouble. Not if I’m kissing my fake girlfriend in public…”
He leans in slowly. Giving me plenty of time to pull away.
I don’t.
His lips brush over mine in tantalizingly faint contact that sends goose bumps down my arms.
No one has ever kissed me softly before.
It’s always been a rush of contact, a face against mine and the taste of expectation and demands. This is nothing like that.
He lifts his lips, hovers half an inch from mine. Like he’s checking that I’m still with him.
My fingers tighten in his hair in response. Yes.
He kisses me stronger, his lips moving over mine with practiced heat. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his hand on the bare skin of my back, his fingers around my knee, his strong body beneath mine.
I can’t think beyond the feeling of his lips. It’s like my thought process has stopped. My hand tightens in his hair, my nails brushing over his scalp.
West groans. The sound reverberates through his mouth and into mine. His tongue brushes over my lower lip, insistent, seeking, and the heat inside me slides down and settles between my legs.
Oh. Oh.
He’s not kissing me softly now.
It’s hard to breathe, but I don’t need air, anyway. I just need more of this.
But he lifts his head from mine. “Fuck,” he mutters. My eyes are locked on the spot at the base of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs. He smells good. Tastes good.
It’s like the other day.
And it’s also completely different.
West looks past me and back at the room, his gaze sweeping over it all like he’s surveying his kingdom. He’s not trying to catch his breath.
I turn my face against his warm neck again, like I’m just playing the part. Try to hide my quick breaths.
Maybe he doesn’t feel like his world changed. And why would he? He said I was the last woman he’d date. He’s doing this for his own reasons, and it’s not because he wants to.
My old crush needs to stay dead. I will just have to remind myself of that.
West’s thumb brushes over the skin of my thigh. “That was good,” he finally says. “You did very well.”
The praise warms me. Maybe it shouldn’t, maybe it’s patronizing, but maybe it doesn’t matter what someone else thinks. Only that it warms me down to my bones and lets me relax against the strength of his body.
I don’t have to worry about pleasing him when he reassures me that I do.
“What are they playing for?” I ask, like he didn’t just give me the best kiss of my life. Like I’m back to pretending. “Do you know?”
“Tonight?” His mouth is by my ear. “Houses. Companies. Boats. Planes. Sex.”
The last word makes my eyes flit to the chaise in the corner and the couple. They’ve switched now, and the woman is on top. She’s discarded her clothes and is riding him slowly in a confident roll of her hips.
Maybe she enjoys performing, I think. Maybe she enjoys knowing people here are watching her and liking it. The man beneath her has his arms beneath his head and looks at her like she’s hung the moon.
Maybe she enjoys that too. The power of giving someone else pleasure.
“You can’t look away, can you?” West’s voice is tight.
He’s caught me again.
I let my gaze grow hooded and look back at the game. “It’s hard to,” I admit. “How long are we staying?”
“We’ll leave soon. We’ve done what we came here to do.”
I shift a little in his lap and look around for one of the waiters. I wouldn’t mind another spicy shot. But that’s when I feel it, the distinct hardness beneath me.
It takes me a few seconds to realize what it is.
Holy shit. He’s just… sitting here. Breathing low and steady, his hand on my bare back, the other curved over my knee. Holding me against his body.
I shift against the hardness, and he grinds his teeth together.
Oh my god. West Calloway is hard. The knowledge shoots through me like one of those shots, warming every place it touches. What would that hardness look like? What would he feel like?
Is it because of our kiss?
My gaze wanders back to the naked woman riding her partner. She’s gorgeous, with large breasts and curvy hips. She has to be it. He’s watching people have sex. Sure, he’s seemed pretty disinterested in them, but he’s a person. A man. It’s normal for that to affect him.
That has to be it.