Chapter Two
Caesar
I glance toward the ballroom, conscious that Aurelia is on the warpath.
I think the mayor’s arrived, and she wants me to go and entertain him.
Well, she can shove that where the sun don’t shine.
If she had her way, I’d be performing like a Musical Jolly Chimp toy that wears a hat and bangs cymbals together to amuse everyone.
I like being the patron of our foundation, and I accept making small talk is part of the job.
But I draw the line at spending time with anyone who wants to talk about road developments.
No, I’d much rather talk to the beautiful Cupcake. This girl fascinates me. I’m sure it’s mainly because I can’t puzzle out who she really is. I don’t think we’ve met before—I’m sure I would have remembered those eyes—but I’ve perused the guest list, and I know pretty much everyone here tonight.
She could be a gatecrasher; it is the social event of the season, after all, we made sure of that.
Maybe someone else gave her their e-ticket.
But if her purpose was to infiltrate the party, she’s not doing a very good job of it.
She’s clearly uncomfortable with people.
I think if I left her alone, she’d spend the rest of the evening trying to blend in with the furniture, which is frankly impossible in the dress she’s wearing.
She moves toward me, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me.
But she walks past me, and when I turn I see that an older woman standing behind me has dropped her shawl.
My mystery girl bends, retrieves it, and hands it to the older woman with a smile before returning to me.
My lips curve up at the kind gesture. I like her already.
Ellis brings over another round of drinks, and I nod my thanks and slide Cupcake’s Cosmopolitan over to her.
She’s in the process of climbing onto a bar stool, a little inelegantly, which makes me hide a smile.
Once she’s perched atop it, though, she crosses her legs, and the slit in the skirt of her pink gown parts to reveal an exceptionally pretty pair of pale legs.
“Dammit,” she says, trying to bring the sides together. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a safety pin?”
I pat down my pockets theatrically, then chuckle. “No need to hide your legs on my account.”
She looks down at herself, then lifts her chin, as if she’s telling herself to be brave. Why did she wear such a distinctive color if she didn’t want to be noticed?
“So what do you do?” she asks, sipping her drink. Her dark lashes, which I think are fake, lower for a moment, revealing her glittery eyeshadow. Then they lift again, and her unusual violet eyes study me.
I’m kind of surprised she doesn’t recognize me, even with the mask, as most people here don’t seem to have trouble, probably because Aurelia makes sure I’m visible on social media. “I’m a gardener,” I say. Well, it’s roughly the same field of work.
She snorts. “I don’t think so. Those pretty hands of yours have never done any manual labor.”
“I happen to be very good with my hands.”
She sips her Cosmo, her eyes dancing over the rim of the glass. “I bet you are.”
Our eyes lock, and my heartbeat picks up speed.
She’s a woman of contrasts: shy, but flirty; quiet, but talkative; elegant, but clumsy.
She’s wearing a designer dress and sandals, and carrying a Christian Louboutin clutch, so she has money, but something tells me she doesn’t go often to events like this.
She lowers her gaze, picks up another cupcake, and peels off the wrapper. She has exceptionally pale skin, which is unusual for Kiwi women, who usually grow up outdoors, swimming and playing netball. I can’t help but think how that pale skin would look next to my tanned body if we were both naked.
“Tell me about the opinionated wanker,” I say. “Why on earth would he let a gorgeous creature like you go?”
She bites into the cupcake and removes the frosting from her top lip with the tip of her tongue, which makes my cock twitch. She has a tiny mole just above her lip on her left side. If she were mine, I’d make a point of kissing it frequently.
“He said I was too vanilla,” she says.
That makes me laugh out loud. “You? Vanilla?” I snort.
Her lips curve up. “You don’t know anything about me. I might be a starfish in bed, as far as you know.”
I’ve already had a few whiskies tonight to make the event passable.
Unfortunately, alcohol has the side effect of making me reckless and horny.
I move a few inches closer to her so when I lower my head and murmur to her, nobody else can hear.
“There’s no way that you are anything but electrifying in the sack. ”
She laughs, a slight flush appearing on her cheeks. “You talk like you’re an expert.”
I shrug. “Well, I’m not Olympic-medal material like some people around here, but I could probably compete at national level.”
She giggles, which is such a delightful sound that it sends a tingle all the way down my spine.
“Flirty Girtie,” she says.
“You can talk.”
“I know.” She twirls her glass. “Blame the Cosmos.”
“Ellis,” I call to the bartender, “another round please.”
That earns me another giggle, and she nudges me with her elbow. Doing so makes her lose her balance on the stool, though, and as she moves her foot down to stop herself falling, she gets the heel of her sandal hooked on the base and flails as she heads for the floor.
“Whoa.” I catch her as she topples, and she squeals, bumping against me.
“This is turning into a habit,” I tell her, tightening my arm around her waist. The spaghetti straps of her dress make me suspect she’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts, which have been restrained by the boned bodice, bulge a little where she’s pressed against me.
“I just wanted to feel your biceps again,” she says, but she’s gone completely pink now, almost the same shade as the dress. “I’m so sorry. You’d get used to this if you were around me a lot.”
“It’s not a problem,” I murmur.
She flicks a gaze up at me. “You can let me go now.”
“Do I have to?”
Even though she’s wearing a mask, I can see that she’s baffled by my comment. I lift a hand and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “He really did a job on you, didn’t he?”
She doesn’t say anything, and I lower my hand. Her hair is very dark, almost black, and it doesn’t match her pale complexion. Is she wearing a wig? If she is, it’s a very good one, but I’d imagine a woman who wears designer clothes would be able to afford a high-quality hairpiece.
Now she’s regained her balance, I remove my arm from around her waist but hold her hand to keep her steady as she sits back on the stool. When she’s settled, I lower my head and kiss her fingertips before releasing them.
She shivers. “You give me goose bumps.”
I lean back on the bar and push her drink toward her. Luckily she wasn’t holding it when she fell. “Is that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure.” She sips the Cosmo, her violet eyes watching me, a tad warily.
“So tell me why your ex called you vanilla,” I say. “I’m intrigued.”
She eats the other half of the cupcake, then gestures at her dress. “This isn’t my usual attire.”
“What do you normally wear?”
She hesitates. Then she says, “The thing is, if I tell you, you’ll think I’m weird.”
“I already think you’re weird.”
“Good point. Weirder, then. And… I don’t want you to think that.” Her last words are a soft admission. Her sassiness is just a facade, I think, hiding a vulnerable and very hurt woman.
“I don’t think you’re weird,” I correct. “Interesting is a better term. Fascinating, even.”
She lowers her gaze to her drink for a moment. Then she says, “All right. Well, my hair isn’t the only reason my colleagues compare me to Einstein. I tend to wear jeans and gray T-shirts all the time.”
I smile. “Why so?”
“It makes it easier to get dressed in the morning. I don’t want to waste time wondering what to wear, so I just put on my jeans and take the next T-shirt out of the drawer.”
“It’s a sensible idea. So this,” and I gesture at her dress, “isn’t a common occurrence?”
“God, no. My sister spent an hour trying to convince me to leave the bathroom after I’d put it on.”
I chuckle. “You have other siblings?”
“Yes. I come from a large family.”
“That’s nice.”
“It can be. At other times they’re a pain in the ass.”
“I know that feeling.” I glance at the ballroom, hoping Aurelia hasn’t spotted me.
When I return my gaze to Cupcake, it’s to find her watching me while she sips her drink. I have a mouthful of whisky, holding her gaze.
“Who bought you the ring?” she asks, gesturing at the signet ring on my right hand. “An ex?”
“No. My mother, actually.” I look down at it. “She’s been unwell—breast cancer. She bought it for my birthday just before she went in for surgery.” My throat tightens, and I swallow, surprised. I don’t usually tell people.
“I’m so sorry,” Cupcake says softly. “How is she now?”
“She’s good. Recovering well.” I turn the ring on my finger. “Her illness shocked the whole family though, especially my father. He loves his job, but he’s talking about retiring next year so he can spend some more time with her.”
“Will you take over from him?”
“I’ll probably run it jointly with my brother. He’s here somewhere.” I look around, but I can’t see Marcus. He said he was meeting with Aurelia’s new security detail at some point. She’s going to love him for that.
“So… are you married?” Cupcake asks.
My gaze comes back to her. “No.” I have another mouthful of whisky.
“Girlfriend?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?” she asks curiously. “I’d have thought girls would be lining up to date you. You seem very…” She thinks about it.
“Handsome?” I suggest. “Sexy?”
“Eligible.”
I huff a sigh. If only she knew. Being the son of a billionaire has many, many perks, but it also comes with problems.
“Actually, I haven’t dated anyone for…” I calculate. “Seven months.”