Chapter Three
Maddie
As I watch Caesar talk to the woman behind reception, I lean against a nearby pillar in case I feel faint from lack of oxygen.
My heart is racing so fast, it appears to be imitating the dance beat from the music in the ballroom.
Am I really going to do this? I can’t believe I suggested it.
When I kissed him, his surprise was obvious, even though he’s wearing a mask.
I don’t know why; he must get invitations like this all the time.
I read the headlines; I know how much the Ashford siblings are enjoying the family’s meteoric rise.
For me, though, it’s another story. I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’ve never invited a guy up to my room.
My university days were mostly spent in the library, in the lab, or alone in my room.
I’ve had a few regular boyfriends, none of which have set my world alight.
This, tonight, is the stuff dreams are made of, or nightmares, depending on your point of view.
Oh God. If I go up to a room with him, how am I going to make sure I keep my identity secret? I’m flattered that he wants to get to know me better, but if I reveal who I am, the evening will screech to a halt.
Fuck—he’s coming back, and he’s sliding a key card into his top pocket.
He stops in front of me. His eyes catch the fairy lights strung around the foyer, and they make his eyes sparkle.
“Still want to do this?” he asks. “No worries if you want to back out at any time, it’s not a problem.”
I was frozen to the spot, but his soft tone and smile make me soften.
I didn’t expect to like him. I thought he’d be imperious and supercilious, but his sense of humor and genuine admiration have pried open my oyster shell of a heart.
He’s not being nice to me just because I’m one of the Rutherford grandchildren.
He doesn’t see me as easy access to money or a job.
He seems to like me. I’m never going to be able to say no to that.
“Let’s go,” I say, and he grins, takes my hand, and leads me to the elevator.
He presses the button, and we wait impatiently for a carriage to descend. He squeezes my fingers, and I look down at his warm, tanned hand, imagining it sliding up my thigh as he pushes up the skirt of my gown. I lift my gaze to his, and the heat in his eyes makes me catch my breath.
The doors ping open, and we’ve just gone inside when our mouths find each other, our lips crushing together in a passionate kiss.
I don’t know who’s kissing whom, but I lift my arms around his neck, and he slides his around my waist, and our tongues tangle as heat blazes through me…
and then we break apart hurriedly as another couple enters the carriage.
“Sorry,” the woman says, and giggles.
Caesar clears his throat as they move to the other side. “Which floor?” he asks.
“Eleven, please,” the guy says, trying not to smile.
Caesar presses eleven, and then twenty-six—the top floor. He touches his key card to the pad, then leans against the carriage wall, watching me. I stare at him, and he smirks.
“You rented the penthouse?” I mouth.
He shrugs. “Only the best for my Cupcake.” He chuckles.
The elevator rises swiftly, and soon the door opens and the other couple exits, casting amused smiles at us as they leave. The doors slide shut, and the carriage begins to rise again.
Caesar moves closer to me and bends his head, and this time he kisses me gently where the mole sits above my top lip. Then his lips brush mine. As I sigh, my breath mingles with his.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, lifting his head a little. He gives me a curious look, stroking my hair back from my face. “Who are you, mysterious lady? Please tell me.”
“‘O Captain! My Captain!’”
“Are you quoting Walt Whitman at me?”
I laugh. Then I lift a hand to brush a thumb across his bottom lip. “No names, Cap’n. Don’t keep asking me.”
He looks into my eyes. Then, eventually, he nods. “Okay.”
The elevator pings, and the doors slide open. We’re in a long, quiet corridor, and the plush carpet muffles our footsteps as we walk out.
There are four doors—two facing each other just a few feet away, and two facing each other at the other end of the corridor. Four penthouse apartments, then, presumably each taking up a corner of the floor.
He holds my hand and leads me along the corridor to the door at the end on the right, touches his key card to it, and the green light comes on. He opens the door, goes in, and holds the door to let me pass him.
I walk into the apartment, eyes wide as I see a huge living room, the large windows in the wall to our left facing Waitematā Harbour.
The sun is sinking toward the horizon, and the sky looks like a fruit salad: the purple of grapes blending with the green of kiwi fruit, and the orange of mangoes merging with the rich yellow of pineapple.
Christmas lights from the shops and restaurants are reflected in the water, making it look as if it’s filled with precious gems.
Caesar doesn’t turn on any lamps, but in the corner of the room the fairy lights on the Christmas tree are already on, and they sparkle in the semi-darkness.
As I walk across to look out at the city, he lets the door close behind him, then follows me in.
I turn and watch him flick open the buttons of his jacket as he circles the sofa, but he doesn’t take it off.
Instead, he removes his phone and presses a couple of buttons, maybe switching off his notifications, then places it on the coffee table.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks. “I can order up some champagne. And are you hungry?”
It’s kind of him to ask, but I know he doesn’t have long. He’s the patron, and he should be greeting guests and meeting dignitaries. His sister must be popping a blood vessel wondering where he is. If he’s absent for too long, they’ll probably send out a search party.
“No,” I say. “Thank you.”
I drop my clutch bag onto the armchair. Then I lift a foot and rest it on the coffee table. The skirt splits, revealing my thigh, but I don’t cover it as I bend and carefully remove my sandal.
Caesar doesn’t say anything. He watches as I do the same with my other foot, removing the sandal. Now I’m about a foot shorter than him, and my skirt brushes the carpet as I walk around the table to stand in front of him.
Reaching up, I push his jacket over his shoulders. He lets me, breathing hard. I catch it as it falls and lay it across the coffee table.
I turn back to him. I lift my arms around his neck. Then, without warning, I jump and wrap my legs around his waist.
He catches me but loses his balance, and he falls back onto the sofa with me on top of him. We bounce and laugh, and then I take his face in my hands and kiss him, delving my tongue into his mouth.
He tips his head to the side to change the angle and deepens the kiss, holding my head there with the back of his hand. I sigh as he strokes his tongue against mine and inhale the delicious scents of his cologne, the whisky he was drinking, and clean warm male skin.
His mouth leaves mine, and he kisses my jaw, my neck, and around to my ear. “Aaahhh,” he says, the word just a long sigh. “You smell amazing.” He touches his tongue to my skin and presses his lips behind my ear. “I’ve been wanting to do this since we started talking.”
I tip my head to the side to give him better access and thread a hand into his hair.
The short hairs of the soft fade at the back prickle my fingers, and then my fingers slide into the longer hair on the top.
I tighten my fingers and pull his head back so he’s looking up into my eyes.
Behind the mask, his eyes are a deep brown in the subdued lighting, lit with gold from the flickering tree lights.
I feel wild, daring, impulsive, reckless.
I like sex, but I’m easily intimidated, and I haven’t yet met a guy who’s interested in suggestions in the bedroom.
I wouldn’t stand a chance with Caesar in real life for various reasons, but here in the hotel room, Cupcake is braver and more daring than I could ever be.
“I want you,” I whisper, bending to brush my lips lightly over his.
“I’m all yours.” He shudders as I nip his bottom lip. I do it again, and he groans and opens his mouth for me to plunge my tongue inside.
This time, as I kiss him, he slides his hands up from my knees, pushing the dress up with them to reveal my bare thighs. When he gets to the top, he moves his hands around my hips to my ass… then stops and tears his lips from mine.
He looks at me in astonishment. “Have you been going commando all the time I’ve been talking to you?”
“Didn’t want a VPL,” I point out. “And I’d have spent all evening fidgeting if I’d worn a G-string.”
“Holy fuck.” He strokes his hands over my bare butt, cups it, and squeezes the muscles gently. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
That thrills me, because nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before. “I never realized how hot it is when someone’s attracted to you,” I murmur, stroking his face. He’s shaved recently, and there’s not a hint of stubble on his jaw.
“I don’t understand why you don’t have a guy worshipping the ground you walk on.
” His voice is little more than a growl.
“You’re so fucking sexy.” He slides his hands down my thighs, then slowly back up, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.
When he gets to the top, he strokes his thumbs between my legs.
“Fuck,” he says, obviously discovering how smooth I am down there. Thank God I got waxed yesterday. “Ahhh…” He moves one thumb down, finds my clit, and circles the pad of his thumb over it.
I groan, my face filling with heat. “Ohhh, that feels good…”
“Open your legs a bit more for me, baby.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
He laughs as I widen my thighs, then explores with his thumb while I kiss him, sliding it so easily into me that I know I must already be swollen and slippery.