Chapter 24
Bunny Lines
brIGIT
“Itold you not to run," a warm voice floats through the air from my left.
I can't help the smile that pulls at my face as I turn to face him, "You also told me you'd catch me if I did."
Mr. Fomori holds his hands out to his sides, a performer waiting for applause, a tapestry of stars in the dark sky behind him his ensemble, "And here I am. You owe me a dance."
The rapidly cooling night air might be the only thing keeping me from overheating. Whether from the wine or the attention of a stranger who has no fear of literally tracking me down to follow through on a promise, I don't know.
Well, I do know, but I'd rather pretend not to.
"I don't think I agreed to that," I argue, looking down to hide my inexplicable smile and biting my lower lip to keep it in check.
He pauses for a second, "I don't think I asked."
This kind of demanding behavior should send me running for the hills. But there's something thrilling about being desired so wholly that propriety gets thrown out.
I would never go for it; not really.
I have someone. And our relationship, while maybe a little complacent, is safe. It's comfortable.
But I agreed to come here and play nice, so if a single dance with a handsome stranger is included in that, I'm never gonna say no.
"Fine," I concede.
He grins, holding out his arm like a gentleman but smiling like the devil.
Trying not to be too timid or show my inexperience with male attention, I roll my eyes and slide my hand into the crook of his elbow, pushing myself off the exquisite brick wall with my other elbow.
Returning to the ballroom, the overwhelming scents and sounds assault me again, and I wonder if people had powder breaks that somehow included an extra layer of perfume or cologne. Or maybe there's a room somewhere they can take a bath in.
I can only think about it for a second before all thoughts cease.
Coming to a sudden stop on the edge of the dance floor, Cormac uses my hand on his elbow to twist me until we're face to face. His warm hand lands on my lower back, just above where might be considered indecent.
Smoother than the wine I've been supplied with all night, he takes my hand in his other one, cradling it in his large palm.
My free arm shakily lifts, landing on his shoulder, draping lightly over it.
He doesn't make an effort to move us across the floor or follow any specific steps, but every motion is meticulous yet fluid, gently swaying and spinning to the slow cadence echoing off the walls.
"Tell me something, Brigit," he says when we've found a steady rhythm.
I keep my eyes locked over his shoulder, watching other dances and trying not to get too lost in my own. "What?"
I feel his shoulder shrug beneath my hand, "Anything. Just tell me something."
"Umm," I hum in thought. "I think I've had too much of the wine."
That's the only explanation for the dizzy, heady warmth building in my stomach.
He laughs, warm and decadent, "Well, I'm sure as long as you don't try to go swimming in the fountain, you'll be fine."
My jaw drops, "Who would do that?"
His voice lowers, "Skyler."
"You're kidding," I finally look at him, finding his eyes already on me.
'"I'm not," he smiles, "Had to drag his ass out and throw him in a cab 20 minutes ago. My socks are fucking soaked."
Now I can't stifle the giggle that spills out of me. My head falls back with the force of the laugh, the drinks getting to me and making everything just a little bit funnier, making me just a little bit more willing to indulge in fun.
When I right myself, Mr. Fomori's eyes are locked on mine, as if he were just waiting for me to come back to his gaze.
"Now you tell me something," I nudge him with my dangling hand.
He purses his lips like he's thinking really hard about it. "I wish I knew how to make you laugh again."
I think, for a second, my heart stops beating, "Why?"
"Your laugh is adorable," he offers the compliment freely, leaving me speechless, so used to fighting for every bit of approval that I don't know what to do with any I didn't earn. "You get these little scrunches down the bridge of your nose."
"My bunny lines?" I can't stop the instinct to cover them, taking my hand from his to hide my nose.
He just looks at me with wonder, letting his other hand fall to my waist. If I didn't know any better, I might even think he used it to pull me closer, "Is that what they're called?"
I nod, "Yeah, I was just looking into getting them fixed."
"Don't you dare," he laughs. Gently tugging my hand away from my face, he tucks it into his, resting them both against his shoulder. "They do make you look like a little bunny. So fucking cute."
He must see the nerves on my face, so he rapidly changes the subject, "What do you do, Brigit?"
"I'm a lawyer."
He stutter steps, coughing out an uncomfortable laugh before covering it up, "Yeah? What kind of law?"
"Nothing exciting," I explain, keeping it surface level that most people will understand. "Business law, most of the time it's exposing fraud or money laundering."
Nodding slowly, he presses for more. "You seem young for a lawyer."
My cheeks warm from the wine again, "I just got my license. I'm still technically an intern for a few more days, but I become a junior attorney for the firm next week."
"Wow," he breathes. "That's incredible, Brigit. Congratulations."
I fight the urge to tuck my head into his shoulder and hide the way his praise washes over me.
Jesus Christ, my desperate need for approval, even from strangers, is ridiculous.
"Thank you." I clear my throat, "What do you d— just kidding, you do this.
You're the reason everyone here is running face first into walls. "
"An open bar at a charity function. Who knew it'd be such a hit?" he mutters playfully.
"I bet your partner did," I suggest. "While he might have been the first in the fountain, I doubt he'll be the only."
"Fucking hell," he groans, "He'd take it as such a compliment if he knew he got people wasted enough to go swimming in their thousand dollar suits and dresses. So if you do see anyone take a dip, you can't tell him."
I don't bother saying it won't be a problem.
Realistically, I'll never see either one of them again.
When the song ends— and it may not even be the same song as when we started dancing, there's no way to tell when they all sound the same—I extract myself from his hold, taking my first real breath since we came back inside.
Checking my watch, I use the time as an excuse, "It's getting late. I have an early morning tomorrow." Lie. And the slight narrowing of his eyes while his lips pull in a smirk tells me he knows it, too. "It was nice meeting you."
"You, too, Brigit," he places both hands in his pockets, "Thanks for the dance."
I nod once before escaping from the gala as quickly as is polite, slipping into a cab to head back to my real life.
The dance and conversation were fun, sure, but nothing more than that. We were two strangers in passing, possibly the only two normal attendees there, commiserating about being stuffed in a room with the pompous elite.
Hopefully, I made a good enough impression on everyone else that I'll be able to report to Ian and our owners that it was a success.
That's what was most important tonight.
Earning my place in the life I'm building with Ian.