12. Bianca #2
He pulls me a fraction closer.
“My mom used to dance in the kitchen at the bakery,” I say. “While the dough was rising. She had this little radio on the windowsill, and whatever came on, she would grab my hands and make me dance with her.”
His hand at my back goes still for a second. Then his thumb moves once against my spine.
“What did she dance to?”
“Anything. Whitney Houston. Backstreet Boys. One time, a car commercial.” I almost laugh. “She didn’t have standards.”
“She sounds like the best woman I never met.”
I close the small distance between us and press my forehead against his shoulder, closing my eyes.
When I open them, I catch Theo watching us.
He’s still at the high-top with the supermodel, who is talking again. But he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at me. The hand that was on her is gone.
Then he’s moving.
He crosses the floor, unhurried, and he stops at Ander’s shoulder.
“May I cut in?”
Ander doesn’t turn his head. His gaze stays on me as he continues to dance. “No.”
Theo doesn’t move. “One song.”
The two of them speak in that brother-shorthand that means whole arguments are happening in three syllables. Neither of them budges.
I don’t say a thing, just watch.
Ander leans in until his mouth is at my ear. “Remember what I told you the other night? About my brother eating your pussy for forgiveness?” He chuckles lowly. “Don’t forgive him too easily. Make him work for it.”
I don’t move. I can’t. My fingers tighten on his shoulder. My whole body has gone hot under the green dress.
His hand moves to my hip, dangerously close to my ass. Then he whispers, “Make him grovel.”
Ander pulls away a fraction and watches my face. Whatever he finds makes him smile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
We’re at a charity auction, surrounded by people, so I’m keeping my mouth shut.
He brushes his tongue lightly against my earlobe. “Remember to let me watch.”
I glance up over his shoulder. I can’t help it.
Theo is there. And he heard every word.
He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. Theo, who hasn’t spoken to me since he almost kissed me in his office and threw me out. Theo, who’s here with another woman.
I look at Ander.
Ander is grinning down at me. “Do you want to dance with him?”
I nod. But I can’t speak. I certainly am not going to do what Ander suggests. For obvious reasons. I hate this man, or at least have a strong dislike for him.
But I am curious to hear what Theo has to say to me.
Ander steps back without letting go of my hand right away. He looks at Theo over my head, and whatever passes between them passes without a single word. Then he places my hand in his brother’s.
Theo’s hand replaces Ander’s at the small of my back. It’s a different hand entirely.
Ander walks off the floor without looking back, and Theo doesn’t say anything right away.
He closes the space between us.
He does it slowly. He doesn’t pull me. The inches keep closing until my chest is against his, and his hand has flattened against the bare skin where my dress dips, and his other hand is around mine with his thumb stroking my knuckle.
I should pull back. I don’t.
“Are you alright?” He says it without looking down at me, his mouth somewhere above my temple.
“I’m fine.”
“I heard what my brother said to you.”
I keep my eyes on the line of his jaw. “Oh.”
My response isn’t as witty as I’d like. It’s not witty at all, actually.
But this is new territory for me.
His hand at my back presses. “I’ve been thinking about you since my office, Bianca.”
I focus on the slow turn of his shoulder under my left hand. “You’re here with someone.”
“It’s not serious. She needed a plus-one. So did I.”
Plus-one.
He’s called a supermodel a plus-one. A freaking supermodel.
What am I doing? This is ridiculous. Even though I’ve made some really bad decisions lately, I have to stop with this one.
I step back. Half a step.
Enough that the line of his chest is no longer flush against mine, but his hand hasn’t moved from my back. We are technically still dancing, and the song is still playing.
“I’m not going to be that.”
His eyes find mine. “Be what?”
“The other woman. Not in public, not when you came here with someone else. And especially not for a man who hasn’t apologized for a single thing he’s done to me since the gala.”
“She doesn’t care that I’m dancing with you. It’s not like that.” His thumb stops moving against my knuckle. “And for the other part… I’m sorry, Bianca.”
“That’s not exactly a heartfelt apology,” I respond. “Work on your sincerity.”
He nods once. Slow. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Your actions were cruel. And I don’t think you deserve my forgiveness.” I look up and meet his eyes. “But if I were to forgive you, you’ll need to figure out what that would take.”
“What my brother offered. Would that suffice?”
For a moment, I can’t hear the music. Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? That giving me an orgasm would earn his forgiveness?
Ugh! The nerve of Theodore Sawyer is astounding!
His hand on my back hasn’t moved, and neither has his gaze.
“No, thank you.”
I lift his hand off my back and place it at his side.
I walk off the floor.
Daphne is at the far end of the bar, talking to a woman with a laugh that carries. She sees me coming in from the dance floor and excuses herself mid-sentence.
She doesn’t say anything. She just hands me her drink.
I take a sip. It is mostly gin. It helps.
“I’m fine.” I down the whole thing.
“I didn’t ask,” my best friend replies.
I hold out my glass. Daphne takes it, has the bartender refill it, then she hands it back to me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her again.
“Still didn’t ask.” She shakes her head. “Donovan. You are in so much trouble.”
“I know, Daph.”
She picks up the drink out of my hand and finishes it.
A hand lands at the small of my back.
I know whose it is before I turn my head, because my whole body knows.
Ander is next to me, dark hair in his eyes. “I’m taking you home.”
I’m not sure if it’s a question.
Daphne is already gathering her clutch. “Go with him. I’m going to stay and eat the free meal.”
“No. I finally found a reason to wear this dress.”
“Go, Donovan. I’m fine here. I know a lot of people. Besides, you’ll have a lot more fun in that dress when it’s coming off you.”
Ander grabs my hand. “I can’t disagree with that.”
“Okay,” I tell my friend. “Text me to let me know you’re home safe.”
She kisses my cheek, and Ander walks me through the room.
Heads turn. I don’t look at any of them. I don’t look at the high-top by the bar, and I don’t look at the woman in pale blue with Gideon.
The cold hits me as soon as we step outside, and his jacket is around my shoulders before I realize he took it off.
His driver is already at the curb.
He helps me into the back seat and slides in beside me. The car pulls onto the street as his hand finds mine on the leather between us, and he laces his fingers through mine and doesn’t let go.
For a block, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he asks, “What did Theo say?”
I look down at our hands. I tell him.
I tell him about the supermodel being a plus-one. I tell him about his lackluster apology. I tell him, because Ander deserves to know all of it, that Theo heard what he said to me and wanted to oblige.
Ander lets out a low laugh that is not a happy sound. “My brother is an idiot.”
“Why? I’m the one who refused his offer. He didn’t have a choice.”
“He could have given you a real apology. It’s the right thing to do.” He turns my hand over in his lap and rubs his thumb along the heart on my wrist.
“Ander.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Where are we going?”
He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of my hand. “My place.”
I don’t argue.