Chapter 3
Jess
Iblinked. But the gorgeous stranger didn’t disappear. I said, ‘I’m sorry, but did you just ask if we could kiss?’ I couldn’t be sure that Tash wasn’t here somewhere taking the piss with a camera.
He glanced away and looked back. He nodded. ‘Please. She’s almost here.’
I looked to my side and saw a woman bearing down on us. Older and very attractive, but with a slightly maniacal gleam in the eyes I could see revealed by her elaborate mask.
Making out with a sexy stranger hadn’t been on my bingo card for this evening, but I was happy to roll with it. I’d forgotten all about doing my sneaky exit. This was a far more tantalising proposition.
I shrugged. ‘Sure.’
It was only then as he came closer that I noticed the line of raised skin – a scar?
– peeping out from under the bottom of his mask.
It rang a very faint bell of recognition but now his hands were on my upper arms again and he was pulling me into him, and his head was descending and I had no time to think of anything else before his mouth was on mine and everything exploded into a fireball.
I was the fireball. Burning from my mouth right down to my toes.
Before I could fully absorb the reality of what I’d agreed to, my body had already decided to take over the running of my brain and my mouth was opening up to him, allowing him access.
His tongue was bold, seeking, questing, tasting, and I was not shy about meeting him halfway. I was just as hungry.
My nipples pulled into tight points against the silk of the dress, reminding me they were bare, and the feel of his rock-hard torso against mine – I was drowning in lust.
He pulled back momentarily and I cracked open my eyes. It took a second to focus and then I realised he was smiling down at me indulgently. I was totally disorientated for a second, still caught up in the moment.
And then a voice broke the bubble. ‘Who is she?’
I turned my head and saw the woman, holding a glass of champagne, glowering at the guy. He had his arm around my waist, holding me close to him, and it appealed to me far too much. I could really get into this play-acting.
And then the next thing happened so fast that I was drenched in a spray of sparkling wine from neck to waist and gasping in shock before it had even registered.
Had she thrown it? But, no, her face – what I could see of it – was as shocked as mine.
‘I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean for that to happen. ’
I could see what had happened. Someone behind her had jostled her forwards and dislodged the wine from her glass. The glass that was now being plucked from her hand by the guy and put down on a table. He was saying in a taut voice, ‘I think your hushand is looking for you, Cecily.’
A waiter was rushing forward with a paper towel and the guy was taking off his jacket, saying to me, ‘Fuck, I’m so sorry about that...’
He put his jacket on my shoulders as the waiter said, ‘I can take you to a private room. My manager will come and get you whatever you need.’
‘OK, thanks.’
We were being led out of the room, down a corridor and into another room. It was dimly lit. It reminded me of those gentleman’s club spaces. Dark, opulent furnishings. Floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books. A distinct faint smell of cigars and alcohol. Not unpleasant.
Then another man appeared. He looked officious and was full of apology. He mentioned the man’s name, but I didn’t catch it. The guy was saying, ‘If you can get me a fresh shirt, we can take it from here.’
The manager left and closed the door. The guy turned around to face me. In fairness he looked pretty mortified. ‘I’m so sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, she didn’t mean to throw her drink at you.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I saw that someone bumped her. I think she got more of a fright.’
‘You’re taking this very well.’
I shrugged and peeled off his jacket, handing it back to him. ‘It was an accident. Maybe that’ll have shocked her out of her crush.’
Although I couldn’t entirely blame the woman after that kiss.
But he wasn’t taking his jacket, he was looking at me. Or, more accurately, at my chest. I looked down. The already flimsy material now stuck to my breasts and torso, and my nipples were two hard points pushing flagrantly against the silk. I might as well be naked.
‘Shit.’ I turned around, dropping his jacket as I did so.
He said, ‘No, this is my fault. Here, I was going to give you my shirt – I figured you’d need to cover your top half. They’re getting me a new one.’
Was he...taking his shirt off? I sneaked a look behind me to see that his bow-tie was undone, he was pulling it off and undoing his shirt. I faced him, crossing my arms over my chest. ‘That’s really not necessary.’
‘I insist.’
His was pulling his shirt open now and I swear to God my ovaries stood to attention when his chest was revealed.
It was wide and muscled, not an ounce of excess flesh, and there was a six pack and a flat torso, and the tantalising line of hair disappearing under the top of his trousers to where there was a distinct bulge.
Was that him at rest or – I looked back up, face flaming.
I grabbed the shirt he was holding out as much to distract from my shameless ogling as anything else.
I turned around again and pulled the shirt on over the dress. It was still warm and that felt ridiculously intimate. I closed a middle button, sufficient to cover me up again.
When I turned around he’d moved and was over by a cabinet. His naked back was almost as provocative as his chest. Broad and gleaming. Tapering down to those narrow hips.
He turned around and was holding up a bottle. ‘Whiskey. Want some?’
‘Sure,’ I said. Maybe the drink would help to transport me back to reality.
He came over with two tumbler glasses and handed me one. He said, ‘Slaínte.’
I echoed him and took a sip. The liquid burnt its way down my throat. ‘You’re Irish?’
‘Born and bred in Dublin, but half Scottish. I’ve lived here since I left university. Your accent is Scottish?’
I nodded. ‘I grew up near Edinburgh, but I’ve lived down south since going to university in Bristol.’
The material of the dress was clinging uncomfortably to my skin, clammy and cold. Sticky. ‘I think I need to rearrange the clothing a little.’ I put the glass down on a table and moved away to the window.