Chapter Nine #2
Her breath caught, and I felt it against my chest before she could hide it. My gaze moved to her hair, shorter now, brushing above her shoulders as we turned beneath the lights.
“Why did you cut it?”
Her brows drew together. “What?”
“Your hair,” I said, my voice lower than before. “Why did you cut your hair?”
Her expression shifted, something guarded passing through her eyes. “Bad memories were attached to it.”
Something inside me went still.
“So I got rid of them,” she said.
My grip tightened at her waist. “So you punished your hair too.”
Her eyes sharpened. “I changed what reminded me of you.”
“Did it work?”
“For a while.”
“For a while,” I repeated, tasting the words.
I leaned closer, lowering my head until my words were meant only for her. “You shouldn’t have worn this dress.”
Her brows drew together. “What?”
“That fucking dress... it's making me want to bend you over and fuck you hard, right here.”
A deep blush spread across her face. “You can't say that,” she protested weakly. “Not my problem,”
“This raging hard-on I got for you is all yours,” I murmured.
She tried to put some space between us, but our bodies stayed pressed together as we slow-danced.
The more she squirmed, the more she felt my stiff cock throbbing against her.
A shudder ran through her body and her breathing quickened.
She looked at me, lips parted but no words coming out.
When her gaze dropped, realization flickered across her face before she looked back up at me.
“Are you serious right now?” she whispered.
My mouth curved. “Very.”
Her fingers tightened against my shoulder. “Hayden.”
Her gaze flashed with irritation.
“You’re filthy.”
“For you?” I murmured. “Always.”
The rest of the song moved around us in a blur, slow, make every inch between our bodies feel chosen.
The music guided our steps, though I cared less about the rhythm than the way Edwina kept trying to hold herself apart from me while the dance kept bringing her back into my hands.
She avoided looking at me for most of it, which only made the whole thing more interesting.
A woman who did not care would have looked straight through me.
Edwina kept her eyes anywhere else, and every second of it told me exactly how hard she was fighting.
When Whitmore crossed my mind again, my grip tightened before I could stop it. I leaned toward her ear, keeping my voice low so no one else would hear. “If he touches you again tonight, I’m going to have a very hard time pretending I’m civilized.”
Her breath caught, and I felt the reaction before she could hide it.
“Hayden,” she warned.
“What?” I murmured. “You wanted me to behave.”
“You’re not behaving.”
“I am,” I said, guiding her through the next step. “Barely.”
Her fingers pressed against my shoulder, and fuck, even that small pressure felt like a confession. I lowered my mouth near her ear again, letting my words brush her skin.
“You can go back to his table after this if you want, but don’t expect me to sit there quietly while he looks at you as though he has a right to.”
The song began to fade before she could answer.
Around us, couples slowed and separated, applause rising through the room as the orchestra prepared for the next piece.
Edwina stepped back at once, so quickly it almost made me smile, as if she had been waiting for the first acceptable second to escape me.
“Thank you,” she said, voice tight. “For the dance.”
I gave a faint smile. “Anytime.”
She did not answer. She turned and walked back toward the table where Giselle and Daniel were still seated, and I followed a moment later, close enough to watch the tension she tried to hide settle into every step.
Whitmore looked up as we approached. “Well,” he said with an easy smile, “that didn’t take long.”
Edwina reached for her champagne, then set it down again without taking a sip. “I think I should go.”
Giselle looked at her. “Already?”
“It’s getting late.”
Daniel nodded. “Of course. Helena must be missing you.”
The name hit me like a stone dropped into still water.
Helena.
Edwina’s face changed before she could stop it. Shock crossed her eyes, fast but clear for me to catch, and the color left her cheeks before rushing back a second later. Whatever that name meant, she did not want me hearing it.
“Y-yes,” she said, recovering too quickly. “I should get back.”
Whitmore, the clueless bastard, noticed nothing. He pushed his chair back and stood. “I can drive you. It’s late anyway.”
Edwina hesitated. “I don’t want to trouble—”
“It’s no trouble,” he said. “I’m heading that way.”
Giselle watched them with interest, her gaze moving to me for half a second before returning to Edwina.
But I was done watching the table.
Helena.
The name stayed in my head, sharp and wrong and suddenly impossible to ignore. Someone Whitmore knew about, while I stood there hearing the name for the first fucking time.
My fingers curled at my side.
Who the hell was Helena?
Edwina had never mentioned that name before, not in Washington, not in all those nights when she used to tell me things she trusted no one else with. The way she reacted now told me enough. The color leaving her face, the stumble in her voice, the rush to recover.
Helena had to be someone important to her. Whoever Helena was, I was going to find out. Soon.
“Do you want to come with us?” Edwina asked Giselle.
Giselle shook her head. “No, it’s fine. My husband said he’ll pick me up later.”
There was something knowing in the small smile she gave Edwina, though she said nothing else.
“Text me when you get home,” Giselle added.
“I will.”
Edwina hugged her before turning back to Daniel. “Ready?”
“Always.”
Before they left, Edwina’s gaze shifted to me, distant and polite in a way that made my jaw tighten.
“Good night, Professor Stone.”
Professor Stone. She said it with that cold little formality she knew would piss me off, drawing a line between us as if calling me Professor Stone could put me back where she wanted me.
I gave her a slow nod. “Good night, Edwina.”
Then she walked out with him. Daniel guided her through the crowd with his hand at her back again, and the sight made my patience thin to nothing. I stayed seated for exactly ten seconds after they left, just to look civil and keep from making the entire table watch me follow them.
Then I stood. The decision had already been made. Outside, the night air was cold, and the London street glowed under yellow lights reflected on the wet pavement. Guests lingered near the entrance, waiting for cars, laughing softly, finishing conversations that should have meant nothing to me.
I found them at once. Daniel was unlocking his car while Edwina stood beside him, the red of her dress impossible to miss even in the weak streetlight. They exchanged a few words before he opened the passenger door for her, and something mean moved through me when she let him.
She slid inside.
The door closed.
And fuck, I hated it.
Within seconds, Daniel’s car pulled away from the curb. I waited until it turned the corner before heading to my own, parked farther down the street. By the time I started the engine, the thought hit with a bitter sort of humor.
Hayden Stone, a man built on control, was now following a woman through London like a fucking creep because he couldn’t stomach watching another man take her home.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, dragging a hand over my jaw.
I kept driving anyway. I needed answers.
The address in Edwina’s university file had been the first thing I checked, and it had taken very little to confirm what I already suspected.
She did not live there. She had hidden this part of her life well, tucked it away behind clean records and careful distance, but tonight Daniel Whitmore was leading me straight to it.
So I stayed far to avoid being seen and followed the red tail lights through the wet London streets, each turn bringing me closer to the truth she had kept from me.