Chapter 10 Selene
TEN
SELENE
My body hasn’t stopped humming ever since I slipped into my two-piece outfit and locked the front door of Charleigh’s flower shop. I smooth my hands over the front of my linen top, the cool late fall air nipping at the exposed skin of my bare arms and legs.
There’s a lump in my throat, and I try to swallow around it.
Usually, when I’m in a pinch for an outfit suitable for a night out, I call for reinforcements.
My best friends. Julianna’s connections in the high fashion world always paid off in a crisis.
But tonight, I settled on a two-piece ensemble I ordered online and have had hanging in the back of my tiny closet ever since the day it was delivered.
I couldn’t ask the girls for help. Not tonight, at least. This isn’t one of our usual circumstances.
Not only because I’m going out with Holt Capuleti, alone, with no one else in our friendship group, but because I haven’t told Julianna yet.
Sure, I messaged her separately outside of our group chat, but she only gave me a short message in return, telling me she’d get back to me later tonight after several meetings she had prescheduled with potential clients for an upcoming interior redesign project.
I understood, considering she told me her fundraising and event planning has been overtaking her interior design firm business and she’s hoping to rebuild that side of her life.
For the past several years, Julianna has tried to balance her once crazy dating life with her business life.
It’s nice to see her pouring herself into her work.
After her reply, I swapped over to the girls’ chat, glad when we all agreed to meet this weekend.
I sigh and turn my phone nervously over my hand while glancing down the street for Holt. I’m not entirely sure what to be looking for. I have no idea how he’s going to show up. I don’t even know where or what we’re going to be doing on this date for that matter.
What I said yesterday in yoga class was true: Holt and I aren’t friends, despite being in the same tightknit social circle.
We’ve never spent time alone in the eight years of knowing each other.
Not any true alone time, anyway. We’ve never talked on the phone or texted separately.
Everything I know about Holt is through the lens of his sister or the moments we spend in the group.
By the time a blacked-out car pulls up to the curb, and Holt steps out from the back seat, I realize I don’t know Holt Capuleti at all. Not truly. Not deeply.
And that realization makes me want to bail.
If I wasn’t wearing four-inch, pointed, black strappy heels, I’d sprint down the sidewalk and head toward the nearest subway station.
But then my remaining bit of resistance dissolves when he lifts his head and grins, and I melt all over again. His familiar aftershave wafts off his sharp jaw. Three lines crease in the corners of his mouth, revealing his blinding white, stain-free teeth.
Everything about Holt screams money. I’m suddenly feeling very inadequate and underdressed. I hate the feeling because it gives credence to what Adam said the day we broke up.
Holt takes a step forward to meet me on the sidewalk but stops suddenly. The bright lights of the city hang above, resting below the pitch-black night sky. Since we’re smack in the middle of fall season, the sun has completely disappeared by six o’clock.
Surrounded by the city lights, in his blacked-out suit, Holt lifts his arms straight out in front of him, spreading each thumb and forefinger to make a frame. He joins his two hands in front of me and closes one eye as he smirks.
Flushed, my heart races. I wrap my hand around the back of my neck and avert my gaze from his. “What are you doing?”
“Look at me,” he orders quietly.
With shallow breathing and flushed cheeks, I turn my face up.
I’ve been on dates before, and considering I just ended the first relationship I’ve had in years, I’m no stranger to going out with a man. But I’ve never had a man look at me the way Holt’s looking at me right now.
I have the same mixture of excitement and dread filling my gut as I did when I was on stage at the auction. But instead of an audience of strangers, the only audience is Holt.
He still has his head tilted to the side with one eye closed, peering between the frame he’s made with his hands.
“What?” I ask, stamping my heel. Instinctively, I reach up and finger my grandmother’s necklace.
Holt chuckles, then lowers his hands to stuff them into his pockets. His smile hasn’t faded, but he’s now studying me with two widespread, blue eyes. Blue eyes that make me dizzy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as you are tonight, Wallflower. I can’t look away. I don’t want to.”
My shoulders drop, and I snort, rolling my eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve been with a million women. That’s impossible.”
This outfit is six years old, and I bought it for forty-five dollars. There’s no way.
His eyes darken, and he closes the space between us. The air has shifted. I freeze. My breath hits the back of my throat, nearly choking me.
Holt slowly reaches up to brush my curled hair aside, tucking it behind my ear. The motion sends a shiver down my neck, heading straight for my lower stomach.
Leaning forward, he brings his mouth to the shell of my ear, but not before he drags his nose along my hair, breathing me in.
“Let’s set some ground rules here, Wallflower.
” His voice causes my pussy to clench. I know I’m already dripping.
“I never say anything I don’t mean. Next time you question me, there’ll be consequences. ”
My pulse races.
“What consequences?” I breathe. Fuck, he smells so good. My mind is hazy, every thought filtering into the background, making me lightheaded.
He pulls his mouth away, and my eyes flutter for a moment with his absence. He slips his hand away from the back of my neck. My jaw fits in the palm of his hand as he runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. I flick my gaze to his, even though he’s staring at my mouth.
“Don’t worry, Wallflower. Nothing we won’t both enjoy.”
I gasp, then take a step back. I look around, remembering the situation I’m in.
I’m going on a date with Holt because I owe him.
He paid six figures for this moment with me tonight.
How much of what he is saying and doing is for the cameras that are potentially watching us?
How much is he doing this for the publicity?
I glance up and down the street, but nothing stands out. It’s hard to tell in the dark, anyway.
“Are you ready?” I ask him.
He stares at me but doesn’t speak another word. Stepping aside, he holds his arm out before guiding me into the back seat of his car.
I slip inside and my ass glides across the smooth, supple leather. I’ve ridden in Holt’s car before, but never without someone between us. Now, it’s just the two of us.
Holt’s driver eyes us through the rearview mirror and gives me a small smile in acknowledgement.
Considering the walls Holt seems to be tearing down between us over the past two days, I’m surprised when he sits as far over as possible. His arm is resting on the door, and only half his face is visible as he stares out his window.
He isn’t sitting any different than when his sister has sat between us before. He must have been close to me on the street earlier on the off chance someone might be watching us, keeping up the appearance for the press.
Folding my hands in my lap, I try to focus on the view from my window, but I’m aware of everything.
I’m aware of every breath passing through my lips.
I’m aware of the way my chest moves up and down, the way my heart is rattling against its cage.
I’m afraid the buttons of my small vest are going to pop off with how wound up I am.
Everything down to the wetness remaining between my thighs from Holt’s voice hitting my ear registers in my brain.
I want his tongue trailing and tasting my skin.
I crave his touch, even though I’ve never felt it.
I bury the sensation and heat, telling myself it isn’t worth it.
Keeping myself facing forward, I shift my eyes to Holt. His elbow is still resting on top of the door, but his fist is pressed against his mouth while he’s clearly deep in thought. The muscles in his jaw tick while his other hand grips his knee.
I clear my throat and decide to sever the tension between us. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t move a muscle other than to pull his fist away from his mouth enough to speak. “You’ll see.”
I chuckle, wondering why everything feels different in the car than it did outside the flower shop. “I don’t even get a hint?”
His nostrils flare as he breathes out. The car pulls to a stop along the curb, and he’s quick to open the door. “No hints.” Then he steps onto the curb, and all I’m staring at is the soft bulge under his expensive suit and his outstretched hand.
With my pulse racing, I don’t immediately take it.
Holt dips his head in the open doorway, his eyes softening just a little. “You need to learn to trust, Wallflower.”
My sweaty palm sticks to the leather seat beside me, and a twist in my chest aches fiercely. Despite the pain, I shove it aside and place my hand into Holt’s, allowing him to pull me over the edge, dragging me in with him.