THIRTY-ONE
Levi
I know I’m driving like a madman ever since I received the dreaded call from Vivienne, just as I’d climbed into my car.
But I need to get to Cece. Right now. She’s too exposed. Too vulnerable under the watchful eyes of people who want yet another thing from her to discredit her standing.
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Fuck, I should’ve asked Sebastian to get some discreet security on her.
Blackthorn is too big for these assignments, but he definitely could have gotten a contact of his to keep an eye on her.
Then she wouldn’t have been able to sneak out, ditching Astor’s security guards planted outside my apartment building.
Hell, I should’ve anticipated something like this could happen.
And now, my brief conversation with Vi is a pulsing clang in my head.
“Where are you? Is she with you?” she’d said the second I picked up. Her frantic and panicked voice nearly gave me a stroke.
“No, I’m headed her way. She’s in—”
“She’s gone fucking viral, Levi,” she snapped, cutting me off. “A video of her dancing in some club called The Vault is all over my feed. Where the fuck are you?”
Shit. This can’t be good. “I… I’m literally in my car, Vi. I’ll call you when we’re home.”
I had hung up then. Didn’t even check my phone to see if things were worse than my own imagination.
Every cell in my body was urging me to get to her before there could be more fodder for those vultures to tear her apart. So I took off, my car screeching out the private garage and joining the agonizingly slow-moving traffic.
I had no idea what would greet me the second I entered the second-grade nightclub in the heart of Gastown. My impatience and sheer panic had me slapping my ID in the bouncer’s hand.
Thankfully, he’d been polite enough to not shove me away before I even got inside.
And now I’m here. Standing in the middle of a crowded floor with my wide eyes wildly scanning the room. Neon blue and red lights shower the heads of countless people.
But none of them are her.
Did she leave? Is she bar hopping somewhere?
I quickly check her location again, and breathe a sighs of relief when it pings at my own location.
Then I move quickly, sweaty bodies slamming into me as I make my way deeper into the chaos.
The songs are barely hitting my ears, but when they do, it’s like I’ve transported myself to the early 2000s.
At first, I don’t see her. Because I’m looking for a tall, lean woman with a shaggy mop of a short pixie cut. But when a bright shock of a messy, purple bob catches my attention, I nearly dismiss it before doing a double—triple—take.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s dancing wildly against the beats of a song I vaguely recognize. Her hips sway, unrestrained. She’s throwing her arms over her head, in an elegant yet near-seductive wave that makes my throat dry.
The strands of her purple wig glowing and flicking with every move.
Christ. Purple.
She’s wearing, and somehow absolutely owning, the color.
Not many people have their phones out. But I know someone definitely recorded her a while ago—probably posting it on social media with an insane story that’s meant to make things look worse than they are.
For a good few minutes, even I had thought this would end up in a gossip outlet with taint attached to her name. And I was terrified for her.
But—fuck—here she is. Completely unreserved. And looking downright gorgeous while doing it.
I didn’t even know she owned a leather skirt. But here it is, the neon lights shimmering over the material that ends enticingly close to her mid-thigh.
I feel dizzy for a second before making my way to her. She hasn’t seen me yet. But I notice a slimy bastard angling behind her just as she starts to slowly remove her crop-fur coat to the beat of the music.
Yeah. Fuck no.
I reach her within seconds, shoving the man away who’s barely paying attention to whichever body he wanted to grind on.
I’m gritting my teeth, my jaw clenched so tight that I probably look raw with rage.
Unfortunately for me, that’s when Cece decides to turn and face me, her coat fully off, showing that creamy, glowing skin in her black tank top.
Unable to resist any longer, I circle my arms around her waist. Her skin damp and cold with sweat. I imagine that the sweet, delicious sheen is traveling all the way up from her belly. Because I can see the dewy skin glistening on her chest. Her throat.
And there’s a different kind of sheen on her lips.
Christ, I’m going to throw away all of her matte lipsticks when I get home.
Don’t mess with her makeup, moron.
“Levi.”
I see those red-painted, gleaming lips form my name. But the sound doesn’t reach me. Maybe she didn’t even say my name, just mouthed it.
But I’m fucking desperate to hear what this Cece sounds like, so I lean forward. My ear tingling when her lips brush against it.
“Are you going to dance or just stand here?”
I barely make out her words as they drown under the music. But a startled laugh escapes my throat when I turn to look at her face forming a scowl that is probably near-identical to mine.
My shoulders move first, then my hips try to mimic hers, because this woman didn’t even pause her dancing. Not even when she saw me glaring.
Soon, we’re moving as one, jumping as one. My heart pounding in my chest with the sheer force of letting go.
Letting go of everything.
Not just my mission to find her here and bring her home. Not just the pressure of fixing things under the guise of a sacrifice she never demanded from me.
But the exacting expectations our last names brought.
The constraints we put around ourselves for staying in a box where no blemish or taint can reach our reputations—and by extension our businesses.
We’re not Astor and Wentworth heirs here.
We’re Levi and Cece. The versions of ourselves that we were never allowed to be. And I kind of like the way my chest loosens up at the thought.
She’s twirling around me, her body still keeping contact with mine like she needs the assurance of my presence.
Or maybe I’m deluding myself because I need that touch. I need to feel her muscles coiling and moving in my embrace. The vibrations under my palm when she laughs and squeals as her third ‘this-is-my-song’ comes on. When she screams the lyrics that I try—and fail—to sing along to.
Because she’s so far from the Cece that I’ve been witnessing these past few weeks. So I need a little movement to wash away the numbness that had enveloped her—as silly as that sounds.
Both versions have my love. But this one has me… unleashed.
So I tell her exactly that, pulling her tighter against my chest and nearly shouting over the music as I bend down while she stretches up toward me “We’re fucking unhinged!”
She looks up at me, neon lights flashing across her face in shifting colors.
Then she laughs. The sound hits me harder than any drink ever could.
A cheeky grin spreads across her face as she hooks her arms around my neck and proceeds to grind her whole body against mine.
My cheeks ache from smiling so much, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
Her wig has shifted halfway off her head by now.
I snort. “Hold still.”
“WHAT?”
“It’s crooked.”
She immediately starts laughing again, her hand reaching the wig. Then I pull it free and shove it into my pocket.
The fact that she doesn’t care—not even a little bit—is somehow my favorite part of the night.
Her hair is damp from dancing. Messy. Wild.
Beautiful.
Instead of fixing it, she runs both hands through it and makes it even worse.
My heart doesn’t stand a fucking chance.
I don’t waste a second and lean to slam my mouth on hers. Almost as if expecting it, she opens her lips before I’m even close enough, and her tongue darts out, taking me in. Devouring me in the middle of this club.
I see the flickering light against my closed lids. The dizzying feeling of her mouth moving on mine while my heart is beating in my throat, the music drumming in my chest, makes my knees weak.
“God,” I gasp against her lips, our foreheads pressed together.
Then she rises on her tiptoes. “I want to be unhinged tonight, Levi. I don’t want to be tamed,” she says breathlessly, her lips brushing against my ear. “I don’t need to be tamed.”
I smile at her, nodding slowly. “My feral, feral Cece,” I murmur into her ear before dipping my head down again.
But instead of planting a claiming kiss on her, I drag my lips against her shimmering throat. Tasting the salt of her skin that had my knees weak since the moment I noticed that perspiration of utter freedom.
There’s no alcohol in my system. I’m just drugged on disinhibition and my Cece.
A few minutes later, the bass still rattles through the floor, our feet still moving. But there’s an exhaustion lining her every step. So we stay there for a couple more songs—on her insistence.
When we eventually leave, my hand never leaves hers. Not once.
She lost her precious fur coat somewhere on the dance floor. So she’s looking adorably consumed in my oversized blazer.
But just as the cool night air hits us the moment we step outside, two bright flashes erupt from a few feet away.
Cameras.
Of course.
Cece immediately stiffens beside me. The old fear, the old scrutiny possessing her. And maybe even me. Without thinking, I lean down and press a kiss against her temple.
And then we walk toward my car, our hands still clasped.
A few more cameras flash. People stare as we pass them by. But I keep walking us around the block to where my car is.
Somewhere in my mind, I know that rumors will soon be spreading. The articles will keep whipping up new, inaccurate stories around what happened here.
But I don’t give a damn. Because tonight reminded me of something important. That those neat, careful pieces of us can’t hold our love through this storm.
And somewhere between the neon lights and the deafening music, I realize that I’m probably never getting that old inhibition back.
Not when it comes to her.
Because for Cece, I’ll be every version of myself that knows how to love her.