Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
GRAYSON
The Grand Ballroom at the Plaza Hotel is unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s kind of breathtaking, given that I expected it to be tacky. It makes the ball from last summer look cheap.
I stare at the room from the entrance for a while, unable to believe that six months later, I’m in a very similar position to when I first met Emma, except now I want and need to be with her forever.
I fucked up. I should have handled things differently, but she needs to understand why I didn’t contact her directly.
It was for her own good, and I’m not going to let tonight end without her knowing it.
I would have preferred to do it yesterday and would have loved to make up last night if she had accepted my explanation, but Emma is making me work a little harder for it.
Not that it should surprise me—the woman’s stubborn and strong-willed, which makes me love her all the more.
Walking in, I pass by the tables surrounding the large dance floor and head directly to the bar, desperately needing a drink before looking for my girl.
The bartender hands me a whiskey on the rocks as I scan the room, searching for my stubborn blonde princess. Even with these masks on, I’ll recognize her body—the way it moves when she walks—so sexy yet elegant, just like her.
I’m starting my second drink when I notice her standing up from a table across the room for just a moment. Unlike her, I didn’t plan on having dinner and was seated at a random table I wasn’t interested in. I need her and only her. Preferably right this very fucking second.
I turn my head from side to side, unable to see her properly because of these rich fuckers dancing to what sounds like a foxtrot. My feet move of their own accord, and I try to dodge the people on the dance floor, but it’s a coordinated dance, and the whole space is packed.
Trying to move as quickly as possible, I spot Emma heading my way. She hasn’t noticed me yet, so she’s probably grabbing a drink too. Knowing her, it’ll be a vodka soda or a tequila shot if she’s really stressed, but the last damn thing I need right now is a drunk Emma.
She’s wearing a champagne strapless gown that hugs her body snugly enough to show every single one of her curves, but loose enough to fit in with the crowded room.
Someone blocks my view of her, and now all I can see is the slit on the left side of her dress that runs all the way to her upper thigh, making my mouth fucking water.
After the guy moves, she’s only a few yards from the bar and still hasn’t seen me, but boy, do I see her.
All of her now, as if the floor parted like the Red Sea for someone of royal authority.
Every couple dancing turns their heads to her, and I can’t blame them.
Emma captures everyone’s attention in every room with her beauty and confidence.
A blend of new and classic beauty she doesn’t realize she has.
My love’s eyes finally catch mine and widen, her lips parting once she’s six feet away, and fuck.
Her hair is half up, half down, with her new tight, curly, long curtain bangs framing her face in the perfect heart shape.
She’s not wearing a mask like last time.
Instead, she’s holding one of those masks people bring up to their face, but it’s currently hanging at her side, and thank fuck because it would only get in the way of me seeing all of her… well, not all of her.
Emma, the woman I love, comes up to me with her chin held high as always and stops next to me at the bar.
She keeps her gaze fixed on me as she orders a vodka soda.
I try to give her that smirk that always drives her crazy, but my chest constricts at her being near me again after so long, and I’m not sure how convincing it was.
“You came,” she says, sounding semi-surprised. I almost flinch at her doubt, but I understand why it’s still rooted there. She needs an explanation and to know how I feel, everything I’ve been doing…
“You asked me to come.” I shrug and adjust my black mask. “More like demanded, but I’m more than happy to do anything you want, Princess.” I can’t help but add a sultry smile and wink to try to lighten the mood.
Her eyes heat and darken for a moment, awakening my cock, then she sobers just as quickly.
She gives me an evil grin, and I prepare myself for what she’s about to say.
“I know I can make you do anything I want you to. I’ve heard you beg and whimper for me, Grayson.
To suck you, to fuck you, to make you come again, but…
” She looks down at my cock, which is hard against my slacks, whimpering all on his own.
“I don’t think you deserve that tonight. ”
Closing my eyes and clenching my fists, I nearly throw her against the bar and fuck her right there in front of everyone to see.
If she’s trying to torment and punish me, it’s working too damn well.
The sensation of a fingernail sweeping up and down my arm against my suit coat only makes it worse, but I risk opening my eyes, which I know are now heavy and hooded with lust.
“Are you going to let me take you away from here? To tell you everything I need to?” My voice is strained from how hard I am, and her proximity and teasing me for her own amusement.
But there’s still anger, bitterness, and hurt behind her beautiful blue eyes.
Those eyes always betray her, and it breaks my heart that she was doubting me for two weeks.
I missed her every single second of every single day, and for the entire month I had a way to reach her, but all she could do was wait and hope.
Fuck, I need her to understand.
“I don’t know yet,” she answers, then takes her finger off me to down half her drink.
I almost flinch at that, too, but I understand. I need to do something other than stand here with a whiskey in my hand. Think, Hayes, think.
The live band they hired tonight starts to play “Come Away with Me” by Norah Jones, and I immediately recognize it as a waltz.
When we met last year at the ball, we never got to dance together, not in a ballroom, I mean.
I hadn’t seen her, and she hadn’t seen me.
I know if I had, I’d have asked her to dance immediately, and I regret that we didn’t meet earlier that night.
We could’ve known each other longer, even if just for five minutes.
And sure, I despise dancing in front of others, Emma knows that.
What she doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t believe, is that I’d walk on burning coals to get to wherever she is, no matter how far.
I’d lie on a bed of needles for as long as she tells me to and smile while doing it if she only asked.
And I’d dance a hundred dances if it meant having her close to me.
I set my glass on the bar, about to ask her to dance, when she speaks first, “I’ll go if you dance this waltz and can keep up with all the steps.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but I cool my expression. It was one thing to dance, but to nail every step? My palms start to sweat, and I’m not the kind of man who gets nervous, but this woman, my woman, my love, can stir up any and every emotion inside me.
I extend my hand. “May I have this dance, Princess?” Princess is a placeholder until I can call her mine. Eh, who am I kidding? I’ll be calling her a million things if she decides to stay with me. And if she does, I’ll make sure it’s for the rest of our lives.
Emma places her hand in mine, and we step onto the dance floor.
Remembering everything Mom, Marina, my sister, and some women I met at business events taught me, I seem to keep up with Emma well.
She’s always called herself a bad dancer, but I don’t think she meant ballroom dancing.
Here she looks coordinated, self-assured, and her movements flow gracefully without interruption. It’s mesmerizing.
And even though I’m supposed to be leading, it’s clearly her movements I interpret as signals.
When to spin her, when to shift my feet to one side or the other, and as we settle back into a rhythm after spinning her one last time, I pull her tighter to me.
She’s been avoiding my gaze throughout the entire dance, offering the people around us polite smiles that I know are all for show, but never one for me.
I gently grip her chin with both fingers and turn her face toward me.
Thank Christ this girl wears high heels, making her foot-foot-five next to my six-foot-three frame.
She lets me guide her face in my direction, but keeps her eyes closed.
“Look at me,” I whisper. When she opens her eyes, I see a flicker of wanting, sadness, then aggravation. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I let her express whatever she needs to. I want her to yell, stomp her feet, or slap me again—anything to show some kind of emotion other than lust.
“I hate you for leaving me like that.”
There she is. “And you have every right to,” I tell her. She nods, and I add, “The song ended two minutes ago.”
She tilts her head before looking around the room, taking everything in. We were so entranced with each other, she didn’t notice it switch to a slow foxtrot. The only reason I caught it is that I need to get her downtown and show her part of what I’ve been doing.
Emma’s baby blues meet mine. “A deal’s a deal.”
Nodding, I lower my arms, wanting to kiss her forehead but decide against it. I intertwine our fingers, and she allows me that. I give her a reassuring squeeze before she picks up her coat, with no parents in sight, and we head out of the hotel to a black cab.