Chapter 14
Hilliard
Hilliard glanced up when the door opened. Monty was there, looking far too happy to see him after essentially promising that he’d be otherwise preoccupied until well past midnight. His wristwatch said it was only a little after ten.
“You okay?” Hilliard asked, casual laced with concern. He continued scratching his black and white companion under the chin.
“Missed you,” Monty said. That was all Hilliard needed to hear to know that Monty had been drinking, at the very least.
“I figured you’d come and find me when you were, ah…finished,” Hilliard told him, choosing that last word carefully.
Monty closed the door behind himself with a solid click. He walked across the spanse of the bedroom, treading over Edie’s plush rug, past the cozy sitting area by the fireplace that was presently unlit, and crawled onto the bed. The sheets were a deep purple color and Hilliard secretly loved them.
“Never got started,” Monty mumbled into his folded arms after flopping down onto his stomach. He remained in that position for only a few seconds before he turned his face and rested his cheek against his forearms instead. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Valentino,” Hilliard said with a grin. The cat was a purring machine, doing most of the work himself as he forced his little chin down against Hilliard’s curled fingers.
Monty hummed. “He dressed up for the party, too.”
Valentino did appear dapper in his fur suit, complete with a dash of black on the white under his nose. It gave him the appearance of sporting a thin, somewhat lopsided mustache.
“He’s a very handsome little man,” Hilliard agreed, cooing his words the way animals often liked. “Yes he is.”
Monty shifted his weight so that he could stroke Valentino’s back.
After the first pass, the cat was on his feet, arching contentedly into the touch.
Hilliard put his hand in his lap and reclined more against the countless pillows and decorative headboard to give Monty his turn with the friendly critter.
His legs were stretched out in front of him at an angle, careful not to get his shoes on the bed–a courtesy the man beside him had not observed.
Monty closed his eyes and let out a long breath before he said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“How do you feel about blonds?”
Hilliard laughed, forehead wrinkling at the odd question.
“You mean like Edie?” As many others in the industry did, she bleached her hair nearly white.
She’d worn it that way for so many years that he could hardly recall what color it used to be.
A mousy brown, perhaps, or something close to it.
“I like them just fine, I suppose. It seems like a lot of work to maintain.”
“No,” Monty moaned plaintively, dragging the word out. “I mean how do you feel about them?”
Hilliard’s lips arched into a slight frown.
“You’re asking if I’m attracted to people with blond hair?”
Monty nodded, which looked more like he was rubbing his face against the navy fabric of his jacket sleeve.
This felt dangerous.
“I find myself drawn to people with dark hair, usually.”
It’d been a long time since Hilliard found himself with anyone at all, hair color notwithstanding.
His last relationship had ended several years earlier in a broken engagement, and though it was a mutual decision after growing apart and ultimately wanting different things out of life, Hilliard was in no rush to put his heart through that again.
“People?”
Hilliard’s heart was pounding now.
“Men,” he clarified.
Monty grinned. “Thought so.”
“Who wants to know?” Hilliard asked warily.
“Fred Forsythe.”
“Well, you can tell Fred I’m not interested if he asks again.” Cal’s secretary did have dark hair, but Hilliard was sure he could never be with someone who smoked so much.
“I already told him,” Monty said with a grunt as he adjusted his position on the bed, moving to sit the way Hilliard was with about an arm’s length between them.
“Did you?”
Monty fell back against the padded headboard with a huff.
“Well, I told him I wasn’t interested,” he explained. “We were necking by the pool and I just wasn’t feeling it.” His head lolled to the side and he blinked at Hilliard. “So I came to find you instead.”
Hilliard imagined that speaking to Monty in moments like this was the closest he would ever come to understanding what it was to be a kite.
A good strong breeze could send him soaring, but just as quickly, the same gust could falter and cause him to dip dangerously low, twisting and twirling helplessly all the while.
He tugged at his coral tie and regarded the door that separated them from the rest of the party.
“I don’t believe for one second that you’d rather be sitting here with me than dancing with someone beautiful and equally as drunk downstairs,” Hilliard told him. Even Valentino had grown bored and wandered away.
“Split the difference and come dance with me, then,” Monty purred.
Hilliard felt his heart lift and fall once again. Monty’s words were coated with his magic, tempting as ever. His experiment with the interview earlier had been temporary. Monty was still Monty, and Hilliard had to protect himself from being casually used by the man he wanted so much that it hurt.
“What do we have here?”
It wasn’t until they both turned to find Edie sauntering over to the bed that Hilliard realized how close they’d gotten to one another.
“We came to pet your kitten,” Monty said with a lazy smirk.
“Ha! Good luck, handsome. Nobody has been near my kitten in years, and I’m lookin’ to keep it that way.” She pursed her painted lips and arched a brow. Her red dress was tight from neck to knees and sparkled even in the relatively low light of the room. “Both of you know better than to be in here.”
“I really did come to visit Valentino, honest,” Hilliard said.
The cat was rubbing himself across Edie’s ankles. She bent to pick him up and flipped him onto his back in the crook of her arm, tickling his chin with a painted pink nail. Her gaze shifted between them, clearly unimpressed.
“Then why are the two of you busy wrinkling up my sheets while he was hiding under the bed?”
“Because,” Monty drawled, his hand landing solidly on Hilliard’s knee, “my friend here isn’t actually interested in kittens in the bedroom. He much prefers–”
“Get up!” Edie demanded, shooing them with her free hand. “Out. Get out of my bed. Go enjoy yourselves absolutely anywhere else but here.”
A mischievous laugh bubbled out of Monty as he pushed Hilliard toward his side of the bed, cursing under his breath. He followed close behind on his knees, crawling across the mattress as both of them scrabbled to their feet like they were being chased, even though Edie never moved.
Monty’s hands remained on Hilliard as they rushed out of the room, both of them cackling now.
It was a wonder that they made it down the long, curved staircase at such a clip without Monty tripping over himself.
He took the lead when they reached the main floor, weaving between the other partygoers until they were safely outside.
Hilliard’s pulse was racing again, for a different reason than before, until Monty grabbed his hand and tugged him effortlessly into his embrace.
He wrapped his arms around Hilliard’s shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of his neck like it was as natural as breathing.
At first, Hilliard had grabbed his hips to maintain his balance in the whirl Monty pulled him into.
But as the spin became a slower, dance-adjacent sway, Hilliard allowed himself to hold Monty closer.
“You are nothing but trouble,” Hilliard scolded quietly beside his ear.
He felt the other man smile against his neck.
“I had to get you dancing with me somehow,” Monty said as he pulled back enough for their eyes to meet.
Hilliard’s insides melted at the way Monty was gazing up at him with those effortless bedroom eyes and perfect lips that Fred Forsythe had been kissing not an hour before.
“Did you see the buffet? There’s chocolate everything. I had a strawberry.”
Heady desire faded to worry in an instant.
“A single strawberry? And how many drinks?”
“Mmm…more than one,” Monty said sheepishly.
Hilliard groaned. “Montgomery.”
Monty shifted in his arms, taking Hilliard’s hand again and spinning himself before bringing them back together in a proper dance hold to match the slower jazz song the band was playing inside.
Hilliard was a decent dancer, made far better by someone as talented as his current partner.
They fell into a comfortable silence as Monty let Hilliard take the lead.
He moved them around the makeshift dance floor on the terrace framed with roses.
By the time the song was over, Monty looked a little grim.
“Regretting your decision yet?” Hilliard asked.
Monty gave him a stubborn glare that softened almost as fast as it appeared. He peered over Hilliard’s shoulder in the direction of the tables covered with food. “Do you want to share a plate with me?”
Hilliard had perused the buffet earlier, tasting a few things that looked interesting as he sipped his single cocktail and spoke with some friends he encountered.
He wanted to ask for several of the recipes to try at home.
The dates stuffed with a creamy chocolate filling and wrapped in bacon seemed to be a crowd pleaser, as did the velvety dark chocolate tart.
“No.” Hilliard hooked his arm with Monty’s to bring him inside. “I want a plate of my own.”