by T. K. Leigh
“Well, yes. I am looking forward to all the naughty things you’re about to do, but that’s not what I mean.”
I slither down her body, easing her t-shirt up, revealing her torso. “Then what do you mean, honeybee?” I ask, circling my tongue around her belly button.
She moans, and I glance up, watching as her chest rises and falls in a quicker rhythm.
“I mean…” She licks her lips, seeming to struggle to form a sentence, especially when I lick a line down to the waist of her panties. “About New Year’s Eve. That it’s a big money-maker for your charity.”
I pause, not moving for several moments. Then I meet her eyes. “And if it is?”
“Wes…,” she sighs, her voice almost like a warning.
After I told Julia I wouldn’t be going, I’d hoped it would be the end of the discussion. I should have known Londyn would want to talk about it. Although there’s nothing to talk about. The second she’d told me what happened after the masked ball she went to in college, my mind was made up. There’s no way I’m going to force her to attend something that will trigger too many horrible memories.
Expelling a breath, I return to her, propping my head in my hand as I trace a circle on the smooth flesh of her hip with the other one. “What is it?”
Her dark eyes shine in the dim lighting of the room, a thousand emotions swirling within. Every time I look at her, I find something new. Like the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes as she admires me. Like the adorable smattering of freckles below her ear that only those lucky enough to kiss her there can see. Like the vein in her forehead that becomes more noticeable whenever she has something important to say.
Like it is now.
“I don’t want you to have to sacrifice anything to be with me.”
“I’m not sacrificing anything.”
“You’re sacrificing your relationship with your mother,” she reminds me.
“I don’t care about that. If you’re trying to get rid of me, you need better material than my mother’s approval.”
A shadow of a smile plays on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. She’s about to respond with yet another argument, but before she can, I press my mouth to hers, silencing any further protest.
“You can list every reason under the sun, and I’ll tell you the same thing every time. I don’t care. Don’t care what my mother thinks. Don’t care that we come from two different worlds. Don’t care that this relationship won’t always be easy. Because for every reason you can come up with for why we shouldn’t be together, there’s one even more important reason we should.”
“And what’s that?”
“That I love you. That I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, no questions asked. That’s why missing the ball wasn’t a difficult decision. Hell, it wasn’t even a decision.”
“You would really do that for me? Miss this huge fundraiser? I know how important your charity work is to you.”
“But you’re more important,” I assure her, cupping her cheek. “When I was with Brooklyn, I lost sight of what was important. I tried to do it all. Run the firm. Raise funds for the charity. Be the man she deserved. But along the way, I stopped focusing on her. Instead, every decision I made was with the business in mind. Not her. Not her well-being. Not what she needed or deserved. I won’t do that with you. I won’t allow a single day to go by where you have to question my devotion to you.”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but I’m not going to question it anymore.” She crushes her lips to mine, her grip on me tightening as she hooks a leg over my waist. When I feel her warmth against me, I groan, hardening beneath her. “But I have one request,” she says after tearing out of our kiss.
“That I give you an orgasm nightly? No problem.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is sex all you think about?”
“Not all. But on a daily basis, sex is on my mind at least twenty-three hours of the day.”
“Perv.” She playfully swats me as I squeeze her ass. “But seriously. One request.”
“Whatever it is, it’s yours.”
“Okay. Go to the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball.”
“I already told you. I’m not spending New Year’s Eve away from you. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be anywhere you’re not at midnight.”
She runs a hand along my torso. “And you won’t be. I’ll be there with you.”
I narrow my gaze on her. “Londyn, I appreciate the gesture more than you can imagine, but you’re my priority. As is your emotional well-being.” I shake my head, my brows furrowed. “Do you really want to do this?”
She swallows hard. “I won’t lie and say the mere thought doesn’t make me anxious. But if there’s anyone who can help me through this, it’s you.” She treats me to a ghost of a kiss, which only makes me want more of her. “You’ve already helped me face so many of my fears. And because of that, I’m stronger. Because of you, I’m stronger. So I want to do this. I want to wear a ridiculously extravagant gown with an equally extravagant mask. I want my mouth to grow dry when I see you in your tux for the first time.”
Resting a hand on my chest, she applies pressure, forcing me onto my back and crawling on top of me, straddling my waist. Her mouth is warm as she trails kisses along my jawline, hovering over my lips.
“Then I want you to find me at midnight and kiss me in a way that may border on indecent.”
My hand moves to her hair and I grip it, locking her in place as I smash my lips to hers in a tumultuous kiss.
“I want people to look at us and only see two people madly in love. Not our past. Not our differences. Only us. Only love.”
“Only love,” I murmur as I flip her onto her back. When she runs her hands through my hair, her fingers digging into my scalp, I arch into her touch.
“So is that a yes?”
I bring my mouth back to hers. “You should know by now…”
“What’s that?” She smirks.
“I will never deny you what you…desire.”
“Is that right?” she retorts, a devilish glint in her eyes.
“That’s right, honeybee.” I move from her lips, kissing my way to her chest.
“Well then, do you want to know what I desire right now?”
“I’m on pins and needles.”
“Your mouth,” she heaves through labored breaths as I circle her belly button with my tongue. “On me.”
With a mischievous smile, I hook my fingers into her panties and slide them down her legs. “As always, your wish is my command.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Londyn
I slide the ridiculously expensive nude pumps onto my feet, then step back, admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom of the downtown Atlanta hotel suite Wes booked.
While I’ve been apprehensive about tonight, Wes has done everything to put me at ease. From spoiling me with a stunning gown. To booking an afternoon at the spa, complete with massage, manicure, and pedicure. To reserving this beautiful suite in the hotel where the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball is being held, in case I need to disappear for any reason. He thought of everything to make this as trauma-free as possible.
I study my appearance, feeling like I’m staring back at a different woman. In a way, I suppose I am, thanks to Wes. The version of Londyn he first met all those months ago is gone, replaced by a stronger Londyn. A more open Londyn. A Londyn who finally feels valued again.
I turn to my side, taking in the rose gold gown. It’s fitted through the bodice with a deep V at my chest and an exposed back before flowing out at the waist into layers of sparkling glitter fabric with a small train. I’ve never felt so glamorous, even on my wedding day. Then again, I didn’t really get a true wedding out of the deal. Didn’t get to go dress shopping or plan the wedding of my dreams. Instead, I wore a simple white dress I found at a thrift shop, and my father married us in his church mere weeks after Sawyer made his proposition to me. No brid
al shower. No bachelorette party. Nothing. Maybe that’s why the marriage never felt real to me.
Shaking off the memory, I return my attention to the mirror, doing one last check of my appearance. Once I’m content the subtle makeup the beautician applied doesn’t need any touching up and the rose gold mask with glittering diamonds is securely in place, I turn from the mirror, heading toward the bedroom door.
The second I step into the living room and my eyes fall on Wes standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Atlanta, his stance exuding power and dominance, my pulse increases, my mouth growing dry. Able to sense my presence, he turns toward me, his lips parting as he takes in my appearance.
Over the past half-year that Wes has been a client, then a friend, then more than a friend, I’ve been treated to a variety of looks. From the dashing businessman who had no problem running into the rain to help a woman in need. To the dingy jeans and t-shirt wearing handyman who made a tool belt look absolutely sinful. To the casual man wearing shorts and flip flops as we hung out, talking about everything and nothing at once.
And I love every single one of those looks.
But Wes in a tuxedo with a simple black mask is on a different level altogether. He’s like a really hot Zorro. Or a dressed-up Dread Pirate Roberts.
“Wow,” I exhale.
“Wow,” Wes murmurs at the same time, his eyes wide with wonder as he drinks me in. With determined strides, he walks toward me. Heat fills his gaze. But I also see appreciation.
Taking my hand in his, he twirls me around to get a better look at my dress before yanking me into his embrace.
“You’re stunning, Londyn,” he croons.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I reach for his bowtie and adjust it, lifting myself onto my toes. “And I have plans for this later on.”
“Oh really?” He waggles his brows.
I slowly nod. “Sure do.” I brush my lips against his. “And it involves you keeping this mask on.”
“I think that can be arranged.” His mouth covers mine, our tongues swiping before he pulls back. “Speaking of masks, I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of getting you a different one. One that may be more appropriate than this one.” He walks behind me and carefully unties my current mask, taking care not to mess up my hair.
“More appropriate?”
“Yes.” His eyes dance with delight as he strides toward the coffee table, a black, shirt-sized box sitting on it. Lifting it, he returns to me, holding it out.
I take the box from him, carefully lifting the lid. When I pull back the tissue, I gasp as I peer at a striking gold mask with intricate detailing throughout, the shade a perfect accent to the gold flecks in my gown. But that’s not what makes it so perfect. As I take a closer look, I notice tiny snakes framing the mask, like the hair of Medusa.
“May I?” Wes asks smoothly.
I nod, still speechless.
With a smile, he takes the box from me, removing the mask. Shifting me toward the mirror over the couch, I watch our reflection as he stands behind me and secures the mask to my face.
“Do you know the story of Medusa?”
“More or less,” I answer, not wanting to tell Wes that he spoke of Medusa often. Jay has no place here tonight. He has no place anywhere at anytime.
“She was the only mortal among the Gorgon sisters, who were all monsters,” he explains, his fingers careful and deft as they tie the dark ribbon into a knot behind my head. “While Medusa was stunning, her greatest charm and what attracted all men to her was her golden hair. One such man was Poseidon.” Content with his work, he lowers his lips to my neck, feathering it with soft kisses.
“I know that part of the story. How Poseidon couldn’t resist the temptation and forced himself on her in Athena’s temple.”
“True.” He pulls back, stepping in front of me. “I won’t deny what happened to her is a tragedy. How instead of punishing Poseidon, Goddess Athena blamed Medusa and turned her into a monster, snakes taking the place of her once beautiful hair, eyes so petrifying the mere sight of her turned men to stone.” He takes my hands in his, brushing my knuckles in a reassuring manner.
“That’s why I felt this mask was fitting. Not because your story may have similarities to Medusa’s, but to remind you just how powerful you are. That you have the ability to turn all men to stone.” Bringing a hand to my chin, he tilts my head back, forcing my eyes to his. “You turned me to stone. I’d rather be crushed to dust than go another minute without you by my side.”
My heart expanding in my chest, I clutch his cheeks and drag his lips toward mine, coaxing his mouth open. It’s not a lust-filled exchange that leaves me panting and gasping for air. But it still makes me feel more desired than any other man’s kiss ever has.
After my mother died, several of the ladies at the church took me under their wing to help raise me, especially when I was a teenager and dealing with all the unique struggles teenage girls face that my father was grossly unprepared to address. One of them, Miss Tania, always told me never to settle for just good enough. To hold on to my heart until I met someone who could see my darkness and not only chooses to stay, but helps show me the light within. That’s exactly what Wes has done. He’s shown me the light within.
“What do you say, honeybee?” Wes says once our kiss comes to an end. “Shall we go ring in the new year?” He holds his elbow out for me.
I hook my arm through his. “We shall.”
Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead as white-gloved waitstaff circle the large ballroom, trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres balanced on their fingertips. Women wear gowns designed by all the big names in fashion, while the men have donned formal tuxedos. Everything about tonight exudes money and class. It’s certainly not even remotely close to how I typically spend New Year’s Eve, which is usually over at Hazel and Diego’s condo, dressed in yoga pants, watching as many Christmas movies as we can before the holiday season is officially over.
As we make our way through the ballroom, Wes stops to talk to everyone who calls his name or approaches. I can tell this is his Weston Bradford persona, not the Wes I’ve gotten to know. When he introduces me as his girlfriend, he doesn’t hesitate or bat an eye. A few people, especially those he mentions are old friends of his parents, look at me with disapproval. But that only makes Wes hold me tighter, leaving no question in anyone’s mind I’m not going anywhere. At least his parents aren’t here, having spent the holidays in Aspen, probably because his mother wasn’t on the guest list to begin with, according to Wes.
“There you are,” a familiar voice says as Wes accepts congratulations from another acquaintance about his latest contract, something about a deal to design and build twelve new hotels in Hawaii.
I turn just as Julia sidles up to us. Her shimmery green dress sparkles with her every movement. It’s slim throughout her body, only flowing out near the bottom in a traditional mermaid style. To complete the look, her green mask has seashell and pearl detailing.
“Julia…” I wrap my arms around her, as if I haven’t seen her in ages, instead of just a few hours, since we’d been at the spa together. But it’s comforting to see a familiar face. Well, as much of it as I can see anyway.
To my surprise, being surrounded by people wearing masks hasn’t been nearly as anxiety-inducing as I thought it would be. Like I told Wes, it’s time I replace all my negative memories with good ones. That’s why tonight is so important. It may be the last day of the year, but for me, it’s the final page in this chapter. I’m turning the page on my past and never looking back.
“You look beautiful. I like the mermaid vibe.”
“You look gorgeous, too. Good thing Wes got you that Medusa mask.” She scans my frame. “With a dress like that, you’ll need the ability to turn men to stone.”
“Hey, Jules,” Wes greets, kissing his sister’s cheek before wrapping an arm around me, pulling me close. “And don’t you worry. I have absolutely no intenti
on of letting her out of my sight for a second. Why would I want to when I have such a beautiful view?” The intensity in his gaze causes a thrill to trickle through me.
“Think you’ll make it to midnight? Or will you need to retire early?” Julia jests.
“No promises.” He winks, delicately caressing my exposed back, sending another jolt of want through me. Then he scans the ballroom. “Did Nick make it in all right?”
She briefly chews on her lower lip. “Actually, he had a last-minute meeting with some publisher up in New York. An opportunity arose that he couldn’t pass up. At least according to him.”
“Publisher?” I furrow my brows. “I thought you said he’s a PR consultant.”
“He is.” Julia swipes a champagne glass off a tray as a server makes his rounds. “But his degree is in English literature. He used to teach, but since he wasn’t tenured, he had to pretty much start the job hunt over again every year.”
“God, I’d hate that.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Not to mention, it was difficult for me to get my business off the ground because of the uncertainty of his. So about five years ago, he took a job with a PR firm and discovered he was damn good at it. He’s extremely persuasive, and a great writer. He can take a story that paints someone in a bad light and put one hell of a spin on it. But when that firm faced some public relations issues of their own, he decided to branch out and become a freelance consultant since he had such high demand from his former clients to keep them on.”
“Sounds like it’s a good fit,” I comment.
“It is. Plus, it keeps him in one place, apart from having to travel a lot to deal with clients. But I can tell he misses the analytical side of teaching, so for the past few years, he’s been working on a book. Earlier this year, a publisher picked it up.”
“What kind of book?” I ask, making conversation.
Julia sips her champagne, looking to the ceiling. “Something about how all humans are predisposed to live out the underlying themes found in various myths. Heroism. Fate. Pride. Justice. Revenge. He’s obsessed with Greek mythology. Taught several classes about it.”