by Alexis Hall
I’d meant stop putting your mouth everywhere while I was trying to have a conversation. Not pull away abruptly and relocate to the other side of the limo. Leaving me cold, bereft, and disheveled.
“Um.” I sat up too. Made a vague attempt to do something with my hair, which had fluffed up monstrously. “I just don’t want your mum to hate me.”
Fuck. That sounded incredibly presumptuous.
“Not,” I rushed on, “that I ever expect to meet her.”
He gave me an unreadable look from across the car. “But you will. At Ellery’s party.”
Oh. Oh gosh. I hadn’t even considered that. “Then all the more reason for me not to fuck up her event by stealing her son.”
“I wasn’t intending to tell her, Arden. I would have made some other excuse. My work often requires me to miss things.”
“But…but…” I gazed at him, shocked. “You can’t lie to your family.”
“Surely you’ve lied to yours.”
“No. Never. Why would you do something like that?”
He shrugged. “The same reasons you might lie to anyone: social nicety, personal convenience, simple necessity.”
How had I forgotten Caspian was like this too? Merciless in ways I could never find appealing. Cold in ways that hurt my heart.
“Do you lie to me?” I heard myself say, in a very small voice.
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure it’s not just personally convenient to tell me that?”
“Not at all. It’s never convenient to commit to a course of action that is limiting.”
I pulled a pouty face. “I can’t tell whether that’s reassuring or not.”
“The truth is rarely reassuring. Which is rather my point.”
I…didn’t have an answer to that. Damn it.
“My mother won’t be upset,” he went on. “She understands that I have many demands on my time.”
Frankly, she sounded terrifying. I mean, all I knew about her was that she organized charity auctions—an act of moral carbon offsetting if ever there was one—and that her children were Caspian and Ellery. Because, y’know. I adored both of them but I’d be kind of worried if I’d raised them.
Also, while it was super nice that Caspian wanted to be with me, I was getting increasingly…not insulted, exactly. But it rankled, somehow, the easy way he was willing to pass me off as work. Not that I actually wanted him to declare me like he was going through customs, either. Urgh. Logic and me: not the bestest of buddies.
“Okay,” I said. “But what about the people with cancer or the kids in Africa?”
“What about them?”
“Well, this auction is for something, isn’t it?
“Bellerose handles my philanthropic concerns. And I assure you, they are substantial.”
I drew my feet up and hugged my knees—since it was clearly the only hugging likely to be happening for a while. “Very much not the point here.”
“Then please enlighten me. Because I was rather under the impression you wanted to spend time with me.”
“God. I do,” I wailed. “I really do. But I feel incredibly weird about being the reason you’re not going to do something that would help people who…well…need help.”
No answer from Caspian. Unless you counted the way his fingers curled tightly against his knee.
I felt awful from about six different directions at once. “You can see where I’m coming from, right?”
“I can.” He reached up and flipped on the intercom. “Change of plan, Lloyd. To the Sheldrake. And quickly, please.”
Wait. What was happening? I slithered along the seat as the limo swung round. Was he going to make me sit in the car like a puppy while he went to a society party? I opened my mouth to say, well, I wasn’t sure what, but Caspian looked so forbidding that all my words dried up on my tongue.
And so we just sat there in the worst silence.
Great. I’d spoiled my own homecoming. But Caspian was kind of being a dick too. Not that mentioning it to him was going to improve the situation. I wished I could turn back time to the holding and the kissing—except, nothing would change. I’d still get squicked out. Because while Caspian wanting to cast the world aside for me had the potential to be incredibly exciting, on this occasion it was simply selfish. And in the ugliest possible way.
I didn’t want that for him. Or me. Or whatever us we were.
A glance out of the window revealed lots of Georgian geometries: pale, rectangular buildings, bristling with columns and pediments. Which probably meant Mayfair. Ho hum.
The Sheldrake Gallery—should I have heard of it? I had a feeling the answer was yes, but I didn’t dare google—was a lanky, white-fronted place, its windows shining brightly, and the pavement outside thick with reporters and people in black tie.
The limo drew to a halt. Caspian eased past me and stepped elegantly out of the door the moment the chauffeur opened it for him.
I…sat there like a sad lemon.
“Come, Arden.”
Normally, I would have been pretty into Caspian commanding me to come. Right now? Not so much. “W-what?”
He held out his hand to me.
Oh my God. He’d gone mad. “I can’t go in there. I’ve just got off a plane. I look—”
“Charming. And we won’t be staying long.”
“If you aren't staying long, why do I have to go?”
“Because I want you to.”
Well. There was no way I was going to be able to resist that. I reached out, took his hand, and fell out of the limo.
Thankfully, Caspian’s body was in the way so I ended up smooshed against his side, rather than face-planted onto the pavement.
The insectoid clicking of shutters filled the air. And I was immediately camera-dazzled.
Then someone called my name. I turned instinctively and a flash went off right in my face.
“First the sister, now the brother. You do get about, Ardy baby.”
I couldn’t see anything except snowflakes and afterimages. Had no idea what was happening. But there was something about that voice. Like a crossword clue you always were on the brink of solving, I felt I should have recognized it.
Then Caspian grabbed my hand and strode off toward the building, dragging me along behind him as you might a recalcitrant child. Which was fair enough, since I didn’t wanna go to the fancy charity event.
Even my lovely coat couldn’t hide how I rumpled I was. And I felt horribly out of place in that gleaming white gallery, among the beautifully dressed visitors. Someone shoved a guidebook in my direction, but the caterer with the tray of champagne actively turned away—clearly, he didn’t want to waste the good stuff on me.
A few people greeted Caspian as he cut a swathe through the crowd. He stopped only long enough to acknowledge them before sweeping on, me still bobbing in his wake like a rubber duck after a frigate. A couple of minutes later, he was bearing down on one of the gallery assistants. At least, I assumed that was her role here, since she was wearing a classic little black cocktail dress and had the sleek, self-satisfied air of someone who could afford to do a notoriously underpaid job. Something I was sensitive to because I was probably headed that way myself.
Some of her complacency fled at the sight of Caspian. “Can I help you, Mr. Hart?”
“Yes, Lenora. I’ll take it all.”
“All the…all the pieces?”
“Everything.” He reached into his inside pocket, produced a business card, and pressed it into her limp hand. “Contact my office. Bellerose will handle the details. Oh and”—a minuscule pause—“please apologize to my mother. I’m afraid I can’t stay.”
And then we were off again, Caspian in full stride and me at full scamper: back through the gallery and the people and the electric maze of cameras and, finally, into the waiting limo. Which immediately pulled away.
“What…just happened?” I asked, collapsing breathlessly onto the seat.
Caspian settle
d next to me, graceful and composed as ever. “You were concerned that my desire to spend the evening with you would have negative consequences for the hypothetical beneficiaries of the event. I have resolved the situation.”
“But you ruined the party.”
“Arden”—he gave me one of his coldest looks—“most likely there are people present who care more about the party than the charity, but they are beyond my consideration. And should be beyond yours.”
“I guess.” I couldn’t figure out was going on in my feels. I think I was comprehensively overwhelmed. And Caspian seemed so far away—literally and figuratively—that I might as well have been back in Boston. I screwed my courage to wherever it was courage got screwed and clambered awkwardly back into his lap.
Caspian drew in a sharp breath but didn’t dump me onto the floor or anything, so I counted it a win. He tilted his head slightly to meet my gaze. “Does this mean you’ll spend the evening with me?”
“Did you even like the art?”
“I didn’t look at it. I’m sure it’s very nice.”
“Caspian!”
“What?”
“You can’t do things like this.”
His lips twitched into the faintest suggestion of a smile. “That is demonstrably untrue.”
“Gah. You know what I mean. You shouldn’t.”
“Will you,” he said, slowly and softly and full of delicious menace, “spend this evening with me?”
I wriggled happily. “You know the answer is yes. But you have to promise me this won’t happen again.”
“Since you won’t let me lie to you, I can’t make that promise.” I was going to protest again but he put his fingers gently across my lips. “I would do far more than buy some art for you, my Arden.”
“But now,” I pointed out irrefutably, “you own some art.”
“My mother has an excellent eye. Most likely, the pieces will only increase in value. In ten years or so, I can hold another auction.”
Tucking my head against his shoulder, I let myself breathe. The sweet, dark scent of Caspian’s cologne wrapped itself around me, as familiar as his touch. “I still can’t believe you did that,” I muttered. “Just to spend an evening with me.”
“I’m a very selfish man.”
“Hey, you’ve done a really good thing for what someone referred to as hypothetical beneficiaries.” I smirked into his jacket.
Caspian’s fingers moved lightly through my hair, sending shivers all the way down my spine. “Dear me. What pompous friends you have.”
“I”—eeeeep—“I hope he’s a bit more than a friend.”
“I’m sure he’s quite taken with you.”
Oh wow. Carve that out of stars and write it across the sky. I sat up again, regarding him gravely. “Yes. I truly believe he holds me in moderate esteem.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Caspian put a hand across his face and burst out laughing. And, oh God, it was beautiful—that pure, bright sound, rare as an English spring, and the flashes of his mirth-struck mouth, half hidden behind his fingers. It made me want to kiss him. Dip my tongue into his laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment or two, blinking the glitter of moisture from his lashes. “I more than moderately esteem you.”
“You mean you deeply esteem me?”
“I more than esteem you to any measure.”
“Gosh.” I clasped my hands to my palpitating breast. “Can it be that you…regard me?”
“Come here, you wretched monkey. I treasure you.”
He kissed me, long and sweet and thorough. And, by the time he was done, I was blissfully melted.
He nudged his nose against mine. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“Um, what are the options?” It was, honestly, dizzying. Caspian’s time was so insanely valuable and here he was just pouring it into my lap, as if was as abundant as Inca gold.
“Anything you want. Do you have a favorite restaurant in London? Or is there somewhere you want to go? Paris? I understand people find Paris very romantic. I could have the helicopter readied within the hour.”
That sounded…well, like something that happened to people who weren’t me. And not necessarily in the “would if only I could” sense. “You know,” I said, awkwardly, “I think I’d rather go home, have a long hot bath, order pizza, and maybe watch a movie.”
“Oh God.” Caspian drew his fingertips down my cheek. “What am I saying? You’ve barely got back. Of course you need time to rest.” He switched on the intercom, directed the driver to take us to One Hyde Park, and settled me comfortably against his side.
Although I was starting to worry he’d missed the point.
Missed the point in a significantly major way.
“With you,” I said quickly. “I want to do all that stuff with you.”
He looked genuinely startled. “You’d prefer me to stay?”
“Hell yes. I’m especially hoping you’ll come in the bath with me.”
He went little pink at that—but appeared no less confused. “If this is really how you’d like to spend the evening, then…certainly.”
“You ridiculous man.” I shoved my hand in his and he let me, folding his fingers tightly around mine. “I can’t imagine anything I’d like more.”
Chapter 20
Getting Caspian in the bath proved weirdly difficult. He didn’t exactly refuse, so much as made about a million excuses and then got very busy around the apartment. Which, incidentally, was exactly as I’d left it: pristine, gleaming, this space preserved in amber by a ruthless designer and a dedicated cleaning team.
The bath, though, the bath was fucking amazing. I’d only used the shower before, partially for convenience, but mainly because the bath was so ludicrously vast I was afraid of feeling lonely in it. Or, y’know, drowning. And being found the next morning—all soggy and blue and floating upside-down, like a baby octopus in a bowl of udon soup—by someone who did not need that in their life.
“You’re missing all the bubbles,” I called out.
Caspian finally appeared in the doorway and I did my best to look tempting, rather than just, well, wet. It semi-worked because he came over, crouched down and…brushed some foam off my nose.
Sigh. Sexy really did run the other way when it saw me coming, didn’t it?
Or maybe it all naturally flowed toward Caspian. Who was looking…teeth-achingly hot, right then, with his jacket off, and his shirt clinging to his arms, the tips of his hair already curling in the steam.
I peered at him hopefully. “Are you coming in?”
“I’m perfectly happy to wait. You’ll be more comfortable on your own.”
“No, I won’t. I’m actively less comfortable, in fact, because this bath is way too big for me.”
Caspian was still…hmm. In anyone else I would have called it dithering.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Don’t you want to?”
“It’s not that.” He wove his hands together in front of him—a gesture I was beginning to recognize as the trick it was. Stillness imposed on restlessness. “It’s just not something I’ve done before.”
Not even with Nathaniel? God, don’t be smug, Arden.
“And so,” he went on, “I suppose I’m somewhat uncertain.”
I offered my most winning smile. “Nothing to it. Clothes off. Hop in. Lesbians do it all the time.”
“Lesbians get in the bath with you?”
“No. With each other. On TV anyway. I don’t know what they do in real life. Probably fuck?”
Caspian was looking at me in obvious bewilderment. I guess I had kind of gone astray.
“You don’t have to,” I told him quickly, remembering all too vividly the last time I’d pushed him too hard. I really thought he was going to say no. And I told myself it didn’t matter.
But then he stood and started taking his clothes off. And, holy shit, I was rapt. Obviously I’d seen him naked and removing garments befo
re, but I’d always been distracted. Or more naked myself. But now I got to sit there among my bubbles and watch…watch…watch.
He made no attempt to be even remotely seductive, except I was seduced regardless—he was just so beautiful, baring his skin for me without ceremony. His watch and cufflinks he left by the sink. His clothes he draped over the closed lid of the toilet.
It should have been so banal. But the steam from my bath curled around his hips. Licked at his throat. Left silver curlicues in his pubic hair. And I felt I was beholding something from a pre-Raphaelite painting. One of the racier ones. Echo peeping at Narcissus, as he lingered starkers in some verdant glen. If, that is, Narcissus had been comprehensively fucking unbothered by his own spectacular gorgeousness.
And then Caspian Hart was in the bath with me.
Caspian Hart was in the bath with me!
Hunched at one end, his arms folded tightly around his knees. “Now what?”
“We…relax? Blow bubbles. Splash about playfully. Wash each other in sexy ways.”
He stared.
“How about we start with the relaxing and work up?”
“What do you propose? His tone suggested he was expecting a full market analysis and five years of projected figures.
But I guess he was just…unsettled.
I slinked toward him through the water—not quite crawling because then I would probably have gone under and that would not have been at all attractive. “How about you lie back and I go between your legs.”
“You go where?”
“I said, spread your legs, Mr. Hart.”
He made a wary noise but obliged. The bubbles shifted on the surface of the water, offering me hazy glimpses of his upper thighs. And, um, other exciting regions. I twisted round before he could catch me ogling and carefully reversed my arse into the space he’d made for me.
Um. No. Wow. Turned out, that was super uncomfortable. I jiggled left and right, then up and down, trying to make it work. Caspian’s knees bobbed around like discombobulated sharks.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“Um, can you lean against the side of the bath? Then I can lean against you?”