by Maya Rodale
Mine, she thought.
That she should feel possessive left her quite confused because this was Theodore Prescott the Worst, whom she had diligently avoided for a decade, and now she was on the verge of enragement because Cordelia was leaning against him and stroking his cheek.
And because Theo had his arm around Esmerelda. And really, those could not be their real names.
“Greasepaint,” Daisy said. “I am here to learn about greasepaint. He’s merely here for decoration. Enjoy.”
Theo watched as Daisy stalked off to Eunice, who led her to a different corner of the backstage area and introduced her to a man stationed next to a mirror. Before it, a rickety old chair. Around it, the debris of backstage.
By all appearances they seemed to be chatting amiably. One by one, they examined the contents of various jars and different brushes. And so began Daisy’s great education in the use of paints and brushes for theatrical purposes. Theo had a hankering to join them. It would be interesting to hear the conversation. Perhaps he’d even gain some insights that would help in the naming of whatever she would invent next as a result of this reconnaissance.
But no. He had been dismissed. Stay here and be pretty, she had said, in so many words. While she attended to matters of business and science and brilliance. As if he were frivolous. Ornamental. Decoration. Or present merely to provide a distraction. This was why he felt annoyance. Yes, that was exactly the feeling. Annoyance.
“Greasepaint?” Marianne asked. She lifted one brow skeptically. She glanced over at Daisy.
“Greasepaint,” Theo confirmed. What a terribly named product. Someone ought to have consulted him about that.
Daisy had explained it to him during the carriage ride to the theater. Greasepaint was an essential tool in any performer’s toolkit. Bright lights were being newly installed in various theaters and providing a strong light for the players on stage. This necessitated some visual support for the actors’ and actresses’ faces, in the form of greasepaint and other such cosmetics.
In Daisy’s opinion, it logically followed that as more and more of the world electrified and thus lit up to expose every flaw, more and more women would want a way to put their best face forward. That is where she, and her amazing new products—yet to be perfected—would come in.
Theatrical greasepaint would be an excellent starting point for her product development: what was used, how it worked, what it was made of, how it might be removed.
“Who is that with my fiancée?”
“His name is Max.”
“You don’t have to worry about them.”
Theo wasn’t worried about them. He simply wanted to be there with her. Max brought out a selection of pots and brushes and began to demonstrate the application on Daisy, covering up her exquisite complexion and doing God only knew what to the rest of her.
He wanted a closer look.
He wanted to learn it all, with her.
But no, he was supposed to stay here and look pretty and provide a distraction so she could do the real work to make their enterprise a success so she could eventually leave him. Theo was somewhat shocked to find that he did not care for that at all. Not any of it. Not the part where he did not contribute to the venture and not even the part where she eventually left him.
Theo set about disentangling himself from the actresses—as fun and lovely as they were, it was Daisy who called to him tonight with a siren song he did not make any effort to resist—and made his way toward Daisy.
She had that look about her that he loved: cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes bright with ideas and inspiration. Daisy Swan was out of place and in her element all at once. This is where he wanted to be—by her side in moments like these.
“You have this sparkle in your eyes and a flush on your cheeks that is entrancing,” he said.
“I’m so glad,” she said dryly.
Upon a second look, it became clear that appearances deceived. That flush in her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes wasn’t excitement; it was anger. It was hard to read in these dim backstage lights and with her face made up for the stage. The truth of her was concealed under all those layers of paint and color.
“Did you get what you needed?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she replied coolly without even looking at him.
Theo revised his assessment. It wasn’t just anger; it was pure molten rage. Which was ridiculous and unfair, seeing as how she had told him to stand around in the company of a bevy of beautiful women when he had wanted to be with her. It was almost as if she was jealous. Possessive. Which was ridiculous because it was Daisy. And him.
They hated each other.
Except they didn’t. Not anymore.
His heart began to pound. Things had changed. He had to acknowledge it.
“Daisy, that was just me standing there and looking pretty and generally distracting everyone from your true purpose here. It didn’t mean anything.”
“You succeeded spectacularly. You could earn good money for that if it was something people paid for.”
“Something to aspire to,” he quipped. But shit. Daisy was madder than mad and he didn’t want her to be. Because he was beginning to accept what he had suspected: that there was something between them that wasn’t just business. He wanted her to see it, too.
“Daisy, wait—” He reached out for her.
“I’m ready to go home. I have all I need here,” she told him. “It was a very illuminating evening. But you can stay. You seem . . . unfinished. Dare I even say unsatisfied?”
Theo ignored that. “Obviously, I will escort you home.”
“Obviously? What was obvious to me was that you delighted in the company of all these other women.”
“Daisy . . .”
“I suppose it can’t be helped since you are so easy on the eyes. How could a girl not fling herself at such a fine specimen of man as yourself?” She was definitely angry. But it was absurd that she be angry at him now, for his appearance.
Unless she is mad about something else . . .
Unless she cared about appearances and what other people thought, despite what she had told him. She would be embarrassed if word got out in the papers that her loathed and fake fiancé was seen cavorting with other women.
But Daisy doesn’t care what other people think.
Theo’s heart started to pound as he considered his next question, phrasing it with as much delicacy as he could muster. “Daisy, is it a remote possibility that you might be feeling angry because other women flirted with me? Are you perhaps experiencing a feeling that other people would identify as jealousy?”
“No. Yes. Perhaps.” She gave an annoyed huff. “I will certainly stay up all night festering about it and then I shall yell at you tomorrow about it.”
There was no need for her to stay up tossing and turning and trying to figure out what she was feeling. Because Theo knew. His heart pounded harder now. Faster now. Like a schoolgirl kicking up her heels, giddy, because she pulled the last petal on a daisy and it landed on “he likes me.” Good God. He didn’t even know that he could feel that way. But there it was. Heart-pounding stuff.
She liked him.
More than liked him. Enough to be caught up in the throes of jealousy. Enough to feel possessive. Theo knew that if Daisy liked him it wasn’t for the usual reasons women did—his pretty face, his last name, his family fortune, or the chance to be his bride. She was not impressed by any of those things. Yet she still liked him. The connection between them was something real and strong and palpable.
He felt it now.
He liked her back.
Theo didn’t know when or how or where it happened but at some point his feelings changed and the last girl in Manhattan that he’d ever imagined wanting was suddenly the only woman he wanted to be with.
There was only one thing to do with this fragile state of things: not wreck it.
He treaded carefully.
“Daisy, I think you might have
feelings for me.”
“What did we say about you thinking? I’m the brains in this operation and I say—”
“Shhh. Fear not. I won’t tell a soul. But look at your cheeks. You’re blushing. Let’s call that color Secret Passion Pink.”
“Save that for later. I am too furious with you right now. If my cheeks are pink, it is because I am hot with rage. Or the multiple shades of powder that Max applied. I’m definitely too angry to decide.”
He couldn’t tell real blush from fake but he was beginning to know her. Theo reached out for her hand and she let him take it, no resistance. That was how he knew. From his head to his heart. But how to say that to the woman he’d only ever sparred with or spoke to about matters of business?
It was hard for Theo to talk about these feelings, this turn of emotional events that he really ought to have seen coming. And it was hard for her, too. This was uncharted territory for them both. And so much was at stake now. That was either a reason to evade and escape . . . or a reason to delicately confront it. Theo chose the path that scared him more.
“Daisy, I think you might be furious because I hurt you tonight. Unintentionally, but still. You could only hurt if you cared. You could only be jealous if you wanted me for yourself.”
“Did they teach you this at Harvard?”
“Drop your guard, Daisy. It’s me.”
“Exactly. It’s you. And it’s me. We are longtime enemies.”
“We’re not two children at odds anymore. We’re not even two people faking an engagement. I don’t know what we are.”
“We’re business partners,” she replied flatly.
“What if we want to be more?” he dared to ask.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Let’s test it, shall we? For science?” He quirked one brow. Cool as you please. Even though his heart was thundering in his chest.
Daisy kept him on tenterhooks for a moment before she gave a sigh and said, “Well, for science.”
They both knew science had nothing to do with it.
Theo tugged her close to him and she took one, two halting steps into his arms. Darkness and shadows surrounded them and the sound of everyone chattering backstage was now a distant din. He felt her skirts, her breasts, her arms brush against him. Though he’d had women touching him all night, this was the first time all evening he’d been aroused.
Theo pressed a kiss on her neck. Where he knew she liked it.
She turned her head, her mouth finding his.
This was not the first time he had kissed a girl backstage, after hours, but it was the first time that it meant something. It was the first time his heart and soul were in it. The first time he had something to lose. The first time he was scared and excited all at once.
They were rushing headlong toward the point of no return. The point at which they might as well just marry. Then he pulled back, gave her a devilish smile, and asked, “Or do you just want me to stand here and look pretty?”
It so happened that Daisy did not want him to stand there and look pretty. Not at all. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and ravish her in the most base, elemental way. There was no denying it: she had been feeling jealous. Possessive. Hot with equal parts anger and desire.
She had been watching him all night out of the corner of her eye and so she saw the way the actresses draped their bodies over his, the way they touched his arm flirtatiously, or gave him smiles full of wicked promises. She saw how he didn’t move or return their affections. It gave her hope. It made her think maybe. And that somehow made it feel worse.
It took every inch of her self-control not to fling her notebook aside, stomp over, and demonstrate that he was hers. But that would have consequences. Life-altering consequences.
It was truly terrifying to think of how close she came to doing just that.
Jealousy. Oh, yes, she felt it, a hot storm stealing over her.
Daisy thought by now it was a feeling she had long grown out of and cast aside because she had accepted certain things about the way the world worked. Girls like Daisy did not have a chance with boys like Theo. So there was no point in getting all emotional about any of it.
Except she did seem to have a chance with Theo—a man who encouraged her, challenged her, helped her, and pleasured her. By some strange twist of fate and circumstances, she did. More than a chance, even. And the threat of losing her chance made her jealous. Possessive.
For the first time she was a woman with something to lose.
Her heart. Her composure. Her innocence.
In the dark dinginess of the backstage, Daisy felt things she’d never really felt before: craving, wanting, liking, arousal, all of which made her feel like she could take the risk of a lifetime and win.
Theo’s hands skimmed slowly over her. Her breasts. Her hips. Her belly.
Her breath hitched.
Then, she dared. He had gotten to explore her in the carriage that day. But tonight she was going to take her turn to know him, to claim him. She spread her palms across the taut muscles of his chest. Mine.
Theo had a lean, lanky frame but it was a mistake to think of him as skinny. That was muscle she felt—hard, firm, and strong. His arms. His chest. His flat abdomen. She splayed her fingers along the waistband of his trousers, nervous but desirous.
They were backstage, for Lord’s sake.
There were people just over there.
Apparently, none of that mattered. It was dark and they were here, together. Theo claimed her mouth for a kiss and tugged her against him. She could feel how hard he was for her and that soothed her vanity and stoked her desire.
There was also the undeniable fact that he had his choice of beautiful women here and now, yet she was the one in his arms. The one who had made him so hard.
There was also the fact that they had gotten good at kissing.
Really good.
Overwhelmingly good.
So good that there was a mass exodus of sensible thoughts from her brain. If this went further it would be harder—perhaps impossible—to break their engagement. Something to consider . . . later.
She never really thought of marriage at all—not to him, or any man. Why start now?
Theo kissed her back. She had some thought of her lipstick having long worn off and perhaps she could invent one that would last and last and last but . . .
Later. She would think about that later.
And that was how it happened. This man who had discovered through trial and error how to please her kissed all thoughts from her head. She practically waved them goodbye, except her hands were busy feeling him. Holding him hot and hard against her. The fine materials of his suit jacket and shirt. His heated skin underneath.
This. Felt. So. Good.
“We can’t stay here,” she murmured. “We might be discovered.”
“That would be terrible,” he murmured his agreement. “Someone might see how much I want you. I know you can feel it.”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Someone might see the way I am overcome with passion for you.”
“Yes,” she sighed. He turned their bodies so her back was up against the wall. His hands boxed her in. His arousal was pressing against the vee of her thighs and she silently cursed all the layers between them.
“So much so that I am on the verge of taking you, backstage. Not very gentlemanly of me.”
“Yes. No. Perhaps.” She was mumbling. She didn’t know what she was saying. He was kissing that exquisitely sensitive part of her neck and nothing else mattered.
“Not very ladylike of you.”
“Not in the slightest.”
Good God, it felt good to not be very ladylike. Why had no one ever told her?
“Anyone could see us being so . . . intimate,” he continued, his voice a low devastating hum vibrating across her skin. “They could see you and me. Together.”
She sank against him and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter
Twenty
It seems that Mrs. Swan is already thinking ahead to the honeymoon. She has purchased first-class tickets on one of the premier ships for the couple to sail to Europe.
—The New York Post
After midnight
854 Fifth Avenue
There were few precious places where a young couple in lust might steal away for a few hours to ruin themselves for all others without ruining their reputations in the process. It was quickly decided, between a rush of frantic kisses, that they would endeavor to sneak into her bedroom.
In the history of the world, Theo would not be the first romantic hero to sneak into a woman’s bedroom.
Given the circumstances, her mother would probably be delighted to catch them.
The carriage ride was brief. The time was passed with kisses.
The whole journey was fraught with significance.
Daisy was going to make love to her longtime enemy tonight. Except he didn’t feel like her enemy anymore.
Theo was then—and now—the man who had hurt her the most and who could hurt her irreparably. She knew this. Any woman of sense knew the risk that Daisy was about to take and yet it seemed that cloistering her heart and soul and body away for all time simply wasn’t an option. She had no illusions that this would change their plans to not marry.
She was always going to remain unwed. That had been her plan and she was so close to reaching On the Shelf status and, with it, her freedom. Thanks to their business, she would be assured her independence. It was everything she ever wanted.
But she also wanted the experience that tonight promised to be. The shiver up and down her spine, merely from the anticipation of his bare skin touching hers. The relentless rush of blood coursing through her veins as her heart pounded, imagining what would soon transpire. This feeling of the warmth of his mouth upon hers.
For better or for worse, Daisy desired him. She liked him. And she trusted him.
As if the gods and goddesses were smiling on them, it was mercifully easy to steal into the Swan residence and up to her bedroom undetected.