by Zoe Chant
With a groan he sank into her wet heat. She was all around him, engulfing him, wrapping her arms around his back. United, they moved together, the urgency building between them and threatening to spill over. With each thrust her hips rose to meet his; she was just as lost as he was.
Her nails dug into his back when she came, arching hard and squeezing him so tight he practically saw stars. Her body quivered beneath him. He thrust again, and heard her whimper; that was it for him. His hips jerked as he hilted himself in her and came in a warm rush of perfect pleasure.
He lay behind her and pulled her close against him, whispering soft reassurances into her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you. I love you.”
Violet tucked her hand into his as he wrapped himself around her. Her short, curvy frame was dwarfed by his larger one; the sight of her tucked up against him ignited a protective instinct he didn’t know he had in him. He thought he heard her whisper a response before they both fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
Violet
Violet fingered the earring threaded through her ear. Normally she didn’t wear a lot of jewelry—at least not since she’d sold everything non-necessary in order to pay the bills. But she was accompanying Bruce to a charity dinner tonight, and for the first time in a long time she got to pamper herself a little and dress up—with a little help from Bruce’s personal shopper. She had been surprised to find he had one at all, until he explained how little he cared about fancy clothes despite his job, and then it made perfect sense.
The dangly gold earrings were just the tip of the iceberg. Her hair had been curled and pulled back into an up-do that was elegant and timeless, yet simple; a few locks framed her face and brushed her shoulders. Her dress was a dainty shade of lavender, cut in an A-line dress that fell to the floor, hiding the golden slippers underneath.
Violet fingered the organza as she eyed herself in the mirror. The dress was so feminine and frankly pretty; she hadn't worn anything like it in so long. Maybe not since prom, she reflected wryly. Her life had been mired in practicality and business for a while. She almost hadn't recognized herself in the mirror.
I wonder what Bruce will think of it?
A smile played over her lips as she considered the question. Picking up the skirt, she twirled around and looked over her shoulder. The dress floated like a dream, and the light color accented her dark skin in a flattering way.
I love you, Bruce had said the night before. I won't let anything happen to you.
Violet had been on the receiving end of such promises before. Yet she believed Bruce; there was absolute sincerity in the way he looked at her. Maybe their relationship had started as a farce, but along the way it had developed into something real.
She couldn't wait to make her entrance in this dress, and watch Bruce's reaction—not to mention see him in a well-cut tux—so her apprehension came from somewhere else.
This was new territory. It was one thing to meet each other's families; it was another to attend a formal business function. Bruce had taught her the basics of dinner etiquette—how many forks she would need to use that evening, she didn't know, but she'd dutifully memorized the varieties—but she still felt out of place, a strange trespasser in the land of the rich.
But there wasn't anything else she could do, she supposed. She was as prepared as she was ever going to be.
She grabbed the clutch recommended for this dress and made her way downstairs.
Most of the house's beauty lay in its simplicity and natural feeling. Bruce's one indulgence was a grand staircase carved in dark wood at the center of the house. The first few times she'd taken it, she had done so shyly. It seemed like a staircase fit more for royalty than everyday use.
But tonight, she appreciated its effect.
Violet kept one newly manicured hand on the railing; it would be just like her to trip and ruin a moment like this, even without high heels. She padded down the staircase.
At first Bruce's back was to her; he was on the phone with someone. Then he heard her footsteps and turned.
He trailed off mid-word. For a few moments he was simply silent, staring at her with wide eyes. Violet tried to hide a smile and failed.
"I—uh—I'm going to have to call you back," he stammered to whoever it was on the other end of the line. He nearly fumbled the phone before managing to hang up.
Violet reached the bottom of the stairs and bit her lip shyly.
Bruce visibly swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Wow," he said finally. "Wow."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Very eloquent of you."
He took her hand, twining their fingers together. With his other hand he cupped her face. "Sorry I'm not Edgar Allen Poe."
"I'm not," she said mischievously. "Didn't he write a bunch of horror stories?"
"Did he? See, I don't know anything about poetry. That's the only poet I know by name." He kissed her—a slow, lingering kiss that sent a thrill from the top of her head down to the tips of her pedicured toes.
Wistfully she wished they didn't have to go out. They could stay inside, build a fire, and have an intimate dinner together. But wifely duty called. They both broke the kiss reluctantly.
She wiped a smudge off his lower lip. "I think I got something on you. Is my lipstick okay?"
"Your everything is okay. More than okay," he said fervently. "I was joking about not being a poet, but you look incredible. Gorgeous. Amazing."
"Sounds like you can be pretty eloquent, with the right motivation," she teased. "You don't look so bad yourself." And he didn't; the tux was tailored to fit him perfectly and framed his broad shoulders so well she wanted to run her hands over them.
He tugged at his cuffs in a clear gesture of discomfort. "I always feel like a pig in a costume at these things," he confessed. "As if one day they're going to figure out I'm some kind of fraud and that I don't really belong there with them."
The sentiment expressed her own feelings so perfectly she was stunned for a second. Then her face softened into a smile. "That's just how I was feeling upstairs. You know, it sounds weird, but knowing you feel the same way makes me feel a bit better."
Bruce squeezed her hand, reassuring her or him or the both of them. "We'll have each other to lean on. I'm glad I have you."
They were almost late for the charity dinner-cum-ball, but neither of them minded. Despite her anxieties, Violet found it easier than she had expected to mingle and make small talk with the other guests. Drinks, the best social lubricant, came first, and would be followed by dinner and dancing.
Wanda was there, too, which helped immensely. She looked just as dolled-up as Violet in a turquoise empire dress with orange accents. Violet grabbed her as soon as she saw her.
"I'm so glad someone I know is here," said Violet in a low undertone when they had a moment alone.
Wanda shot her a wry look, one finger still tapping away at her phone even though she wasn't looking at it. She was a woman of many talents. "I know just what you mean."
"You don’t have fun at these things? God, if this was part of my job …" She couldn't imagine getting dressed up like a princess and rubbing elbows with the rich all the time.
"You have a hot date and no work responsibilities," Wanda pointed out. "I've set up two meetings and have to feel out a potential investor tonight."
"Fair enough. I guess if this were my job, I might get tired of it fast." Privately, Violet couldn't imagine that happening.
"It's not all grinding for work." Wanda flashed a mischievous smile. "See the hot bartender?"
"I see the young bartender."
"We chatted a bit earlier. He's bartending to put himself through grad school. And he keeps looking at me," she said in a sing-song voice. "I think this night is going to end very nicely."
They were still giggling when Bruce returned with three glasses. "Champagne for my favorite ladies," he said gallantly. "Do I want to know what's so funny?"
They traded looks. A giggle
squeaked out of Violet despite her efforts. "Probably not."
Bruce took her to meet several of his business acquaintances, all of whom seemed to eye her with some curiosity. She supposed she couldn't blame them; Bruce had been single for a long time, and then she had blazed into his life like a whirlwind—or so it appeared to everyone else—but it was still discomfiting.
"Miranda Cho, this is my wife Violet. Violet, Miranda is a Vice-President for Stockard Manufacturing. They make a lot of the parts used in our designs."
They traded pleasantries for a few minutes. Violet cast about for something to say so she wouldn't seem totally clueless. She had read an article recently that discussed how most American factory jobs had been sent overseas. "So does your company outsource your labor?" she hazarded.
Judging by the way Bruce choked on his drink, it was the wrong thing to say. I've said something horribly embarrassing, Violet thought in a panic.
But instead of becoming offended, Miranda's demeanor changed from reserved politeness to amusement. "You don't beat around the bush. I didn't think you were the trophy-wife type, Bruce, and I'm glad I was right. To answer your question, no, we don't outsource. We're employee-owned, in fact, and all of our materials and labor are American right down to the bone. It was one of Bruce's conditions of working with us when he first began."
"That's good to hear," Violet said faintly, over the sound of blood rushing in her ears.
Though she was smiling, Miranda patted her on the arm, not without sympathy. "These parties aren't my favorite thing, but I think I like you, Violet. If you need anything, please let me know."
Sure thing, Violet thought as Miranda whisked herself away to parts unknown.
"I hope I didn't mess up any business deals for you," said Violet when she was sure she could speak again.
Bruce choked back a laugh. "Actually, I think that's the friendliest I've ever seen her. How about we take a break from socializing? Would you like to dance?"
The dance floor was lit and beginning to amass a population. Music had begun playing in the background: soft classical, perfect for a gentle, elegant dance like the waltz. Trouble was, Violet had no idea how to waltz.
"Don't worry," said Bruce. "Just follow me."
It turned out a basic box step wasn't too complicated. And it didn't hurt that Bruce was the perfect partner: gentle, patient, and endlessly forgiving of any missteps. Soon they were whirling around the ballroom with the other couples with, Violet thought, just as much grace.
Their dance inscribed a wide arc across the floor, but all of their attention was focused on each other. Their clasped hands and his hand on her waist created a space between them like an intimate, magical world that was all their own.
Bruce knew perfectly how to lead her with just the press of a hand or the angle of his body. When he intended for her to twirl, she knew it, and laughed with a spontaneous joy at the pleasure of it. And when she returned to him, he claimed her with a kiss—it was nothing improper, just a brief brush of the lips, but she relished the romance and possessiveness of the gesture.
When they broke apart, she leaned into his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.
"I love you, too," he murmured, his hand tightening on her. "God, I can't even tell you how much."
The dance ended, and Violet's eyes wandered around the hall. Her gaze snagged on a dark figure at the perimeter—one of the caterers, judging by the uniform he was wearing. Their gazes met, his intense and almost—angry? Violet felt boggled. But then the emotion disappeared from his face, and she thought she must have imagined it. She shook her head to clear it.
"Is something wrong?" Bruce asked.
"Nothing." But Violet couldn't shake the unsettled feeling in her gut. "There was just a guy staring at me."
He chuckled. "I can't blame him. You're a vision."
She frowned. "No, it was more like … I don't know how to describe it. Maybe I was imagining it."
"What does he look like?" Bruce glanced back over his shoulder at where she had been looking.
Violet scanned the area where she had seen him; he had disappeared. "He's gone now. See, I thought it was nothing." She had to laugh at herself.
Bruce shot her a quick smile. "Well, if he turns up again, I promise to scare him away." He gestured to where the tables had been set up, where people were beginning to congregate. "I think it's time for dinner to start."
Thankfully, they had been seated with Wanda and Miranda, among a few others whose names Violet couldn't remember but easily made polite small talk with. It was a full five-course meal in French cuisine. She kept an eye out for the strange catering lurker, but didn't see him again, and the knot of tension in her belly gradually eased until she had dismissed him entirely.
The main course was halibut en papillote with asparagus and lemon, paired with a crisp sauvignon blanc. Everyone cut the parchment packets open at the table, and there was a collective deep breath and sigh as the aromatic steam billowed out.
Even though it seemed more complicated than a typical weeknight dinner, Violet thought it was one of the best meals she'd ever had and wondered if Bruce might show her how to cook it. The fish was dense and tasted clean and mild, and the asparagus were tender-crisp and garlicky.
Halfway through the meal, Violet was already feeling full. The sensation conspired with the warm atmosphere to make her suddenly a little tired. How do people make it all the way through these things, she wondered. She felt like she might need a nap before tackling dessert.
She touched Bruce gently on the arm. "I'll be back in a moment."
"I'll come with you," offered Wanda. "We can powder our noses."
In the luxurious, oversized, gilt bathroom—excuse her, it was probably called a water closet or something—Violet splashed cool water on her face while trying not to let it ruin her makeup. It helped.
At the sink, she could feel Wanda watching her. Violet mentally brace herself for questions about her relationship with Bruce and friendly concern before asking, "What is it?"
"What?" But Wanda started guiltily.
"Come on, spit it out already."
Her friend still hesitated before saying, "Has Bruce … talked to you?"
"Talked to me?" Violet was bewildered and caught off-guard. "About what?"
Wanda's mouth set in a grimace. "Never mind. You'd know if he had."
"But you know what it is … whatever it is." Violet's thoughts raced ahead of herself. Whatever Wanda was talking about, it sounded bad. Did he have grandparents who were members of the Klan? An insane wife locked in the attic? Anything she could think of seemed absurd.
As if her friend could read her mind, Wanda rushed to reassure her. "It's just something about himself. About his family. He ought to have told you." A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. "Now that you guys are getting serious, it seems like …"
Violet pushed down her initial reaction, which was defensiveness. Wanda was her friend; she had Violet's best interests at heart. No doubt she was just trying to protect her. "Why don't you tell me?"
Wanda shook her head. "It's not mine to tell." She grimaced again, this time in regret. "I'm sorry, this shouldn't ruin your night. Just … get him to talk to you later. Promise?"
Violet was mystified, but she agreed. "Give me a couple extra minutes here. Go back to dinner."
She replaced a few stray hairs that had come loose and inspected her makeup. She didn't have raccoon eyes, which was good; she had a bad habit of sometimes rubbing her eyes without thinking. She tried to think of whatever Bruce should have told her, but couldn't come up with anything.
I guess that's why they call it a secret.
It was important to Wanda, but not life-or-death, or she would have said something herself. Violet decided she was okay with that. Whatever Bruce was holding back, it would be fine. She took one more look at herself and decided to return.
Out in the hallway, one of the caterers brushed very close to her. Violet turned.
His hand on her upper arm stopped her.
"Is there something I can help you with?" The first frissons of fear began to take hold.
He glared at her. It was more than just the irritation of a bumped stranger; she felt with a dark, deep dread that he hated her. Even though he didn't know her.
"Yeah," he said. "You can come with me."
Violet opened her mouth to say something, something that would make people come running, but as soon as she did he covered her mouth with a damp cloth.
She gasped, and inhaled a sweet, pungent smell. There was something on the rag, she thought dimly. She tried to gather her wits to shout, to struggle, but fear made her breathing faster and dulled her mind. Wooziness set in, followed by blackness.
Chapter Ten
Bruce
It had been several minutes since Violet had gone to the bathroom. Bruce knew it was pathetic, but he missed her already. Normally he hated these things, so full of pomp and politics, but her presence had made it bearable. In fact, he'd almost been enjoying himself all evening. Now a nameless dread had crept into him. Was it the mate bond, or just his overactive imagination?
He leaned over to murmur in his assistant's ear. "Shouldn’t she be back by now?"
Wanda cast a glance in the direction of the bathroom. "She was right behind me," she said doubtfully. "Maybe something happened. I'll go check on her."
She returned a few minutes later, laying a hand on his shoulder and looking decidedly more concerned. Though she spoke quietly, he heard the thread of worry lacing her voice. "She's not there, and I didn't see her anywhere. I also tried calling her. She didn't pick up."
He pushed back his chair. He was much more concerned about Violet than what some la-di-dah society ladies would think of him.
"We'll find her," he said, not sure if he was reassuring her or himself.