To Play or Not To Play

by Emily Bow

  “Too bad you don’t get to go,” Peppa said, and it wasn’t said in the tone of a dig.

  I couldn’t even choke out the words to ask if I could. I wanted to. I wanted that photo for my parents’ mantle.

  Peppa shrugged one shoulder, a too-casual move that didn’t suit her personality. “And about the ball…”

  “I didn’t even want to go to the ball.” Pride put my words right out there to head off the dig she was probably building up to.

  Peppa brightened. “Well, then. Good luck with the rest of everything.” She walked off and didn’t look back.

  Super odd. I didn’t know what she wanted, but it hadn’t been to congratulate me. I headed back to my room. I had to prepare.

  Chapter 22

  I stood on the steps leading to the Downing Street gardens and saw the whole place in a different light. This was an old historic government building, yes, but its gardens were decorated with twinkle lights, and that gave the place a unique beauty. The air smelled of roses and perfume instead of tension and paperwork. The guests wore tuxedos and gowns instead of business suits.

  And here I was, no longer an intern. I was dressed in the beautiful borrowed gown, and I was at a ball. Music beckoned from a twelve-piece orchestra set up on a wooden stage in front of the tablecloth-covered tables. It was a fairytale.

  And I stood there on the steps.

  Alone.

  Dateless.

  This was no dream. And now being here felt less like defiance and more a path to loneliness. Did I truly believe Wythe was here with Peppa? No. Not for a second. He’d been texting me all day. But he hadn’t asked me to the ball in the texts. So I’d ignored his messages. He hadn’t gone that extra mile. Set that trash can on fire. Done what had to be done to get my attention. He’d done what was expected.

  I turned to leave, and the blue silk of my gown swished around my legs.

  “Kira.” Wythe’s voice was deep. “There you are.”

  I turned.

  Wythe stood to my right. Black tuxedo fitted to his sculpted body. Hair tamed. Eyes wild. He held out his hand. “Be my date.”

  Everything faded into the background, the guests, the circulating waiters. There was just cello music in my ears and the twinkle lights highlighting him. My heart thumped a ridiculous rhythm though I knew it was wrong to be so pleased at the sight of him. He was so…so…

  Stop. He was here with another date. “You’re here with Peppa.” The words came out like I felt them, like an accusation. He didn’t like Peppa; I wasn’t confused about that. I was confused at the reality of this situation, though. He was not here with me, despite the fact that he was holding out his hand to me. Was it because I was convenient? I’d found my own way in, so now I was someone different than I’d been two days ago.

  He dropped his hand but stayed close. “Of course not.” He denied being with Peppa, but I knew he was here with her. Was he reimagining his reality with me? Like those guys who acted like they didn’t have girlfriends when they did so that they could keep their options open. Ew. I’d thought so much more of him. I hated that he made me question what I knew.

  A circulating waiter paused to offer me pale, fizzy champagne. I refused.

  Wythe took a glass and a sip. “What kept you too busy to come see me?” His gaze swept over me from my up-do to my uncomfortable but pretty sparkling high heels. “You look stunning.”

  So did he. Confused pleasure flitted through me with a touch of anger. I waited for the waiter to move on before I launched back in. “You asked Peppa to the ball.”

  “I asked you.” He shook his head and looked at me like I was a little crazy.

  “I would have remembered that.” My tone was dry, and I kept my insides in line, though they were going crazy with his words.

  “Peppa didn’t talk to you?”

  “No. She came to talk to me after the meeting this morning, but she didn’t say anything about any of this.”

  He frowned.

  Was that what he was talking about? “You know, the meeting where all the top interns were praised and led outside for the intern photo while I sat and watched them go?”

  He put his glass down on the stone landing, his shoulders tense. “I texted Peppa from Westminster Abbey saying we wouldn’t make the play. But that you should still get your final intern point for helping me with the class. That was going to be a good surprise for you. I thought you’d come see me after the photo. You didn’t.”

  What? I shook my head. Just what?

  “I told my mother to put Peppa’s name down to shut her up. But it gave me the idea to invite her for real. A bribe to ensure your name would be on the list, too.” He was frowning, and his chest rose and fell under the tuxedo jacket. “I went to tell you myself, but you were out with Georgiana. Peppa said she would sort it.” He looked at me like I should know this. “Peppa said you’d be here. You’re here.”

  “Georgiana got me in.” My voice had weakened. I shut my eyes. It had hurt knowing the photoshoot for top interns was going on in the garden and I wouldn’t be there. It had hurt, but I’d accepted it. My chest rose and fell as I let out a deep exhalation. It was upsetting to know I should have been there. That my work on the class could be recognized as Household duties. That hurt was countered by the thought that he’d tried. And he’d wanted me here at the ball.

  “I take it Peppa’s not as good at sorting things as we thought.” His voice was tight. “I’ll ensure we put someone else in charge of these things in the future.” He rubbed his jaw, and his words softened. “I know I gave you a tough time about how badly you wanted the internship points. But I want you to know I understand. Finishing the internship affects your job prospects.”

  Heat flushed my chest, and I was glad he appeared willing to listen to me. “It’s more than that. My parents were in these internships when they were my age, so having my sister and I do the same…and then putting our photos beside theirs on the mantle would have been…” I shrugged. “I don’t know, honoring a family tradition.”

  “You really weren’t in the photo today?”

  “A misunderstanding, I suppose.” I wasn’t going to get angry with Peppa now and give that anger control of my evening. Peppa had played some game, being evasive with the truth, but I wouldn’t let her in my thoughts anymore tonight. Because with his words, my outrage was morphing into something I hadn’t expected to feel tonight—joy. Peppa’s manipulations hadn’t defeated me. I’d shown up at the ball for my own sake rather than running home. There was a lesson in there, but I couldn’t name it, not now, not here with the white lights bouncing off the shoulders of his tuxedo jacket and him looking at me with such appreciation. Not with these happy emotions bubbling through me like the champagne in his glass. I held out my hand to Wythe. “I will be your date tonight.”

  An older couple came down the steps near us, and they stopped to greet Wythe. After we said pleasantries, the couple moved on.

  Wythe tugged my hand and led me around the tables, down a path, to a more private bench. I could hear the chatter of the party, the laughter, the music, but I could no longer see it. The bench was cold, and I faced him while rubbing my arms.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” Wythe looked away and then back at me. “We got news yesterday.” He kept his voice low, which matched the shadows of this back area. “Those drills weren’t drills.”

  My breathing stopped.

  Wythe held his palms up. “You were so worried that first time in the bunker. I thought you’d leave. I thought you were safer at Downing Street with me. And, selfishly, I wanted you with me. I can tell you the truth now because arrests were made yesterday. The threat, that threat anyway, is over.”

  That explained a lot about this summer. Fear and relief hit me, punching me with back-to-back hard emotions. As furious as I wanted to be, it also put everything in perspective. He had been at risk. I wanted to hash out everything we hadn’t talked out. But perspective didn’t allow that. I let ev
ery small hurt go. This wasn’t a stiff upper lip thing or some other British reaction on my part. I had no room in me for petty thoughts, not with him here, safe, and close. I reached for his hands in the cool night air. His fingers were warm against my cold ones. I shivered.

  He put his right arm around me, drawing me along the bench, nearer to him. “I’m forgiven?”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  He kissed the side of my head and tightened his other hand over both of mine and rested them against his leg. “The intern photo. I can…”

  I shook my head. “It’s okay. My twin will lord it over me, because she’ll have her picture up there with my parents. Just one more symbol of her coming in first. But you know…” My voice eased, and my posture eased as I spoke. I relaxed against him. “I’ll look at them and remember this night, the fairy lights, the champagne, and you…and I’ll smile.”

  He traced his fingertips over my cheek. Then he rose from the bench and pulled me up beside him. “You’re not my intern anymore.” He held out his arms by his side, as if in an invitation to hug him.

  I moved in close and slid my arms around his neck. “You hating that?”

  “I’m loving that.”

  There was nothing more to say. There was just a need to be close to him.

  We were at the ball but secluded from the other guests. It was only us. The music rose through the hedges, and we danced there in the private dark. Being held by Wythe was an exquisite torture. Close, but not close enough. Near enough to feel the electricity but not near enough to press into it, to make it combust, not without messing up the steps of the dance. Whoever had invented slow close dancing was a cruel but brilliant master of anticipation.

  I didn’t want to rejoin the party. I wanted to be with him. I leaned against him but looked him in the eyes. “There’s one rule I never broke that I really wanted to break.” Okay, we’d broken it multiple times, but I wanted to break it more. Tonight, I wanted to smash it.

  “Yeah?”

  Excitement mixed with a touch of fear flitted through me. Apprehension of the unknown, sure, but that small misgiving was smothered by my real fear—the thought of missing this opportunity. Of going home without being with him. I was so sure of this decision. My certainty was like one of the crystals on my dress—solid and sparkling. “Yeah. And now that I don’t work here anymore, we’re not really breaking any rules.”

  Wythe put his hands flat on my back and my nervousness melted away. “Please tell me it’s the no-touching rule.”

  It so was. I held his hand, and we went back to the house. It wasn’t the first time we’d run down these halls together. But it was the first time we’d done it laughing, eager, and aching to get to our destination—his rooms.

  Chapter 23

  His bedroom was dark and quiet. Just a low bedside lamp showed the masculine blues of the décor, and a hint of his cologne lingered in the air. It was like looking at a glimpse of him. I turned back to Wythe as he closed the door, facing the vibrant reality of him.

  “What are the odds of security breaking in on us?”

  “Zero.”

  That put my last concern to rest. I raised to my tiptoes in the painful beautiful shoes and leaned into him, touching my mouth to his. “Good,” I murmured against his mouth. I brushed my lips over his. Once. Twice. I opened my mouth, and his tongue touched mine. Electric. I reveled in him. He tasted like champagne, and Wythe, and the forbidden summer ball. I wanted this. The wanting curled through me the way a shot of liquor curled from my lips through my body—shocking and heated.

  Kissing was wet, warm, and sexy, but it wasn’t enough. I pushed at his jacket, wanting to be closer. I wanted my hands on him, the right to do that. I slid my glance from his tie to his shined shoes. He was wearing so many clothes. “Formal wear.” The words sounded like a groan.

  He grinned at me. “Formal wear.”

  It probably would’ve been easier for him to take his clothes off if I moved back, but I stayed close, up against him like a puzzle piece. I felt secure with him, near him, and the hardness of him appeased the aching parts of me.

  He tore at his tie, and his collar loosened. I kissed his neck. Salty. Clean. Wythe.

  He sucked in a breath and dropped his tie. Then his hands returned to me, roaming over the silk of my dress, across my bare shoulders.

  Everything in me was zinging and tingling. This was exactly where I wanted to be. I wanted his hands on more of me.

  He dropped his hands to fight his cufflinks.

  I groaned.

  Wythe stilled and then he worked faster. When the silver studs fell, he released his jacket and I pressed against him. My softness to his hardness. It was a relief, but then the pressure built again. The need.

  He moved his hands behind my back. My zipper went down. But not fast. Slow. And then his fingertips traced my spine. I groaned again and wet my lips. He had slow hands. I thought he’d be fast because of his eager eyes. But he was slow. Back and forth. Up and down. Exploring me. Learning me like I was him.

  He found my neck with his mouth, his tongue, and his teeth. Warmth, grazing bites, and licks that lit up my nerve endings. It was different when he used his mouth instead of his hands, and the electricity flowed from my neck, down my back and thighs.

  It made me ache in a new, deeper, darker way.

  He pulled me to him and kissed me again.

  This time, he tasted a little more familiar but still with an edge of champagne and midnight. His kisses were a combination of the forbidden and the completely right—like nothing I’d ever tasted. The warmth of him, the heat, the hardness. I stretched up against him so I could reach the maximum amount of him with the most of me. The silk of my dress shifted and slipped to my waist with the motion.

  “Ah.”

  He moaned. “Damn. You’re gorgeous.”

  I kissed him. Teeth. Tongues. Deeper. My mind spun, and full thoughts melted to certain goal-driven words. Bed. Me. Him.

  I walked backward, and my dress pooled at my feet. I stepped free, escaping his grasp.

  Wythe groaned a different kind of groan. A needy, hungry masculine sound, but he didn’t move, he just watched me.

  I went to the edge of his bed and crooked my finger at him.

  He strode forward and put his hands on my hips, lifting me up. It was a weird thrill to take in the way his biceps bunched, the ease with which he did it. I landed on the puffy comforter, which was cool and soft under my heated skin and held a hint of his cologne. But he didn’t follow me down.

  He looked at me.

  I did the same, raising to my elbows for the best view.

  His eyes glinted, feral and intent in a whole new way. He clicked off the lamp. The room was dark, lit only with moonlight through the sheer drapes, but that was enough to heighten the moment. I could feel my breaths.

  He removed my shoes, one after the other. He slid his hands up the back of my calves. His hands were warm, large, tracing the skin behind my knees, lingering there enough to make my breath catch.

  “You’re soft,” he said. He kept tracing upward, over the blue lace of my panties, up the catch on my bra.

  He palmed my breast. One, then the other. Softly. Then a gentle pinch that made me bite my lip and hook my leg around his hip. Every new motion was better, and a torment all at the same time. A moment’s relief, followed by a new more intense ache.

  He tipped the lacy cup down. It was wonderful, and glorious. It was like I was sunbathing and the sunshine had reached all of me. His mouth was on my breast. Warm. Wet. He sucked, and I pulsed upward. It felt so good.

  He undid the closure to reach more of me, and my chest rose and fell like I’d run here from the Thames. I was too eager, and I didn’t care. I shrugged out of the bra and reached up, pulling him to me. I was all throbbing sensation.

  I widened my legs, and he landed against me where I wanted, where I ached. Only his trousers and my panties separated us. I had the thought that this was beyond what I’
d done before and that I should feel awkward or apart from it all, but I didn’t. Being with him felt right, natural.

  He cupped the side of my face with one hand and kissed me. Deep. Long. Slow. Wet. Warm. Hot. Sliding tongues. For so long that I had to turn my head to suck in a breath.

  I pulled back and shoved at his shirt.

  He traced his lips from my jaw down to my chest, planting soft kisses over, and around, everywhere but where I really wanted them. He was teasing me.

  I stifled a moan and tightened my thighs.

  He sucked in a breath. His lips were hot and warm, and he touched my nipple with his tongue. Sliding his mouth and tasting me, teeth, and a small bite. It was satisfying, but not. Like before. Each of his actions soothed me and then heightened my torment. Blood pulsed inside me, from his mouth on my breasts to everywhere inside me. Like where I wanted him. It made me sluggish, aching, and needy.

  My head dropped back against the comforter, and I closed my eyes. Too much. Not enough.

  Yes.

  He used his hands and his mouth, neglecting no part of me. “You feel so good. Taste so good.” His voice was deep and intimate. I’d never heard it like that. I only wanted to hear it like that from now on.

  I wanted to feel him, too. I got the shirt over his shoulders, trapping his arms.

  I groaned.

  Wythe sat up on his heels, shrugging free, and then pulled his undershirt over his head in one of those smooth guy gestures that ruffled his hair. He threw them to the floor. I wanted my hands to be what tousled his hair. I wanted to be the moonlight touching his toned body.

  I was greedy and needy. I put my hands on his waist and drew patterns over his six-pack, up to his shoulders, and into his hair. He reacted to everything I did, leaning into me and copying the same gestures on me. It was like teasing, like a game, but the tingles made it so hot and sexy. I tugged his hair. He tugged mine, sending sensations through my scalp.

  More.

  I wanted him closer. I slid back and patted the mattress.

  He leaned down and rubbed against me.