Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “Are all of these…?”

  “Roses,” he supplied. “Yes. Different species but they are all roses.”

  “I’ve never seen so many different types.”

  “This is just a small sampling. There are over a hundred species, many more if you consider hybrids.”

  “So there’s more to them than ‘roses are red’?”

  “Oh yes. And there’s one for practically every occasion.”

  “Well, they are very beautiful, Elah; the whole garden is. The person who maintains it does an amazing job.”

  He flushed at the compliment she’d unwittingly delivered. She had no way of knowing that he largely maintained the garden himself, but her words were still pleasing.

  “I do most of the work myself,” he said, trying to be as matter-of-fact as possible.

  Surprise lifted her brow and she smiled.

  “It’s awesome, Elah. But I have to say”—her eyes sparkled—“I wouldn’t have taken you for a secret gardener.”

  “What did you think I did in my spare time?” he asked, voice light.

  “I hadn’t entirely decided, but I thought it was a toss-up between hit man, seal clubber, or stealer of candy from babies.”

  She smiled and her shoulders shook with laughter, her exuberance so contagious that he couldn’t help but join in.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said when they’d calmed.

  “Oh, I think gardening is vastly superior to the other options, but I’ll keep this kernel of knowledge to myself. It would definitely be detrimental to the reputation you’ve cultivated.”

  “Your discretion is much appreciated,” he said, the lightness and levity of the moment moving him. There was no trace of the awkwardness that had been there yesterday, and it felt good to spend a free, relaxed evening with Charlotte, who’d proven to be wonderful company in the short time he’d known her.

  “So how did you develop this particular hobby?”

  Weighing how much to reveal, he leaned back and studied the plant closest to them, measuring his words.

  “My father taught me,” he finally said.

  “He was a gardener?” she asked.

  “No. He was an artist.” Elah’s voice took on a wistful tone as he thought of his father and the man’s extraordinary talent. “The flowers practically spoke to him, told him what they wanted to be.”

  “And he taught you?”

  He shook his head. “His gift couldn’t be taught, but I guess I picked up a few things here and there. It was just us two, so I was always around, running deliveries, you know, helping out around the shop. I tried to keep some of my skills up after—”

  He stopped short and glanced away.

  “Your tone suggests you’re not interested in expanding on that statement,” she said, some of the sparkle leaving her voice.

  Rather than responding directly, he asked, “How about we make this a parent-free zone?”

  “Agreed,” she said and grabbed her glass.

  “You went to your charity today?” he asked a minute later, changing the subject yet again.

  “Yes, though I don’t think of it as a charity.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I just find it…minimizing. You know, look at the silly debutante and her ‘good works.’ I get it, but I take what I do seriously.”

  “You’ve given me some explanation, but what do you actually do every day?”

  “Well, to contradict myself a bit, I mostly hit people up for money.” She flashed him a quick smile. “But it’s for a purpose. My friend Isis and a couple of volunteers handle the day-to-day programing aspects.”

  “The headhunting, right?”

  “No, it’s a little more granular than that, part social work, part career counseling. We help all types of people, high school kids trying to decide whether to go to college, trade school, or straight to work; parents who are entering the workforce after a break. We even had a sixty-year-old client who wanted to get a job for the very first time after her husband passed away. The process can be daunting for anyone, but we help take the mystery out of it, walk them through what form goes where, the pros and cons of a particular path, try to help them figure out what will make them the happiest and most comfortable.”

  “Like the waiter?”

  “He’s technically a maître d’, but yeah, Aaron is the perfect example. He tried everything from auto mechanics to design, but he’s settled right where he should be.”

  “Sounds expensive and time-consuming.”

  “It can be, but it’s worth it.”

  The soft glow of happiness and satisfaction on her face proved her words.

  “Are you finished eating?” he asked a few minutes later.

  “Yes. Since you were kind enough to get dinner, I’ll take care of the dishes.”

  “Fair enough. But first, there’s a cocktail party coming up in three weeks that I’ll need you to attend.”

  The relaxed expression on her face faded, replaced with the tense pensiveness that he’d come to dislike deeply.

  “What?” he said, his voice a low growl.

  “Honestly, I thought this would be over far sooner than three weeks.”

  “It won’t be,” he said firmly. “This is permanent, Charlotte. Get used to it.”

  “Fine,” she said, the fingers of her left hand curling into a loose fist, the movement causing moonlight to bounce off her ring. She then stood and gathered the dishes.

  And in a blink of an eye, the rapport they’d been building faded, the circumstances of their marriage falling between them like a brick wall. He could almost see her shutting herself off from him.

  And just as quickly, he realized he wanted her back.

  Chapter Eight

  Over the next several weeks, they fell into a pattern. He’d leave in the morning before she woke, but made it home for dinner most nights in what had almost become a ritual. One of them would buy or prepare food, and then they’d sit on the patio and talk, her about growing up, him about anything but. He taught her a little about flowers and she’d even helped him work in the garden. They still slept in the same bed and Charlotte no longer gripped the edge for dear life, but he kept plenty of space between them, even on those occasions when snuggling up to her seemed like the most natural thing in the world. By silent but seemingly mutual agreement, they avoided discussing her father, and except for the odd joke or two, and his insistence that she wear her ring, they rarely discussed the circumstances of their marriage or that they were, in fact, even married. As bizarre as it seemed, this was the closest Elah had come to an actual courtship, and even stranger was the fact that he was enjoying it.

  At seven thirty on the evening of their first cocktail party, a tentative knock sounded on the study door—he remained convinced that Charlotte hadn’t gotten over his temper that first day, though he’d tried to make her feel welcome everywhere in the house—and he turned.

  “Are you ready?” she asked as she stepped into the room and smiled at him.

  He stood silent, glaring, but not because he was angry. He was afraid to speak, didn’t want to reveal the thoughts she’d triggered in his brain. Because she was stunning, absolutely breathtaking. Her hair was again brushed back, but rather than the bun she usually wore, she’d let her hair hang free, the tendrils beautifully framing her jawline, which, like the rest of her face, was bare save the semishiny brown gloss on her lips. Her shoulders, too, were bare, as was much of the skin between her neck and the tops of her breasts, and he found himself looking down that expanse of brown skin from her collarbones to the very beginning of the rise of her breasts, the image broken by the ivory-colored edge of her strapless dress. He pushed aside his disappointment and looked down farther, over the ridge of her breasts, covered by the ivory fabric but their ripe fullness apparent. Then down farther still to where the dress nipped in at her waist before flaring out over her curvy hips and thighs, ending slightly above her knees. But he continued to look, down he
r strong, shapely calves and to the sinfully sexy, strappy sandals that covered her feet.

  Breathing deep, he struggled to get himself under control, calm his cock, which had gone granite hard, and calm the desire to lay her across the nearest bed and fuck her until neither of them could move; calm the equally strong urge to spank her beautiful ass for daring to wear something like that outside, where other men could ogle her. The last was ridiculous and he knew it, but that didn’t make the urge any less acute. Objectively, the dress wasn’t revealing; it didn’t show more skin than was acceptable, and would probably be considered somewhat modest, but still, the thought of other men seeing her like this, her slightly innocent aura wrapped around her enticingly full body that did everything but induce pure thoughts, was maddening.

  “What?” she said, confusion in her voice.

  “I don’t appreciate my wife flaunting her body, putting herself on display, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a growled whisper that barely hinted at the displeasure—and arousal—roiling through him.

  But she, as she so often did, paid him no heed, brushing aside his words with a wave. “I’m hardly on display, but nobody’s going to be looking at my big butt anyway, not with the mysterious Elah Avakian in the room.” She walked toward him. “You look amazing, by the way, not that you don’t always. Still, the color works for you. Now if you could refrain from looking at the other guests like they are bugs you want to crush under your heel, we might be on to something.”

  “Most of them probably are bugs that I want to crush under my heel,” he said, tone flinty.

  But she just laughed. “Of course, but the trick is to not show it. Oh, your tie’s a bit crooked. Let me…” Her words trailed off as she reached up and retied his tie like it was second nature, like she’d played out this scene before. A vision of her with some other man, chattering away as they prepared for an evening out, the other man as anxious to skip the preliminaries and get her underneath him as he wanted to right now, popped into his head and deepened the anger in his gut.

  He reached up and stilled her hands, and she looked up at him, brown gaze curious and unguarded.

  “And how’d you learn to tie ties? Is it something you have a lot of practice with?”

  Her eyes took on a soft, faraway look, and a slight smile curved her lips. She was taken by fond remembrance, and it gutted him.

  “Yeah, tons. My dad always said I was the best. I can’t remember how many times I helped him while Mama was messing with her hair or whatever…”

  She trailed off again and her eyes widened as she realized she’d mentioned her father. And remembered how much doing so would set him off. He recalled how stunned she’d looked when he’d proclaimed that the man must never be mentioned in his home. What he didn’t understand was the surge of relief that flowed through him. Better her father than some unnamed man, one who’d seen her, touched her, fucked her, when Elah hadn’t even kissed her. His gaze fell to her lips, and he wondered what they’d feel like beneath his, whether she’d be open and pliant or push back in challenge. In a flash, he was aware of the press of her hands as they rested against his chest, the way her eyes were wide, expectant, and his cock thickened, and his anger was replaced with pure anticipation.

  He would have her.

  Tonight.

  “Are you finished?”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  She turned, and at the sight of the curves of her rounded ass lovingly held by the ivory fabric, he hardened further and began to reconsider this evening’s plan. Then he saw her hand, zeroed in on her bare finger.

  “Where’s your ring?”

  She stiffened for just a moment at the reference to that bone of contention and then stopped and turned to face him, a smile illuminating her features.

  “Can’t slip anything past you, eh? Silly of me to hope you wouldn’t notice.”

  “No, you can’t. Most women would love to have such an expensive piece of jewelry.”

  “Most women are welcome to it,” she said as she rummaged in the small beaded bag she carried and retrieved the ring.

  She grimaced as she slid it on, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you hate it so much?”

  She gave him a placating smile. “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand, but you’re a smart man; I have no doubt that you can figure it out. Are we leaving?”

  Elah was annoyed by her elliptical response, but the set of her mouth made it clear she wouldn’t expound. Still, he wanted to push but ultimately decided against it. She’d answer him one day, so there was no need to press. He walked to her and they continued out to the driveway, him taking another peek at her ass when she climbed into the car and not feeling a bit embarrassed about it. As he folded himself in the car after her, he was again taken by how amazing she looked, now cloaked in the shadows, the fabric bright against her skin and her eyes aglow.

  He’d once thought her nothing more than pretty and had been certain she didn’t appeal to him. How wrong he’d been.

  “So, have you been to many of these?” she asked as they pulled off.

  “None, actually; well, other than the hospital opening, and that barely counts.”

  She looked surprised.

  “But you have so many, uh, business interests. This seems to come with the territory.”

  “Not for me.”

  She quirked a brow. “So why are we going to this one?”

  He focused his gaze on her but remained silent.

  Realization spread across her face.

  “Oh, stupid me. For a minute there I managed to forget that I’m your show pony and here to help smooth your path into polite society,” she said, words bitter and full of scorn. “And I suppose this”—she lifted her ring finger—“is my collar.”

  Threads of something oddly like regret wove their way through him, but he pushed them aside. “Call it what you like.”

  Her deep sigh filled the interior of the car, and then she finally said, “One upside of being a politician’s daughter, I suppose. I know how to perform.” When he stopped the car in front of the local museum that had been rented out for the event, she got out. He parked and passed his key to the valet and then circled the car to stand beside her. Then she smiled bright and reached over to smooth a practically invisible wrinkle in his tie.

  “Watch and learn, greenhorn,” she said.

  Then she walked toward the door, leaving him no choice but to follow. He caught up with her in two strides and placed a hand on her elbow. She turned at his touch, a small, almost reassuring smile lighting her features, reminding him yet again of how lovely she was this evening. As they strolled through the door and down the hallway, the click of her heels rang on the polished marble floors.

  The low murmur of the crowd floated toward them as they continued, and as they approached the makeshift ballroom, he could see Charlotte transform. Her posture, already straight, went ramrod, and she pulled her shoulders back. A reserved but pleasant expression stole over her face, and in four steps, she metamorphosed from the playful, teasing woman she’d been seconds ago to a smooth, sophisticated political operator.

  Yet again, he was duly impressed.

  “Lottie! How wonderful to see you,” an older man standing to the left of the room boomed.

  Elah recognized him as a member of the city council, though if he recalled, not one of Trufant’s cronies.

  “Councilman Richardson,” she responded as the man approached. “It’s lovely to see you as well. Mrs. Richardson.” She nodded at the woman standing next to him, who Elah presumed was his wife.

  Charlotte and the councilman made small talk, and on several occasions, Mrs. Richardson’s gaze flitted to him, the question in her eyes almost a verbal statement. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt so out of place.

  “Do you know my husband Elah?”

  Richardson’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, though his wife openly gaped.

  “Not by anyt
hing other than reputation. Pleased to meet you.”

  The councilman extended a hand, which Elah shook briefly.

  “Lottie, I didn’t know you were engaged,” Mrs. Richardson said.

  “It was a bit of a whirlwind, but here we are,” Charlotte said smoothly.

  “No chance for a wedding?” the other woman probed.

  Charlotte looked up at Elah adoringly, and for a split second he could have believed she was a woman in love.

  “No,” she shook her head forlornly, “we chose a private civil ceremony.”

  “Your mother must be so disappointed. I’m sure she had grand plans for you.”

  “Oh, she’s fine, said she doesn’t care about the wedding as long as we are happy.”

  Charlotte smiled up at Elah again, and he found himself falling into her eyes.

  “Well, congratulations to both of you. I can tell you’re in love,” the woman said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Richardson. Councilman. Maybe we’ll catch up with you before you leave?”

  “Of course, dear. And congratulations again,” she said.

  Charlotte smiled and smoothly guided him away from the Richardsons and into a semiprivate corner. When she looked up at him this time, a genuine smile shone through, similar to the professional one she’d worn moments ago but with that extra hint of Charlotte sparkling in her expression.

  “Why are you so amused?” Elah asked.

  “Because you were looking at that sweet elderly couple like Godzilla eyeing Tokyo,” she said on a chuckle.

  “Pfft,” he said gruffly, but he couldn’t smother the smile that crossed his face.

  “I’m just saying…” Her voice was light with humor.

  “And what was that, anyway? Asking all those questions?”

  She scoffed dismissively. “Harmless society gossip.”

  “Well, it’s stupid. Don’t these people have anything better to do? I know I do.”

  “Hey, this was your idea.” She held her hands in front of her. “We can leave anytime.”

  “But you seemed to enjoy that inane conversation so much.”

  “I recognize the value of positive social relationships, something you clearly do not. But a word of advice: you gotta love the schmooze.”