Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  His view on fundraisers was interesting, but let’s not dwell on these things or else this will become another type of story. We wouldn’t want that to happen, we want romance. The Lord knows that enough people got shit for brains in this beautiful country.

  In short, I was scared shitless to approach Elena, thus the delay. Good God, what did she see in Mitchell? For the battle of wills, the cocksucker’s hair wasn’t properly slicked back, no Brioni tuxedo, and his diamond-encrusted watch looked outdated. As for little Elena, her earrings weren’t even D or E quality diamonds, less than fucking ten carats, and most likely they had no good flaws in them. Closefisted much?

  Don’t scream at me just yet, I’ll improve on what I started. I’m sure you sensed the ameliorating but part coming: Elena’s dress was perfect. She cut a big swath whenever she wore black, and one could rarely go wrong with Dolce & Gabbana. Better? The way men perused over her while she drank champagne ticked me off, their stares had baser desire written all over them, their eyes devouring her as if she were a richly glazed angel cake.

  I liberated another glass of bourbon off a passing tray, downed it and grimaced.

  Let’s go.

  Strike two.

  Edging my way around the group, I set off under the glare of ornamental lights. I calmed my racing heart. “Ariel?”

  As she turned around, I felt sucker-punched, my jaw slack. The connection that’d always been there between us sparked as potently as ever. If hurricanes started ripping off roofs and colors started bleaching and flowers stopped blooming and birds stopped in mid-flight—dropped out of the sky, I wouldn’t have cared.

  Elena Anderson

  The Unfortunate Comeback

  Moonlight bathed the city in an otherworldly glow, and a few serpentine tendrils of foggy mist blanketed high-rise buildings. Lunar luminescence was special, encroaching buildings appeared silver instead of grey. Using a plush cosmetic sponge, I patted some pressed powder and retouched my mascara and eyeliner. I puckered my lips and colored them with red gloss, smacking them together before blotting the glossy luster. Because of the nippy weather, I opted for a long coat. I wore a black Dolce & Gabbana cocktail dress, purchased on a markdown, which had a bit of bounce to it in the skirt. It flattered my long legs, playful and classy. My hair was wrapped up in an elaborate eight-figure twist, and I wore just enough makeup. I felt pretty like a princess and very happy to accompany Mitchell to the art event.

  The annual Sumner Charity Gala was Boston’s biggest fall event. As a monument to the cultured wealth and prestige, it was held at the ICA, and everyone who was anyone in Boston would be in attendance. Just with the silent auction at the end, the board of organizers managed to raise millions for adolescent orphan patients every year. Grays and blacks with a sprinkle of silver were the extent of the post-modern décor, a huge blown glass chandelier designed by Josiah McElheny adding a dramatic effect. Featured were a wide variety of fine works, from altarpieces to blingy pop art, the paintings, mirrors, sculptures, prints, drawings, and photographs were exclusive exhibits.

  I was quietly observing the hobnobbing with socialites and celebrity-toadying. Definitely, everyone who was anyone in town was here, handing out phony smiles and prepped lines while drinking from French glasses and choosing canapés from German porcelain platters.

  Mitchell excused himself to take an important call. I snagged another flute of champagne, and took in the ragtag selection of men. Most of them looked monstrously presumptive, cocky, and sly. Several looked like persistent neo-playboys with egos as vast as their insecurities, others drunk fumblers and old farts.

  I was smiling, enjoying my glass of Möet & Chandon, when a warm hand touched the skin of my bare shoulder and a voice shattered the calm around me.

  “Ariel?”

  Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world. My stomach somersaulted at the rasp of the even baritone, and the Chloé snakeskin clutch bag that I held under my armpit slipped a little. Whatever was afoot in the room, I no longer cared. I scarcely dared turning around, my smile dimming and my brain conjuring up all the strength it could.

  There he was, and he looked exactly the same. Maybe a little more tanned—in autumn?—which brought out the grey of his eyes. I didn’t react at first. If the earth had opened up its mouth underneath me, pulling me in toward a bone-shattering adventure, I wouldn’t have cared. I was caught in the moment, the charge between two people so strong it could power cities.

  Alexander Turner’s tuxedo was impeccably tailored. Of course it was not to be faulted, its shoulders wide and high, trim at the waist, legs tapered. His wavy hair was styled with that thousand-dollar haircut precision; not a single strand was out of place. I shook my head imperceptibly as I tried to reconcile the unbearably sexy sight of him with the chic surroundings. With a good amount of fairness, he could have been pudgy and smelly, and yellow teeth would completely offset his beautiful face. Looking at him in person, I was struck by just how handsome he was. His eyes were glittering, crinkled just a little at the corners, and his perfect white teeth just barely showed between his curled lips. I swallowed, my tongue darting out to wet my lips, hoping against hope that he didn’t notice me staring.

  “Ah.” He plucked a champagne glass from a passing waiter’s tray without breaking eye contact. “Seems like I’ll need this,” the silver-tongued fiend murmured, a wry smile decorating his annoyingly kissable lips.

  I tried assessing his scent, a blend of something close to Chanel Pour Monsieur, woody lather of Bleu de Chanel shower gel, and freshly pressed Italian wool crepe. The mélange was messing with my head. Needing some distance, I took a step back.

  “Cheers.” A smile ear to ear, he continued, “How have you been?”

  I gulped my champagne unattractively and, “F-fine…and you?” I tittered. I knew I looked nervous. Know that it was hard to keep a sturdy expression on my face; his voice and his smell made my insides quiver. I stepped back some more and tried to catch Mitchell’s eyes. Where the hell was he?

  “You look beautiful. Immensely, little one.”

  I bit down on my lower lip so as not to betray my excitement. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Turner.”

  Staring down at me, he moved inappropriately close, and I drew in a shaky breath. A storm of lust darkened his eyes, his thick black hair shining in the aureate light of the banquet hall. Rivetingly handsome, I thought, and couldn’t help but stare at his features. “Actually,” he grabbed my wrist and pointed an accusing finger at me, “I was hoping to see you. You owe me a kiss, pretty girl.”

  I felt a blush warm my cheeks. Looking up at his eyes, I found his gaze alighting on my mouth. My breath caught in my chest. I was sure we looked far too intimate among the photographers and the gossipers. Gossipers. GOSSIPERS. Did he have to come back at the most inopportune moment? My eyes darted around, terrified of encountering the shock and censure of Boston’s elite.

  “Don’t mind them,” he prompted softly. “Eyes on me.”

  I drew my gaze to his, and the fierce expression on his face made my pulse quicken with excitement. He was looking at me like a starving lion looks at a piece of meat…telling me that he wanted to devour and savor me at the same time…

  Walk away, girl.

  “Good to see you, Mr. Turner.” I looked anywhere but at the charging bull. “Take care.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Take care?”

  I hesitated, a beat too long.

  “Is that the best you can do?” his cultured voice clipped out in an icy tone now.

  “I was hoping I’d never see you again,” I countered, trying hard to sound as if I believed it. I wholly ignored the pall that was cast over me.

  “I want to fuck you into incoherence, Ariel, until your thoughts become scrambled, disjointed, and utterly incomprehensible. Soon, very soon it will happen,” he declared, the belongingness of the words sniping. My blush deepened. To gather my wits, I took a step back. Last thing I needed was feeling his wa
rm breath on me. As he drifted nearer, the planes of his cheekbones licked at the crystallites of my flute. His eyes remained locked on my mouth. “Can’t wait for it to happen.”

  I exhaled a long breath I didn’t knew I was holding, and pondered his vulgar declaration. For the life of me, I couldn’t answer back. I gripped my glass so tightly I feared the crystal might shatter in my hand.

  “Lost your tongue, babe?”

  Fiddling with the stem of my glass, I opened and closed my mouth several times before I articulated. “I’ve…I’m seeing someone.” I plastered a serious expression on my face for those who’d begun to turn their eyes to us.

  His jaw tightened, his voice sounding even tighter, “And you believe that will stop me? It’s extraneous, at best.” He moved closer still, and suddenly photographer’s flashes flared phosphorus bright around us. “Smile, sweetheart, we’re making history as we speak. The wheels are in motion, it has begun.”

  “No.” I could tell by his frown that he wasn’t used to hearing this word. “Go away.” I stilled as a woman walked past us, eyeing us closely.

  He smiled a smug, award-winning smile, just like an over-sexed lothario. “Say cheese. Smile one smile for me, baby.”

  His panty-obliterating gaze was starving me of oxygen. I stepped back sheepishly to shrink away from the authority laced through his words, addressing the riddle with a scrunch of the nose. “What has begun?” He laughed and my eyes shot up to his in disbelief. He thought this was funny? “Are you crazy?”

  “Crazy about you.” His face remained stoic, but I thought I saw a hint of amusement flash in his eyes. “Totally mad about you. The fact that you look like you need to be fucked sore isn’t helping my case.”

  My face grew embarrassingly red, a swarm of butterflies going about in my stomach. I had no answers down pat for this kind of harassment game. I wished I could suck that last question back inside my mouth. What a stupid thing to say, and now he was looking at me lustily. Like I was the hottest girl he’d ever seen in his life—which I wasn’t.

  Short swims in fuzziness later, I said, “Please, leave me alone.” People had begun to pay attention to us. I forced a smile but I was sure it looked more like I might vomit. “I know the drill with men like you. I’ll call you. How unoriginal.”

  “Not until you give me a proper moment to explain myself,” he gritted out, brushing his hand against mine. “You’ve all the right to be angry with me.” He was breathing heavily, the biting edge to his voice telling me he wasn’t a man to be messed with. His touch was fainter than air, but the jolt of electricity still raised the hairs on my neck. Goosebumps rippling in the wake of an inexperienced touch? Palpable energy? Synapses misfiring? I even had to swallow a gasp and hear it ricochet inside my chest.

  Enough with the teenage bullshit. This fucking asshole—apologies for the vulgarity—had months to contact me. Months! And what did he do? He started dating Diane Knight.

  Let’s play.

  Twirling my glass with the perfection of a connoisseur, I gave him a half-lidded gaze. “I’ll venture a guess, Mr. Turner. Diane Knight wasn’t available tonight? Tarantino hit the nail on its head, The Battle Of The Alamo already has Oscar buzz.”

  “Flying solo tonight because I dumped her. Diane never meant anything to me,” he murmured, his eyes sparking.

  “And I do? Yet you never called. Now that the shoe is on the other foot, how regrettable—for you.”

  “Don’t be a preying pest. You’re one brick short of a load if you think a lineup of actresses matters to me.” He wagged his forefinger at my lusty eyes that were fixed on his lips. “Whatever you want from me you can have. Just tell me what you need.”

  “I won’t matter either. This is your routine, isn’t it? The girl who could tame your philandering ways hasn’t been born yet. Never will.”

  No reply was made. He watched me with a superior, cocksure smile.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Goodbye.”

  “We must wait for your boyfriend.”

  That stuck like barbwire in my throat. Where was Mitchell? Taking a large sip of champagne, I shored up a calm composure.

  “I’ll headline it; in general, men don’t like seeing their girl drool over another man on the front-page of the local newspapers. Well then, now that that’s out of the way, you have to introduce me to your soon to be ex-boyfriend.” He stopped and nodded at a passing duo, gave me a goofy smile.

  I stood my ground and, “Keep on dreaming,” I fired back a cutting line.

  “You’d rather I lodge the heel of my cap-toe into his nuts so hard he’s going to piss out of his behind?” He smiled sardonically, and I felt like I was missing something, some private joke he had with himself. “Feisty and insubordinate.” He shook his head, but the same smile played around his lips again; he was enjoying his private joke, whatever it was. “Are you always like this?”

  “Only with strangers. Creepy men mostly.”

  “You’re ballsy. I like that.”

  “No, you don’t. You’d rather I obey.”

  “Spot on. You got me there. Excellent perception skills, sweetheart.”

  His smile was so beautiful that it irritated me. “Stop calling me names.”

  “The way I see it, Elena Anderson, your name’s whatever I goddamn want it to be.”

  I’d just caught the import of his words when I felt a hand settle at the small of my back, bringing me to the here and now as I’d clearly forgotten someone was accompanying me tonight.

  I jumped a little. “Hi, Mitchell,” I squeaked. Before he could say something, I thanked him with a kiss for his timely appearance.

  “You must be Mitchell Christiansen. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alexander Turner.” I swallowed past the lump of emotion in my throat. It sounded like Alexander had spoken more loudly than necessary.

  “In the flesh. Pleased to meet you.” Mitchell extended his hand, entirely unflappable.

  I marveled.

  “Elena was just telling me about you.” Wearing a slight smirk, Alexander was staring down at me, his arms folded across his chest, empty flute dangling from his hand. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Ariel?”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Mitchell looked properly shocked, and when I looked at Alexander, I found him smiling serenely at Mitchell, who looked more and more like a sweaty blowhard.

  “I’ll explain.” The statement was Alexander’s. He gestured evenly and spoke with a hypnotic grace that came so naturally to him. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Not since the last time we had dinner at The Liberty Hotel. I always call her by the nickname. The Little Mermaid is one of her favorite movies.”

  Was I a carnival game? Felt as if Alexander had swung a mallet to ring the bell. I could feel my legs trembling beneath the exquisite skirts of the layered dress. Even with nerves totally knotted and frayed, I tried to mend the fraught situation. “Once. We only had dinner once, a long time ago.” The champagne buzzed unpleasantly in my chest, making my hands shake. Even my stomach let out a meddlesome gurgle. “Excuse me,” I mumbled breathlessly.

  “What is it, Elena?” Mitchell’s bellow was laced with irritation, as if the idea of me leaving didn’t sit well with him. I couldn’t help but notice Alexander’s evil smirk…and naked lust.

  Trying to shrink from the disapproval on Mitchell’s face, I shook my head and announced, “Champagne’s going to my head.”

  A cater waiter heard the desperation in my voice and held out lobster bisque filled porcelain spoons with a quizzical look. I wasn’t drunk, I needed time to think, to breathe and decide whether to spend the evening indulging Alexander’s presence or not.

  Like an electric eel in freshwater, I slipped away, crossing over to a line of large tables dressed in white and dripping with crystal. Snacking on tasty tidbits and—yes—more champagne, I hazarded a look behind me. Loud murmurs and gasps rippled throughout the ballroom like waves from a rock shattering the glassy surface of a lake. Must
have been the news of Alexander’s new bachelor status.

  “Are you all right, Elena?” Mitchell was plodding toward me, tugging arrogantly on the lapels of his jacket. Alexander was nowhere to be seen, and I sighed, thankful to have dodged him.

  I waved it off, rolling my eyes. “I’m fine,” I told Mitchell when he was within hearing distance, hoping I didn’t look as nonplussed as I felt.

  “How’d the two of you meet?” The look he gave me was one I knew well, his tone suggesting I shouldn’t play games.

  I waved my hand around in an attempt at feigning nonchalance. “I was catching up with an old acquaintance, Jane Wilkinson, who happened to know Mr. Turner. He has a somewhat permanent suite at The Liberty Hotel.”

  “A suite? Ostensible purpose of it is having a fuckpad. Did he take you to it?”

  Mitchell’s snappish attitude was infuriating. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I-have-a-swish-penthouse.” I bit back a scowl and pretended to riffle through my clutch bag.

  “That man only puts his time and money where his mouth wants to go,” Mitchell commented pettishly. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His voice hid its annoyance, but I knew better.

  “I didn’t think it was relevant.” My dignity splattered all over the floor, I looked around for an exit.

  “Alexander Turner is relevant to the world.”

  “Okay. We had dinner, and even without exchanging phone numbers, we gave lip service to the idea of getting together for drinks, shook hands and said goodbye. From there, I lost track of him.”

  He patted my hand. “Why so nervous?”

  “I…media took pictures tonight. Might send the wrong message.”

  “I don’t care, sweetheart. You’re mine. Give your grandparents the heads up, or else Frank will want my head on a platter. Shall we?” He placed his hand in the bend of my elbow. “Ready to mingle?”

  The thought of making vacuous conversation with Mitchell’s boss didn’t sit well with me. I already knew how the exchange would go. The bored wife would give me a backhanded compliment and then prattle on about some expensive toy her husband had gifted her. Blinking away my nervousness, I nodded. “Ready as ever.”