by Stacy Gail
“Sure you would. Eventually.”
Another, headier flush moved through her as her imagination went wild. “You do make it hard for a woman to say no.”
“And you do make it hard.”
When she realized that was the entirety of the statement—and its significance made her blush—she burst out laughing. “Are you complaining?”
“You kidding? I’d applaud you on your boner-making abilities, but that’d mean these hands would have to let you go. No way in hell am I going to do that.” His head dipped, and her heart went into freefall when she thought he was going to kiss her. “Come home with me, Joelle. Let me show you my castle.”
She wavered. “Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then. Say yes.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow after work,” she said in a rush before she could change her mind. “And I get to decide where we meet.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“And run the risk of me getting pissy like Alice if I want to leave?”
“Trust me,” he said with the cockiest smile she’d ever seen. “You won’t want to leave.”
“Nevertheless,” she said, and inwardly eyerolled at how breathless she sounded, “I’ll meet you tomorrow at the Lincoln Park Conservatory at four.”
He lifted a brow. “You want to look at flowers?”
“I want to get to know you better before there’s any talk about my going home with you.”
“Have it your way. But know this,” he said, and dipped her in one smooth motion, “in the end, you’re still winding up at my place, with me, and it’s going to be the best decision of your life.”
Chapter Three
“Aha! Found it.”
Joelle looked up from her place on the couch, laptop in front of her. Alice was at the dining room table, also peering at her own laptop’s screen, her ebony hair tucked behind her ears. “Awesome. Lay it on me, Al.”
“The incident at Gilded Swan happened about a month or so ago, and your Bloch guy wasn’t kidding. The confrontation between him and this trespassing jerk really did make the front page of the business section. The writer of this article calls Gus Bloch a modern-day tycoon, and a true wolf of Wall Street. Chicago-born, self-made… lots of trivial shit about Gilded Swan that we all learned about in grade school.”
Joelle, who’d already found picture after picture of Gus in the society section of the paper—mainly with a parade of hot, eligible socialites looking at him like he’d invented the male of the species—inwardly braced herself. “Anything unpleasant? Like he’s actually squatting at Gilded Swan instead of owning it, or that he maimed or killed the trespasser?”
“Nothing so dramatic. Oh wait, here’s something—apparently it was the trespasser who called 911 to the scene, not Gus. Damn,” Alice chuckled, scrolling through the article. “When the trespasser calls the cops for help to get out of the clutches of the property owner, you know that dude is dangerous. You sure about going on a date with this guy, Jo? He’s not your usual Ivy League, pedigreed lapdog.”
“I don’t date lapdogs.”
“Please. You put them on a leash and dog-walk them wherever you want to go. But from what I saw last night and from what I’m reading now,” Alice added, tilting her head toward her screen, “this Gus Bloch dude will never let you put him on a leash. I’m not even convinced he’s not rabid.”
“So he’s rough around the edges. I like that about him.” Joelle clicked onto another back issue of the newspaper and found yet another photo of Gus, with yet another woman. She sighed, and even to her ears it sounded grim. “Unfortunately, I’m not the only one.”
Alice’s head came up. “What do you mean?”
“When it comes to women, Augustus Bloch seems to like variety. Lots and lots of variety, though maybe variety’s not quite the right word. While he’s never photographed with the same woman twice, they all seem to be cut from the same cloth. So variety, yet no variety.”
“What kind of cloth are these women cut from?”
“The princess kind.” The mere word left a bad taste in her mouth. “It’s like a freaking roll call from my finishing school days—Vivienne Romilly, Mimi Weissman, Cordelia Coventry, and your favorite person from high school, Francesca Osterhaus.”
“That bitch?” In a heartbeat, Alice shot out of her chair and rocketed onto the couch to stare at Joelle’s screen. “I’ll never understand why your parents thought it was a good idea to send me to the same private school you and Felix went to. A chauffeur’s daughter, much less a murderous chauffeur’s daughter, was going to be an obvious target for any and every bully-minded kid out there. Francesca was merely the worst of them.”
“I think at that point, Mother and Daddy were just looking for the path of least resistance—all their kids in the same place meant less hassle.”
“For them, anyway. Oh my God, there she is—the dreaded Evil One, AKA Francesca-fucking-Osterhaus.” Alice peered closer. “Hm. I think she’s had some work done on that schnoz of hers. I wonder if I broke it all those years ago?”
“You just bloodied it, which was the least she deserved. She’s such a terrible human being, I have to wonder why Gus dated her in the first place.”
“Maybe he’s a bad judge of character.” Then she winced and slanted her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Jo. That came out wrong. I doubt he’s even attracted to things like character. He just obviously has a type—princessy.”
“That’s not better, Al.” She sighed and slowly shut the laptop. She’d seen enough. “You know what that is? It’s shallow, just like the social-climbing Emerson what’s-his-name.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy him though, right?” Alice laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Besides, you’re nothing like any of those former debs he’s been seen with. They’re useless socialites who’ve never worked a day in their lives and think the greatest tragedy to ever befall them is breaking a nail. That’s not you. You’re so much deeper, and greater, and more real than any of those fluff-headed, trust fund fools. Maybe Gus can see that in you, and that’s why he’s pushing so hard to get together with you.”
Seriously, everyone needed an Alice in their lives. “And if he doesn’t see that in me? What if all he wants is the princess?”
“Then it’s good to know that about him right out of the gate,” came the shrugging reply. “At least you’ve got a heads-up about his princess fetish, so if he starts to get weird with you on that score—like wanting you to wear a tiara while sexing it up, or some kinky shit like that—you can hit the eject button. You’ve done that with other guys in the past with no harm done, so just keep that option open.”
That sounded great, except for one thing. She had the weirdest feeling Gus wasn’t like any of the other men she’d ever dated. “Do you think I should keep my date with him?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Alice held up a hand. “I’m not about to tell you what you should do, because that never ends well for me. Besides, I know you’ve already made up your mind. You just want validation that your decision’s the right one.”
Joelle made a face at her. “It’s irritating, how well you know me.”
“We may not be blood-related, but I know you, sister.”
“We’ll see how well this afternoon goes with Gus, the serial princess-pursuer,” Jo decided, and opened up her laptop once more. “Which means I’ve got to get some work done before I head out. Are you sure you can’t model those new distressed jeans for my article?”
Alice groaned. “Jo…”
“Come on, you’ve got the leggiest legs on the planet, and I promise I won’t take any shots above waist level so no one will know it’s you, okay? It’d save me a ton of time and hassle,” she wheedled when Alice wavered. “And I could turn my work in way under deadline, so that’d leave us plenty of time to hang out afterwards.”
Alice gave her a look that told her she wasn’t fooled. “Still trying to impress the higher-ups with how e
fficiently your get your assignments turned in?”
“What can I say, I’m ambitious.” Jo shrugged, not bothering to hide it. “Maybe even someday I’ll start my own digital fashion mag. You can be the cover girl.”
“I’d rather set my hair on fire. But I will wear the jeans, though I refuse to call them distressed. They look like something a shipwreck survivor would be found wearing a year after they’d disappeared.”
That was Alice all over—pragmatic to a fault.
After an hour-long photoshoot that had both video and stills, Alice headed out, plunging Joelle’s townhome into silence. She did her best to combat it by cranking up some upbeat music while she focused on editing her “Distressed Test” article, but time and again she found herself glancing at the clock.
Had she actually thought she was going to get any real work done while waiting for four o’clock to roll around?
Eventually, however, time managed to drag itself to a point where she could hang up work for the day. Sending off a nearly finished draft to her boss with one or two questions about sharpening the article’s focus, she went to her closet and deliberately avoided anything remotely smacking of a princessy vibe. Black skinny jeans, black leather ankle boots, a trio of belts and a cropped cable-knit, off-the-shoulder sweater the color of mauve was just the right tone of cute but casual, she thought, zipping into the bathroom. If he thought he was going to get a princess wrapped in chiffon and bedazzled with Swarovski crystals, he was in for a disappointment.
Less than an hour later, she parked her car and headed up the walkway toward Lincoln Park Conservatory, drinking in the warmth of the early autumn afternoon sun. Not a cloud was in the sky, creating a perfect backdrop for the Victorian-era glasshouse that was an iconic part of Chicago’s magnificent architectural history. A nice, calming atmosphere, she thought, scanning the people milling around. Just what the doctor ordered for finding out if Augustus Bloch was a solid guy, or a whacked-out, kinky-minded princess fetishist.
“Looking for me?”
The way she jumped out of her skin probably looked hilarious. She even added a yelp for that extra cherry on top before whirling around to give a grinning Gus her best death glare. “What the hell, Gus. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He snaked a hand out to hook around her nape. Before she knew what he was going to do, he reeled her in for a brief touching of lips. It wasn’t even a real kiss, but it still had her heart acting like a runaway elevator—dropping and rocketing up into the stratosphere before he pulled away and smiled down at her. “Damn, you smell good. What is that?”
“Jean Patou.” Then she inwardly winced, wondering if expensive perfume was a princessy thing. “If you like it so much, I’ll send you a bottle. I’m sure it’d smell great on you.”
“I’m good with getting it on me through close contact with you, though I appreciate the generosity,” he drawled, moving with her up the path and into the elegant glasshouse built at the turn of last century. “Kinda doubt any flower in here smells as good as you.”
“I… Thank you.” Damn it, he was throwing her off her game by tripping her up with shocking mental images of just how exactly she could get the scent of her perfume rubbed onto his naked skin. Obviously the best and most effective way would be for them to both be naked and have full-body contact… “So, um. Flowers. Since we’re on the subject of scent, last year there was an exhibit here of the so-called corpse flower, which apparently smells like a dead body when it blooms.” Oh God, why was she talking about freaking dead bodies on a date? Of course she wanted to prove she wasn’t a princess, but holy crap, there had to be a limit. “I had to cover the exhibit for Buzzword and did a live broadcast right in front of the stinking thing. To this day, one of my proudest achievements is not hurling all over the place while live-streaming the event.” Annnnnnd, now she was talking about vomit. Wonderful. Any second now he was going to bail. Like in five… four… three…
A low chuckle rumbled from him before he reached out and laced his fingers with hers. “That just might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say on a first date.”
“This is my not-surprised face.” Discreetly she glanced down at the hand holding hers and tried to figure out why the heat of a single hand touching hers could suddenly rival the sun. “I would say that being weird is simply my way of being charming, but it would be a lie. I’m honestly just weird.”
“You’re definitely unexpected, and that’s not a bad thing.” His fingers gave her a friendly squeeze as they walked along the cobblestone path that snaked through meticulously maintained beds of exotic plants, from bromeliads, to bamboo, to fan palm trees covered in delicate orchids. They entered the Palm House, with the path changing to flagstone, and the humidity in the air was palpable as they approached an indoor pond filled with koi and covered in lily pads. “I think the biggest thing that’s surprised me about you is how you work for a living. You’re good at what you do. Very professional.”
“How do you…? Ohhhh, you looked me up,” she answered her own question, and found she couldn’t hold it against him. After all, she’d done the same thing with him. “I don’t suppose you saw the whole corpse flower segment? I was a spectacular shade of green by the end of it.”
“I’ll be sure to look for it,” came the drawling reply. “How’d you get into becoming an online personality?”
“That sounds way cooler than what I really am, which officially is called a content creator and fashion journalist. I actually started out with my own channel on YouTube when I was in college, focusing mainly on fashion and the latest trends. Since my degree was in Communications, I mainly used that channel to help me hone my understanding of what it was I was trying to learn. Day by day I kept pushing to get new followers, grinding out content and perfecting my editing and on-cam skills, until finally I got an official blue check by my name and the sponsors started coming in. About a week after that, Buzzword came knocking on my door.”
“Do you still upload content on your channel?”
“Absolutely, though not every single day like I used to. Now I post fashion content on Wednesdays and Fridays, and stream a live chat once a month in addition to everything I create for Buzzword.”
“And I thought I had a busy schedule. You ever get downtime?”
“Sure. Just this past December my brother Felix, Alice and I went on a cruise to the Bahamas. Felix blew through every cent he had for the trip in one night at the casinos and wouldn’t shut up about begging for loans until we got back stateside. Alice got such a bad sunburn with that fair Irish skin of hers, she basically turned into one giant blister. I had a great time laughing at both of them. That’s what big sisters do, you see.”
“As an only child, I’ll have to take your word for it.” The gentle scent of moist earth caught her attention as they moved into the Fern Room, and she took an appreciative breath as they paused near a rock wall covered in spongy moss and creeping ferns. “I’ve never been big on family, though you seem pretty tight with yours.”
“I suppose I am. I’m protective, anyway. Alice was our chauffeur’s daughter, and when he died and she became a part of our family, she was sent to the same school as Felix and me. Try to imagine how she was received by all the rich kids who went to school there.”
Something dark and deep moved in the depths of his eyes. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“There was one girl in particular who tormented Alice. For an entire school year she made my foster sister the butt of all her jokes and cruel pranks, from supergluing her locker shut to taking pictures of her in the shower and then plastering them over the main hall. She was the cruelest person I’ve ever met, or probably will ever meet.”
“Sounds like a goddamn worthless bitch.”
“You could tell me if she’s still that way.”
He threw her a sharp look. “What?”
“Francesca Osterhaus.”
“Ah.” A calculat
ing gleam lit Gus’s eyes before he squared off with her, his body no more than an inch or two away from hers. “You looked me up, too.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Uh,” she said, momentarily thrown. Wasn’t it obvious? “The same reason you looked me up, I’m sure.”
“Exactly.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, somehow managing to caress her cheek in the process, and it was all she could do to stop herself from shivering. “You’re interested in me. Admit it.”
“Of course I admit it.” Honesty was always the best policy, so she saw no reason to hold anything back. “In fact, saying I’m interested in you is like saying the sun is kind of warm. I’ve got the crazy-making hots for you, Gus Bloch. You’re gorgeous and so self-assured you’d make a ninety-year-old nun swoon. More than that, you ooze animal magnetism like a freaking pheromone, until all I want to do is see how fast my panties can drop, so yes. It’s safe to say I’m interested in you. But there’s a problem.”
“Fuck problems.” A wolfish smile curved those perfect lips as she spoke, and she’d never wanted to nip at anything more. “In fact, fuck everything. All that matters is you and me getting down to banging each other’s brains out.”
Well. She was the one who’d wanted honesty, after all. “This is a pretty big problem.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll knock it down.”
She took a deep breath and dived in. “The problem is that you’ve got a thing for princesses.”
“So the hell what? Show me a man who doesn’t.”
At least he didn’t deny it. “It has me concerned.”
“Concerned.” There was a world of amusement in his expression before he again brushed a hand over her hair. “Listen to me, Joelle. There isn’t a damn thing you ever need to concern yourself about when it comes to me.”
“Except that I’m not a princess,” she pointed out, determined to make him see the reality of her. “What’s going to happen when you realize I’m not your type?”