“Yeah. We’re developing a whole line of this shit.”
“For private use?”
Cade shrugged. “We’ll see. I could really use your input on this stuff, brother. You’re wasting your talents at SI.”
“Come on, man. You know I’m there if you need me. But I have…”
“A family obligation,” Cade finished for him. “You have an obligation to yourself to be happy, brother.”
Greyson grunted, putting the finishing touches on his bow tie. He hated wearing tuxedos, felt too restricted. But being a Steele meant ‘keeping up appearances’, as Nora reminded him so often. “She has a date, man.”
Cade stopped fiddling with his own tie to give Greyson a questioning look. “Who?”
“Blaise. I asked her out, and she told me she already had plans.”
Cade chuckled, and shook his head. “Well, brother, technically you have a date as well.”
“Pricilla is not a date. She’s…”
“An obligation,” Cade said again. “You want a woman like Blaise, brother, you’re going to have to throw all those damn obligations out the fucking door. She’s certainly not going to put up with you playing ‘escort’ to some stuck-up socialite.”
“You meet her one time and think you know her?” Greyson was irked, but knew Cade was absolutely right.
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out a strong woman like that isn’t going to dick around, brother.”
“I know. Fuck, I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, effectively disheveling it. “This is it with Pricilla. They’re fucking planning the damn wedding. It’s gone too far.”
“I would ask you why you’re even doing this tonight, but I know the answer. Look, just keep an eye out while you’re there. Think of it as a mission, nothing more.”
“It’s a fucking masquerade party, man.”
Cade chuckled, and tossed Greyson his mask. “All the better, brother. Undercover.”
“THIS IS ONE of the biggest parties of the year, darling. Everyone that’s anyone is going to be there.”
Greyson looked out the window of the limo, seeing Pricilla’s reflection. She was primping for the umpteenth time, even though the make-up artist she hired was ‘the best’. She was going to be hidden behind a mask, anyway, and Greyson didn’t understand why she was making such a fuss. Of course, the mask was obnoxiously ornate with rubies and sapphires. All real, because someone like Pricilla Chapman would not be caught dead in fake baubles. Her gown was more of a spectacle, enticing the observer to focus on breasts that are packed so tightly into the blood red frock, it was a wonder they didn’t spill over. As a man, Greyson thought he would appreciate the view, however he just found it tasteless. At least its length was respectable, unlike the slit that came close to being obscene.
Blaise would never wear something like that, he thought, not surprised that his mind wandered to the beautiful brunette. She was everything Pricilla was not. Pricilla was tall, blonde and bordering on too thin. Blaise was shorter, with a beautiful mane of brown hair streaked with golden highlights, and a body that was athletic, yet exquisitely feminine with full breasts and a slight flare of her hips. He closed his eyes as he brought that amazing body into his mind. Greyson imagined how soft her skin would be, how wet she would be when he touched her. His body, as always when thinking of Blaise, responded immediately, so he continued let his mind wander.
His imagination was working overtime, and he could practically feel her lips wrapped around his cock…
“Jesus, Pricilla, get the fuck off of me.”
“Come on, darling. I’d say you were enjoying it.” Pricilla’s dull blue eyes glanced down, and she smirked.
Greyson hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants, wondering how the hell she had managed to get as far as she did without him noticing. “It’s fucked up that you would stoop that low as to ambush me like that.”
“Ambush? Please. We haven’t had sex in months, Greyson. That’s not going to work when we’re married. I need to get pregnant, and no sex is not going to get that done. Besides, like I said, you enjoyed it.” She ran a blood red fingertip down the front of his shirt, heading for her “prize”.
Greyson grabbed her hand, holding it firmly, almost painfully in his. “I was thinking of someone else,” he growled. “And, we will never be married, you will never be pregnant with my child, and sex between us? Never happen again.”
“Who, Greyson?” Pricilla’s face twisted into an angry scowl. “Who is she?”
“It’s of no concern to you, Pricilla. After tonight, we go our separate ways. You can go and find someone who can actually stand to be around you.” He caught her hand easily as she attempted to slap him.
“We’ll just see what your mother has to say about this,” she spat.
“I’m a grown man, Pricilla. No matter what Nora says, I will not be chained to you for the rest of my life.”
BLAISE SMOOTHED HER hands down her dress as she stepped out of the town car. The elegant black chiffon, floor length column gown draped over one shoulder, leaving the other gracefully exposed. A discreet cut-out at her breasts gave just a hint of cleavage, leaving much to the imagination. A jeweled sash adorned the waist, and a conservative slit stopped at mid-thigh, completing a look Blaise knew was classic and dignified. The dress cost her a pretty penny, but paired with her black and white jeweled mask, she couldn’t deny she looked damn good. ‘Imagine if Greyson could see you now’. Ellie’s voice ran through her head, making her pulse jump. She sighed. She had thought about nothing but Greyson since their impromptu dinner a few nights ago. Blaise would like just one night without the glorious Greyson Steele invading her mind.
The event was for The Gallo Foundation. Armis and Fiona Gallo founded the charity for abused, neglected or abandoned children after adopting their first of five children, who was left in a hospital dumpster. Blaise was fortunate enough to create the flower arrangements for all of the Gallo’s events, and has since become friends with the whimsical Fiona. The annual event was always one of her favorites, as well as one of her most lucrative because many of the attendees sought after Blaise to create arrangements for all their occasions.
Blaise put her mask on before walking into the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel. There were only a handful of times Blaise allowed herself this kind of outing. Honestly, if it weren’t for her friendship with the Gallos, and the good cause, of course, she’d be home right now eating Chinese take-out and watching television. Okay, she’d be eating ice cream from the carton and reading some book filled with great sex scenes.
Right away Blaise spied the flaming red of Fiona’s hair. She always found the color to be cliché, but Fiona loved to ‘accentuate her heritage’ and thought it was the perfect way to do so. And, that’s all that mattered. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, Blaise made her way over to her friend.
“Fiona.”
The redhead, dressed in a pale pink, scoop neck princess cut dress, turned at the sound of her name. Blaise had to force herself not to wince at the gaudy mask adorned with multi-colored rhinestones and peacock feathers.
“Oh! Blaise! My, don’t you look radiant!”
“So do you, as usual.” Blaise gave the usual—and always a little pretentious—double cheek kiss. “Good evening, Armis.”
“Sweet Blaise.” Armis Gallo took both of Blaise’s hands in his, giving her a gallant kiss on the knuckles. “The flowers look marvelous. I never have to doubt that.”
“I’m so glad you enjoy them.”
As it often happened, Armis was whisked away without time to say much else, and she was left with Fiona.
“Have you seen the art we are auctioning tonight?” Fiona gushed. Blaise adored the woman, but small doses of Fiona Gallo were best for their friendship.
“No, I actually just walked in the door, saw you and came right over. I’m planning on making the rounds as soon as I finish this wonderful glass of bubbly.”
Fiona lau
ghed, a little too loud and enthusiastically than was warranted. Blaise just smiled, and sipped.
“I just can’t believe we were able to obtain paintings from the divine Sumptor Galleries. We even have photography from Eve Sumptor, herself.”
Now Blaise was truly excited to see the exhibit. She had seen photos of Eve Sumptor’s work, but had yet to see it up close and personal.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Did you hear she’s opening a gallery right next door to my shop?”
“No! I have to tell Marie! Do excuse me. Mingle, mingle! There are single men here tonight.”
Blaise laughed politely, but cringed inwardly. Just what she needed. To be set up with one of these yahoos. These were not the kind of men she wanted to date. She tipped her glass to Fiona as she traipsed away, and made her way to the exhibit, feeling the excitement build already as the first of the paintings came into view. Picking up a brochure, she skipped over the descriptions of the art, preferring to form her own opinions, and went straight to the artist bios. Who people were interested Blaise, and helped give just a glimpse into why they created or photographed what they did.
The first painting she stopped at was a colorful array of geometric shapes. It certainly wasn’t her favorite as she was more into realism, but she could still appreciate the work and imagination that went into it.
“Blaise?”
That voice. She had been dreaming of that voice for a week now. Her eyes closed involuntarily at the low, undeniably sexy timbre. What the hell was Greyson Steele doing here? Slowly she turned to him, thankful that she had a mask that covered most of her face. Hopefully it would hide the affect he had on her as she took in how he looked in his extremely well fitting tuxedo.
“Good evening, Mr. Steele.” Blaise gave herself a mental high five for keeping her voice even.
“You.” He stopped, raked his eyes down her body, then slowly up again. “You look incredible.”
Blaise gave herself another mental high five for the emotion, the need she heard in his voice. She had definitely chosen wisely with this dress.
“Thank you.” Blaise let herself take him in once again. “So do you.”
Greyson glanced around them, then brought his eyes back to hers. The intense gray eyes, darkened with desire she knew was there, studied her. “Where is your date?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your date. You said you had a date this weekend.”
“No. You assumed I had a date. I said I had plans.” She smiled sweetly at him despite her irritation. Women were perfectly able to come to functions without having some man escort them.
“Hmm.” He smiled then, a genuine, extremely sexy smile that she felt in the pit of her stomach. “I would never have pictured you at an event like this, though you certainly dress the part.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow, though she wasn’t sure he got the full effect because of the mask. “Too fancy of a party for some lowly flower shop owner?”
Greyson swiped his hand over his stubble, a look of frustration gracing his handsome features. “That’s not what I meant. Not everything I say is meant to turn into an argument, Blaise. I just meant I would think this is too stuffy for someone as interesting as you.”
“Art is interesting,” she countered, then smiled. “I do the arrangements every year for the Gallo Foundation. Plus, I’m friends with Fiona, and Knight in Bloom is one of the sponsors for this particular event.”
“This is why I want you to have dinner with me, Blaise.” He stepped closer. “There’s so much I want to know about you.”
“Perhaps you should try a different approach, Mr. Steele.” Blaise stepped closer this time. “Maybe a ‘please have dinner with me’ or ‘I would love to spend time with you’ would work. But you’re always telling me what you want.”
“Please have dinner with me, Blaise. I would love to spend more time with you.” He bent his head until their foreheads were almost touching. “I want you.”
“Greyson, darling, there you are!”
Blaise’s eyes widened, and Greyson’s closed on a soft swear, as she watched the tall blonde sidle up to Greyson and tuck her left hand around his arm.
“Mother and father are waiting. Oh, darling, it’s time to tell them about our engagement!”
Blaise felt sick to her stomach, but she would certainly never show it. How dare he pursue her when he was engaged!
“Congratulations.” Her eyes bore into Greyson’s, full of fire and anger, before turning to the blonde and smiling.
“Thank you.” The smile she got in return never reached the tall woman’s eyes. In fact, it was almost glacial. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Pricilla Chapman, soon to be Steele, and you are?” She removed her left hand from Greyson, holding it out, tilted enough so that Blaise could plainly see the huge engagement ring. It, like the woman’s mask, was gaudy. And, like the woman’s dress, it was made to be flaunted.
“Blaise Knight.” And, though it was awkward to shake hands with her left hand, she did it.
“Blaise,” Pricilla repeated as though she were tasting something particularly sour. “Odd name.”
“Pricilla, that’s enough,” Greyson growled. They were his first words since she interrupted them, and they were full of venom. Hell, if this was how he treated the woman he was going to marry, Blaise surely dodged a bullet with him.
“Now, darling, I’m sure she hears that all the time. So, how did you two meet?”
“We’re not doing this. Go find your parents.”
“But, Greyson, darling…”
“Go, Pricilla! I was in the middle of a conversation with Blaise.”
“It’s fine,” Blaise interrupted. “We were done. Please, go,” she said, looking directly into Greyson’s eyes.
“Blaise.”
“Good night, Mr. Steele. Ms. Chapman.” Blaise graced them both with an amiable smile—one she wasn’t feeling at all—and walked away.
“GODDAMN IT!” GREYSON turned on Pricilla. “What the fuck was that!”
“Lower your voice, Greyson.”
“Fuck that! You just fucked things up for me royally,” he growled angrily. “And, how in the hell did you get my mother’s ring?”
“She gave it to me, of course. And, honestly, darling, you shouldn’t be flirting with other women when you’re here with your fiancée.”
“You are not my fucking fiancée!”
Pricilla clicked her tongue, then sipped her champagne with a shit-eating grin that pissed him off even more. “You really do have a temper. Perhaps I did… oh what was her name again?”
“If I were you, I’d get away from me, Pricilla. Far away.” Although Greyson knew he would never hit a woman, he clenched his hands into fists in an attempt to stay in control.
Pricilla had the good grace, or perhaps good sense, to take a step back. The fear in her eyes shamefully satisfied him. “You wouldn’t.”
“Hit you? Of course not. But do you really want to find out what I would do?” He leaned towards her, eyes hard and intimidating. “This whole fucking building will know what a farce this ‘relationship’ is. Especially your parents. I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting out of this arrangement you have with my mother, but it ends here. Unless you want to make a formal announcement about that, get the fuck away from me.”
He growled again when she began to talk. Then, thankfully, in a huff she turned on her Louboutin heel and sashayed away.
“Fuck, brother. That was harsh.”
Cade’s voice in Greyson’s ear startled him enough to have him cursing—again—out loud.
“She deserved it,” he muttered.
“I was talking about what happened to Blaise. Who looks fucking hot, by the way.”
“Cade.”
Greyson knew Cade well enough to know he would never go after a woman Greyson was interested in. That didn’t mean it didn’t piss him off when Cade made offhand comments. Especially when it came to Blaise.
“No disrespect, br
other. Just an observation.”
“Yeah, well, as entertaining as this shit is, I need to find Blaise.”
“Try the bar,” Cade said.
“Try not listening to my fucking conversations,” Greyson shot back.
“Turn off your transmitter, brother.” With that, Cade clicked off.
Greyson jerked his lapel open, taking the small transmitter out and turning it to silent. Fucking bastard heard everything that was said between Blaise and me, he thought with a grimace. Fan-fucking-tastic. He’d probably get ribbed for that for weeks. But he didn’t care about that right now. All he cared about was finding Blaise, and explaining things.
Just as Cade said, he found her standing at the bar, smiling a flirty little smile at the fucking bartender. When he was close enough, he heard the conversation, which infuriated him even more.
“What can I get the beautiful lady?” The young bartender asked. Greyson took in his appearance, and imagined if he weren’t forced to wear a uniform for this function, the dude would probably be in board shorts, an Under Armour shirt, and flip flops. Totally not Blaise’s type. He couldn’t be. Right?
“I have a mask on. How could you possibly know what I look like?” Blaise laughed a laugh that Greyson thought should only be his.
“Believe me, I can tell.” He gave Blaise a charming smile, which Greyson thought fell a little flat. “Open bar. Hit me.”
“Whiskey Sour,” Blaise ordered, tapping her fingers on the bar. Greyson wondered if it was a nervous habit, or some way to keep her hands busy for wanting to strangle someone. Namely him.
“Ouch. Bad date?”
“Are you the proverbial bartender slash psychiatrist?”
Surfer dude laughed, and grabbed a napkin to write on. “Nah. Just trying to get you to tell me if you’re taken. If not, here’s my number.”
“I’m not, but…”
“She is,” Greyson cut in. “Back off.”
The bartender raised his hands in surrender, and went to tend to another customer.
Coming Home: An LA Lovers Book Page 8