by Aubrey Dark
“Where is she?” I asked, scanning the crowd. “I’ll give her a demonstration of my middle finger.”
“It’s just one dance,” Piers said, taking my elbow and leading me out onto the dance floor right next to the five-piece orchestra. “It won’t kill you.”
“I’m not worried about me,” I said. “Your toes, on the other hand…”
To his credit, Piers looked only slightly worried as he took my empty martini glass and set it on the tray of a passing waiter. Then he swept me up into his arms, clutching me tightly against his body. He lifted me up by the waist, crushing me against his chest.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, as he spun slowly. The scent of his cologne mixed with the starchy aroma of his pressed shirt.
“Not letting you step on my toes.”
He was right—lifting me up so high meant that I couldn’t step on anything. I tensed in his arms as he guided me around in what I imagined was a waltz-like dance. His body was pressed up against mine, and it was having a predictable reaction on me.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the sharp pangs of desire ratcheting through my body. He had one of my hands clasped in his, and as we danced I felt his palm cup against mine possessively. That palm had cupped me elsewhere, I remembered, my mouth going dry at the thought.
The music lilted along, and I let Piers spin us around on the dance floor.
“I’m getting dizzy with all this spinning,” I said.
“Don’t look out at the crowd.”
“Where am I supposed to look?”
“Close your eyes if you have to.”
I closed my eyes. It didn’t help. Being pressed against Piers made every particle inside me spin. I gave up and relaxed against his shoulder, staring at the side of his neck. His cheek was perfectly shaved, with not a single nick. I wondered if he had an assistant who shaved him every day.
“You look wonderful,” Piers said. He sounded sincere, but I couldn’t look at his face to be sure.
“Thank you.”
“And that dress makes your ass look fabulous.”
“That’s what Dylan thought, from his ogling.”
“His mom seemed to disapprove, though.”
“I’m sure she’s just jealous of my fabulous ass,” I said.
“That’s my girl,” Piers said, squeezing my hand slightly. A lump rose in my throat at his words.
My girl.
It was stupid. I shouldn’t be encouraging his advances. Even if his body felt hard under me. His arms, hard against my side. His groin, hard against my hips.
“How are you enjoying the party?” Piers murmured. His mouth was next to my ear, and the warmth of his breath made me shudder. I stifled the feeling. We were in the middle of the room, I told myself. In front of everyone. Keep it together.
“It kind of sucks,” I said. “Besides the open bar, that is. Everybody looks so judgmental.”
“Get used to it,” Piers said. “That’s what high society is like all the time.”
“Then call me low-class, I guess,” I said. “I’d rather have a family backyard barbecue than an elegant affair like this.”
Piers eased me back in his arms and smiled softly. I realized that the music had stopped, and the orchestra had moved onto another song.
“If you decide to date a billionaire, you’ll have to go to parties like this all the time,” he said.
“If I date a billionaire, I’ll convert him to frugality,” I said. “I’ll make him go to dive bars and take me on dates to bowling alleys.”
“I doubt that’ll happen.”
“Not all of us are complete sell-outs,” I said, poking Piers in the chest. “Just because you gave up all of your humanity—”
He clasped my wrist and brought my hand down. All he had to do was touch me, and my words failed me. I clamped my lips together.
“Pointing is rude,” Piers said.
“So is leaving your next dance waiting.” I gestured over to where Kate was standing by one of the library stacks. “I’m sure she’ll impress Dylan’s aunt more than I have.”
“There is no aunt,” Piers said, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter. He handed one to me. “I just wanted to dance with you.”
With that, he turned away with a smile, leaving me gaping after him on the dance floor.
Chapter Seventeen
“I can’t believe I lost again!”
Mia’s screeching voice filled the limo. I peered into the side bar and wondered if it was too early in the morning to start drinking scotch. Mia had been complaining since the end of the competition last night, and I didn’t know if I could handle a whole car ride with her. I needed earplugs. Or whiskey. Or both.
“You didn’t lose,” Julie pointed out. “Jen lost.”
“Jen didn’t lose,” Mia said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Lisa lost.”
“Yup. Thank God for immunity!” I said, eyeing the scotch bottle with longing.
I’d lost the cocktail party contest by a long shot. At the judge’s table, Dylan’s mom had called me a hussy in a stripper’s outfit. They’d been astonished when Piers told them that I’d won immunity in the first contest and thus couldn’t be sent home packing. At least Dylan had the courtesy to look ashamed while his mom berated me over the dress that he’d told me looked awesome. I’d stood there, smiling sweetly and gritting my teeth until they picked another girl as the loser.
“Poor Jen,” Mia said, without an inch of compassion in her voice. “She really didn’t deserve to go home.”
I wasn’t going to take the bait. I gripped my knees and inhaled deeply.
“Well, I deserved to win,” Tanya said, to nobody in particular.
“Dylan’s mom just liked your nail polish,” Rosalita grumbled. “That’s the only reason you won.”
“I spent, like, two hours doing my nails,” Tanya exclaimed.
I slumped back in my seat. Today was supposed to be a day to relax. Piers had sent us to the spa for a morning full of pampering.
Me? I never went to a spa. My version of pampering was letting Emma paint my fingernails during a Star Trek marathon. Today, though, I was looking forward to some real relaxation.
When we all piled out of the limo, Mia circled back around and walked next to me. She hooked her arm through mine and tugged me aside.
“What is it?” I asked.
“What’s what? I thought we could be a little more friendly,” Mia said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “After all, we did both lose the last contest. Even if you lost more than me. We’re in the same boat.”
“Sure.”
“And I thought, after what Kate did to you…” Mia trailed off, looking at me meaningfully. Her dark eyes swam with fake compassion.
“What exactly do you think Kate did to me?”
“I mean, she totally sabotaged you!” Mia said, batting her long dark eyelashes. “With that dress!”
I rolled my eyes.
“She didn’t—”
“I saw you two before the party. She looked so jealous of you in that evening gown.”
“I couldn’t wear that,” I said. “It wasn’t good for the party.”
“And that awful slutty dress was better? That dress was the reason Dylan’s parents hate you.”
“It was a cocktail party. I needed a cocktail dress,” I said, echoing Kate’s words hollowly.
“Your dress would totally have been fine. There were lots of women at the party dressed like that.”
I frowned, thinking back. Dylan’s mom had been wearing a shorter dress, but I couldn’t remember what anyone else was wearing. I was pretty fashion-blind, and I hadn’t even noticed that kind of thing. Kate wouldn’t have done something like that to me, though. Would she?
“It was an honest mistake,” I said slowly. “She didn’t think my dress would work. And even Julie said—”
“Both of them, ugh! I heard them whispering together in the corner at the party,” Mia said. “I didn’t hear exactly
what they were talking about, but I think they were laughing at you.”
“Okay.” I stopped walking. “Listen, Kate’s a nice girl—”
“That’s what she wants you to think,” Mia hissed. “I’m just looking out for you. I know nobody here likes me, but at least I’m honest about playing the game!”
“Is that what you call burning Lucy’s garlic?” I raised my eyebrows.
Mia had the decency to flush.
“That was an accident,” she said, uncomfortably. “I thought I was turning up my own burner.”
“I don’t care,” I said. I was sick of listening to her, and sick of doubting the one girl who had been in the least bit nice to me. “You know what? I don’t care at all. I don’t even care about being on this show! Right now, all I care about is putting a mud mask on and nursing this hangover I have.”
Mia nodded solemnly.
“I hear you. So we’re good, then?”
“Sure. Whatever. We’re good.”
I extricated myself from her grasp and headed toward the massage rooms. I hoped they served mimosas here. Kate bumped into me in the entryway.
“What was Mia saying?” she whispered furtively.
“Nothing,” I shrugged.
“Did she say anything about me?”
I looked up at Kate. To my surprise, she had a guilty look on her face that disappeared as soon as she caught me looking.
“She didn’t like the dress you picked for me,” I said. “That’s all.”
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Kate cried, her words coming out in a rush. “I thought it would be better, but it was such a big mistake. And it almost got you kicked off, and if you hadn’t had immunity—”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Tears glistened in Kate’s eyes. “I’m so, so, so sorry—”
“No problem,” I said, holding up my hand to stem the tide of apologies. “Really. I thought it made my ass look fabulous. And I didn’t get kicked off, so no harm, no foul.”
Kate nodded, relief washing over her face. I wondered why she was so worked up, but I didn’t want to bring it up right then. If there was one thing I didn’t need on my relaxation day, it was drama.
After a cup of hot green tea with honey, I felt a lot better. The masseur had worked on my feet as another spa worker rubbed a cucumber mask all over my skin, then instructed me to strip down to my underwear and lay on the table. I settled face-down into the cushy massage table, closed my eyes, and waited for the masseur to return.
When he came back, he put a hot towel on my shoulders. The steam billowed out over my neck, warming my whole body. A soft melody began to play, some Chinese-sounding thing with flutes.
“Mmm,” I said, as the masseur began to rub oil over my lower back.
He worked in silence, his hands kneading my sore muscles. I could feel the stress melting away as his hands caressed my shoulders, squeezing and rubbing in all the right places. The room filled with the scent of lavender oil.
My mind drifted back to the cocktail party last night. After Piers had danced with me, I’d hidden away back in the fiction stacks of the library. There, I’d found a really interesting display about early printing presses. I found, as well, that I wasn’t the only one who hated cocktail parties. One of Dylan’s distant relatives, a great-uncle, had talked with me for nearly a half hour about old printing machines and linotypes.
I thought that, overall, I’d done the best that I could for an introvert. Sure, I hadn’t much talked with Dylan, but he’d been chatting up one of the other contestants every time I’d checked. Mia had cornered him for a long while, talking about who knows what, and I’d seen him glancing over at Kate.
I’d been rooting for Kate, and it had come as a victory when Dylan finally wrenched himself away from Mia to go to her. Now, though, I was second-guessing myself. Was Kate really as nice as she had seemed at first? Or was she even sneakier than Mia was?
Man, this competition was bringing out the suspicious side of me. Trust no one, indeed.
On the one hand, I hated all of the sabotage and sneakiness. On the other hand, it would make for a hell of a good article. I decided to let myself relax and enjoy the drama for what it was—silly pettiness that didn’t matter at all.
And right now, nothing mattered as much as the way the masseur was melting all of the tendons in my shoulders.
“Umm, that feels good,” I said, as his hands moved down to the muscles of my lower back. I moaned softly as his strong fingers worked lower, lower—
My eyes flew open, staring down into the bamboo floor. His hand was slipping down over my butt, massaging my ass in deep circles.
“Uh, is this part of the massage?” I asked.
In response, both of his hands cupped my ass, squeezing hard.
“Hey!” I said, pushing myself up from the massage table. “Cut it out—”
“You don’t want a happy ending?”
“Piers!”
I twisted my head around and grabbed the sheet to cover my chest as I sat up. Piers was sitting on the side of the massage table, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hands were oily and his dark hair fell tousled over his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
“Giving you a massage.”
“I—I see that! Why?”
“Well, you were laying there on the massage table, and I thought—”
“You are not a professional massage therapist!”
“You didn’t seem to notice.” He grinned.
“Get—get out of here! You are not allowed to be in here! This is relaxation day!”
“I thought I was doing a great job of relaxing you,” Piers said. He slid his hand up my thigh and I swatted it away. “Ow!”
“Get out of here before anyone comes in!”
“Is that what you’re worried about? There’s a sign outside the door that says not to disturb.” Piers shifted closer to me, and I shimmied back, almost falling off of the massage table.
“And if someone walks in and your head is buried between my thighs?” Even saying it made a blush rise to my throat. “I’m sure a sign on the door will help—”
“I’ll only use my hands, if you’re worried about that.” Piers grinned.
“I don’t… I don’t—”
“You don’t want this?”
I was at the edge of the table, and Piers’ hand was skimming along my exposed upper thigh. His fingers mesmerized me the same way they had the first time I’d seen him, when he was playing the piano. Those were the fingers that had cupped my chin when he first kissed me.
Those were the fingers that had been inside me.
All of the air in the room was gone, and I sucked in a deep breath. All of my nerves were vibrating as his fingers stroked my skin at the hip. Soft strokes, gentle strokes.
“Piers, what are you doing?” It was meant to be a bold question, but it came out as a whisper.
“Helping you relax,” he said. “Don’t you want to relax?”
“I—I…” I couldn’t think. The way he was touching me made my words jumble up on my tongue. He was so close to me, and I was so naked, vulnerable. I didn’t feel scared, though. I felt safe. And completely, one hundred percent aroused.
“Lie down,” Piers said. His fingers kept moving, always moving, lightly skimming my skin. The ache inside me surged up as he paused near the inside corner of my hip. I swallowed.
“Piers—”
“I’m sorry about not calling you before. I should have. I just didn’t know what to say.”
He hadn’t known what to say. What a ridiculous excuse. But his fingers paused on the top of my hipbone, and my heart thudded against my chest. He looked so sincere.
“Apology accepted,” I said. “So what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know. I can’t help myself.” He shrugged slightly, his face full of desire.
“It was just supposed to be one time. Just a little bit of fun, you said.” My words were hesitan
t, stumbling. I didn’t want him to agree with me.
“You said it was a mistake. Was it, Lisa?”
I blinked. His face was open, completely open, the same way he’d opened up to me the first night. He looked… vulnerable.
“No.” The word was a whisper.
No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was the best orgasm—orgasms—that I’d ever experienced. But there was something inside me that made me hesitate to give into the feeling that rushed through my blood. It seemed like too much. I couldn’t get involved with a guy like this. There was too much going on with him—the celebrity, the show, the fact that I had to write up an article about this at the end of it all. It all felt overwhelming.
“You can lie down and let me finish your massage,” Piers said, his voice a breath on my shoulder. “Or I’ll call Thomas back in to finish. I don’t think he’ll do as good a job as I will, though.”
He smiled at me, and my heart twisted.
“Just one massage?” I asked. I wanted more, but I knew I couldn’t have more. We were already playing with fire.
“Just one massage,” he echoed, his eyes twinkling green and blue in the low light.
“Okay,” I said.
“On your back,” he ordered softly. I turned, flushing as my naked body was exposed for him to see.
What was I thinking? This was insane. I almost stopped him right then. I almost told him to leave. If I’d had an ounce more willpower, I would have.
Then I remembered how he’d made me feel before, and my whole being surged with desire. I closed my eyes instead. If I didn’t see myself naked, it would be okay. God, I was such a coward.
“Perfect,” he said. I trembled as he laid his hands on my shoulders. “Absolutely perfect.”
I waited for his touch to move, but at first he only massaged my shoulders. My muscles began to relax again. My nerves settled back, and even the tight coil inside of me unwound. The Chinese wind flutes played softly.
When he finally moved his hands down, I let out a soft gasp. Both of his hands cupped my breasts, slowly circling and squeezing. His strong palms slid over my oily skin, and I felt my whole body heat up as he slid his thumbs over my nipples.