Wicked Idol: A Hellfire Club Novel
Page 17
Within the blink of an eye, my water was set on a table and I was whisked out onto the dance floor. In Rhys’s arms. Staring up at those near-black eyes glittering from behind his dark mask.
“What are we doing?” I asked him, easily catching the rhythm of the waltz as he turned me across the floor. I was a decent dancer. It wasn’t so different than martial arts, after all. Posture, form, balance. And Rhys was a surprisingly graceful partner for being someone whom I'd always assumed was pure evil.
Whenever we turned, my cape swung out behind me, and whenever we stepped, Rhys’s firm hand on my back made sure to keep my hips close to his. For anyone watching, the dance might have looked…romantic.
“I would’ve thought it was obvious what we’re doing, Sloane Lauder,” Rhys said softly. “I’m proving a point about Lennox.”
My father had trained me better, he really had, but when it came to Lennox, I never could seem to control myself; I swiveled my head and looked to where I saw him last.
And was hit with a golden gaze so malevolent I could practically feel its heat all the way out here in the middle of the dance floor.
“He is watching,” I said, more to myself than to the tall devil spinning me around the floor.
“He’s always watching you.”
“He hates me, you know.”
Rhys smiled a cipher-like smile. “Maybe.”
“I don’t think he likes seeing me have fun.”
The cipher-like smile only grew bigger. “If he hates you dancing, then he’ll definitely hate this.”
And right there, right in the middle of the ballroom floor with couples waltzing around us and candles flickering everywhere, Rhys kissed me.
Kissed me!
I could have fended him off if I wanted. No one could touch me when I didn’t want to be touched, thanks to my father and years of martial arts. But I found . . . I found I didn’t want to.
Not at first, at least.
His kiss was silky, just like his voice, and his mouth was surprisingly warm for someone with a heart chiseled from ice. And while it didn’t necessarily set my heart to racing the same way a mere glance from Lennox did, and while it didn’t make me hot and restless the way the mere thought of Lennox’s mouth made me, the kiss wasn’t unpleasant. It was almost nice, in fact. Like the sensation of kissing without all the fervor and heat that usually accompanied the act. Like the idea of kissing without all the complicated feelings coming to mess it up.
Rhys’s fingers curled around my cape as he pulled me closer and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping between my lips to caress mine. It was instinct as much as anything that had me tilting my face up to offer Rhys more—and that’s when I heard it.
The clatter and crash of a candelabra falling over, and the gasps and shrieks that followed. I broke away from Rhys’s kiss to see Lennox disappearing through the far doors, his stride quick and furious.
From the way people were staring and whispering, it was clear he was the one who knocked over the candelabra.
As if he’d flung it to the ground in anger before storming away.
“Well, then,” Rhys said with satisfaction, his eyes also on Lennox’s retreating form. “I was right.”
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