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On the other hand, it makes me wonder if he feels like he can’t be seen with me unless he transforms me into something more presentable.
By the time we leave the salon, I feel like a doll. Or a princess. I can’t decide which.
When we get back in the car, Midas pulls out his phone and shoots off a quick text message while I sit and study his profile. His features are so unique. Strong, square, sharp. I wonder if there’s a reason his hair turned white so early. Does he dye it? I’ve heard of women dying their hair white or gray to look older, but never men. It makes it impossible to tell his age, and I’m not about to ask. However old he is, he’s drop dead gorgeous.
“Why don’t you already have a date for this thing?” I ask, suspicion rising with each minute I study him. “What’s the real reason?”
“I did have a date. I canceled.”
“Why?”
His nostrils flare, like he’s scenting something. There’s a second where I think smoke comes out his nose, but it must just be the hazy light of the evening. He takes my hand, sets it in his lap, and draws circles on my palm without answering my question.
I want to ask when he canceled his date. If it was days ago or today. If it was before we met or after. But I’m not sure I want to know. His confirmation of what I suspect would make him a jackass who drops one woman when someone he finds more interesting comes along—but a jackass who wants me, who finds me more interesting. Which is a heady, addictive thought. No one ever wants me. Not that I give anyone much of a chance. It’s easier to keep my distance.
It would be safer to do that with Midas. Keep my distance. Go to the party. Leave. Forget about him. It would be better to do it on my own terms. Rather than become his next canceled date.
Or Monica.
The car pulls up in front of the dress shop, but Midas doesn’t get out. He stops me when I reach for the door. Lennox rushes into the shop and soon returns with a garment bag.
“So tell me about this party.” I rub the sleeve of my sweater between my fingers in a familiar nervous tick. His eyes bounce off the movement and back to my face.
“What do you want to know?”
“Where is it? Will it be business associates? Friends? It’s clearly fancy, but why do you need a date? Couldn’t you go by yourself?” I want to ask again why he canceled with his other date and when, but I keep my mouth shut, lips pinched together.
“It’s at my friend Jethro’s penthouse. Mostly friends, but a few business associates.” His hand wraps around mine. “And I need a date because…” He studies my face for a beat with an expression that feels more hesitant than any I’ve seen on him all day, then he looks out the window. “Everyone else will have one.”
“You don’t seem like the type to follow the crowd.”
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the knuckle of my forefinger. “What type do I seem?” He follows that one light kiss with more kisses on each knuckle of my hand in succession.
I lick my lips, realizing even though he had his fingers in me a few hours ago, we’ve never kissed. It’s all I can think about as he turns my hand over and kisses the middle of my palm, then my wrist. My pulse beats an erratic rhythm. My breath stutters. Vibrations tremble up my arm and shoot down to the area between my legs.
Wait, did he ask something?
“What type do I seem?” Midas repeats the question, reminding me.
“The type to rule the crowd, not follow it.”
“Like a king?” There’s the slightest smirk on his face, barely there, as he kisses my palm again, then brings my hand to his cheek.
I brush my thumb over his lips. “Exactly like a king.”
We sway towards each other, but Lennox opens the door before our lips touch. I hadn’t realized we’d stopped. The skyscraper in front of me is clearly an apartment building. Probably his place. I guess Lennox is dropping Midas off first before he takes me back to my place to get ready. Not that there’s much more to do than put on my dress.
Midas scoots out of the car in a movement that’s way too graceful for his size. I stay seated, but lean out the open door so he can hear me. “What time are you picking me up?”
He gives me a puzzled look and holds out his hand. “You’re not going home, Jeslyn. You’ll get dressed here. My friend lives in the apartment next to mine.”
“Oh.” I slide out of the car much less gracefully, almost tripping as anxiety rushes back in to cloud my thoughts. Is this a good idea? It felt safe and easy when we were going all over town, hanging out in public spaces—or places that are mostly public—he did shut down Monica’s store, after all.
But now, I’m about to follow a complete stranger into his private apartment.
Yep, this is a bad idea. I’m the one always telling Finley to never go home with a stranger. Never go anywhere alone. Only drink something you poured yourself. On and on. But the moment a hot guy takes notice of me, all the rules go out the window. I’m a cautionary tale.
Who will take care of Finley if something happens to me? What was I thinking? At least she knows where I am. But does she? No, I didn’t even tell her Midas’s full name. Shit, I don’t know his full name.
