Maddie
As I watch Caesar talk to the woman behind reception, I lean against a nearby pillar in case I feel faint from lack of oxygen.
My heart is racing so fast, it appears to be imitating the dance beat from the music in the ballroom. Am I really going to do this? I can’t believe I suggested it. When I kissed him, his surprise was obvious, even though he’s wearing a mask. I don’t know why; he must get invitations like this all the time. I read the headlines; I know how much the Ashford siblings are enjoying the family’s meteoric rise.
For me, though, it’s another story. I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’ve never invited a guy up to my room. My university days were mostly spent in the library, in the lab, or alone in my room. I’ve had a few regular boyfriends, none of which have set my world alight. This, tonight, is the stuff dreams are made of, or nightmares, depending on your point of view.
Oh God. If I go up to a room with him, how am I going to make sure I keep my identity secret? I’m flattered that he wants to get to know me better, but if I reveal who I am, the evening will screech to a halt.
Fuck—he’s coming back, and he’s sliding a key card into his top pocket.
He stops in front of me. His eyes catch the fairy lights strung around the foyer, and they make his eyes sparkle.
“Still want to do this?” he asks. “No worries if you want to back out at any time, it’s not a problem.”
I was frozen to the spot, but his soft tone and smile make me soften. I didn’t expect to like him. I thought he’d be imperious and supercilious, but his sense of humor and genuineadmiration have pried open my oyster shell of a heart. He’s not being nice to me just because I’m one of the Rutherford grandchildren. He doesn’t see me as easy access to money or a job. He seems to like me. I’m never going to be able to say no to that.
“Let’s go,” I say, and he grins, takes my hand, and leads me to the elevator.
He presses the button, and we wait impatiently for a carriage to descend. He squeezes my fingers, and I look down at his warm, tanned hand, imagining it sliding up my thigh as he pushes up the skirt of my gown. I lift my gaze to his, and the heat in his eyes makes me catch my breath.
The doors ping open, and we’ve just gone inside when our mouths find each other, our lips crushing together in a passionate kiss. I don’t know who’s kissing whom, but I lift my arms around his neck, and he slides his around my waist, and our tongues tangle as heat blazes through me… and then we break apart hurriedly as another couple enters the carriage.
“Sorry,” the woman says, and giggles.
Caesar clears his throat as they move to the other side. “Which floor?” he asks.
“Eleven, please,” the guy says, trying not to smile.
Caesar presses eleven, and then twenty-six—the top floor. He touches his key card to the pad, then leans against the carriage wall, watching me. I stare at him, and he smirks.
“You rented the penthouse?” I mouth.
He shrugs. “Only the best for my Cupcake.” He chuckles.
The elevator rises swiftly, and soon the door opens and the other couple exits, casting amused smiles at us as they leave. The doors slide shut, and the carriage begins to rise again.
Caesar moves closer to me and bends his head, and this time he kisses me gently where the mole sits above my top lip. Then his lips brush mine. As I sigh, my breath mingles with his.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, lifting his head a little. He gives me a curious look, stroking my hair back from my face. “Who are you, mysterious lady? Please tell me.”
“‘O Captain! My Captain!’”
“Are you quoting Walt Whitman at me?”
I laugh. Then I lift a hand to brush a thumb across his bottom lip. “No names, Cap’n. Don’t keep asking me.”
He looks into my eyes. Then, eventually, he nods. “Okay.”
The elevator pings, and the doors slide open. We’re in a long, quiet corridor, and the plush carpet muffles our footsteps as we walk out.
There are four doors—two facing each other just a few feet away, and two facing each other at the other end of the corridor. Four penthouse apartments, then, presumably each taking up a corner of the floor.
He holds my hand and leads me along the corridor to the door at the end on the right, touches his key card to it, and the green light comes on. He opens the door, goes in, and holds the door to let me pass him.
I walk into the apartment, eyes wide as I see a huge living room, the large windows in the wall to our left facing Waitemata Harbour. The sun is sinking toward the horizon, and the sky looks like a fruit salad: the purple of grapes blending with the green of kiwi fruit, and the orange of mangoes merging with the rich yellow of pineapple. Christmas lights from the shops and restaurants are reflected in the water, making it look as if it’s filled with precious gems.
Caesar doesn’t turn on any lamps, but in the corner of the room the fairy lights on the Christmas tree are already on, and they sparkle in the semi-darkness.
