Page 6 of Choosing Scarlet

The reason stands right before me, wearing a smile that disarms me whenever she looks my way. The warmth in her brown eyes and the confidence in her stance pull me in. Every time my fingers brush against her soft curves, something deep inside me tightens, only wanting to pull her closer.

I’m not the only one noticing her, though. Every so often, I catch another man looking in her direction. It doesn’t seem to matter that many of them have their wives right beside them. They still look like they can’t help themselves. The sight makes my blood heat. The anger stirs low in my chest. I can’t quite justify it, but I also don’t bother to hide.

She’s here with me. That should be enough of a reminder for them.

Even with the noise of the gala swirling around us, my thoughts wander into a darker, more selfish place. I imagine the two of us alone, away from all the eyes that won’t stop watching her. I picture her back in my penthouse, bare and revealed, entirely at my mercy.

Fuck.

Another man’s gaze lands on her again, this time from behind her shoulder. She doesn’t see it, but I do. Without hesitation, I pull her closer until her body presses gently against mine, and I feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her dress.

I want her closer.

So much closer.

It’s been a long time since a woman has captured my attention like this. Scarlet isn’t just beautiful; she’s sharp and quick-witted, exciting me with each word that leaves her lips. I know what I see in her might be just a part of the act, another layer of charm that she’s perfected for nights like this. Still, as I look at her now, smiling up at me while we move in a perfect rhythm, I find it hard to believe that what’s between us is only a performance.

Her pulse quickens where my hand rests against her back. Her eyes flicker toward my lips again and again, as if she’s silently waiting for me to close the distance between us. She’s not trying to pull away, and I know she won’t unless I make the first move. The problem is that I can’t bring myself to do it. Not now, in front of all these curious eyes observing our every step.

“Tell me more about yourself,” I say finally, breaking the silence between us. “I want to know what you actually enjoy doing. The real you, not the version that’s here tonight.”

She tilts her head slightly, studying me as if trying to decide how much to reveal. “Well, I love thrifting and collecting vintage things. I have an entire collection of old glasses. I also like searching for things to decorate my apartment. There’s something special about items that carry history with them. They have a charm that’s hard to find in anything new.” Her expression softens momentarily, and I can see she means every word. “I also enjoy astrology. I could even give you a forecast, if you’d like.”

“I don’t believe in astrology,” I tell her simply. I’ve never seen the sense in it. To me, life isn’t written in the stars; it’s built by the choices we make.

“Typical Scorpio, refusing to believe in fate,” she comments, not seeming offended by the comment. Instead, her lips curve into a smile. “That’s all right, though. The stars don’t need you to believe in them. They’ll still be there, doing their work anyway.”

“How do you know my sign?” I arch my brow.

“Oh, come on now. I’ve already told you that I do my research properly, and that’s one of the first things I look up.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. It feels unfamiliar, even to me. It catches both of us off guard. Scarlet blinks up at me, clearly surprised, and I realize it has been a long time since someone managed to draw that kind of reaction from me.

A few nearby guests glance in our direction, curious about the disruption, but I ignore them completely. At this moment, the only person who exists is her. Everything else fades into the background.

“What?” she asks, tilting her head, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arching. “It wasn’t that funny, Mr. Fisher.”

I lean in closer, close enough that my lips brush lightly against the shell of her ear. The scent of her skin fills my senses. “Knox,” I remind her, my voice low. “Call me Knox.”

Her breath hitches. That quiet sound sends a wave of heat rushing through me, and that alone is enough to make my control slip. I can’t stand being surrounded by all these people when all I want is her. Closer, alone, and completely mine for the night.

“All right, Knox,” she says softly. My name rolls off her tongue, and my insides react instantly. I don’t want to waste any more time here.

“I have a suggestion,” I say finally, choosing my words carefully. “And you can say no if you want to. I know this is a paid booking, but I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” I pause for a moment. “If you’d like, we could leave this charity gala. I’ve already made my donation, so there’s no reason to stay any longer. Truthfully, I’d much rather be back home, with you, in a more private setting.”

She pulls back just enough for me to see her face clearly. Her expression is unreadable. For a moment, I almost expect her to turn me down and to remind me of the boundaries that usually come with nights like these.

But then, slowly, she nods.

“I’d like that,” she says softly. My arm slips around her waist, guiding her as we leave the dance floor. The song still plays somewhere behind us, but I barely hear it. The crowd fades into the background, all the noise and laughter blurring together until it feels like the two of us are the only people left in the room.

I don’t bother with goodbyes or polite excuses. Whatever unfinished conversations I’ve left behind can wait. Right now, all that matters is the warmth of her body beneath my hand and the rhythm of her breathing beside me.

We move in silence through the long hallway that leads to the exit. My hand still rests on her back. It doesn’t need to, since it’s no longer for guidance, but I can’t bring myself to let go.

When we reach the large exit doors, I pull one open for her. The night air greets us, cool and calm after the warmth of the ballroom. My car waits at the far end of the lot, where Henry, my driver, leans casually against it. I hadn’t called him to bring it around. He knows my habits too well.

It’s an unspoken arrangement we have. I’ve been known to leave events earlier than expected, especially when the evening starts to lose its appeal. He always waits, just in case. Tonight, I’m grateful he did, though not for the usual reasons.