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“Hi.” A man across the table smiles at me. He’s around thirty, with fair hair, very good-looking, actually. “Are you alone?” he asks.
“Yes.” I clutch my purse with white-knuckle force on my lap. Damn Elliot, this is the first and last time I’m doing this.
“Me too.” Without a word the man gets up and swaps his name tag with Elliot’s.
He slinks into the seat beside me. “That’s better.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Charles.”
I smile and shake it. “Kathryn.”
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Lovely to meet you, Kathryn.”
I feel him before I see him. Elliot slinks into the chair opposite, his eyes find mine and I pull my hand from Charles’s lips.
Crap.
“Mr. Miles,” someone from the side splutters. “How lovely to see you again.”
Elliot turns and fakes a smile. “Hello.” He does the honors and shakes everyone’s hands at the table.
“Charles.” The man reaches over to shake Elliot’s hand.
Elliot raises an eyebrow in a silent you’re in my seat signal. “Elliot Miles.”
“I know who you are.” Charles smiles broadly. “Doesn’t everyone.”
Elliot rolls his lips as he stares at him flatly, clearly unimpressed.
Awkward.
I tip my head back and take a gulp of champagne.
“I switched seats with you,” Charles jokes. “I saw beautiful Kathryn here and simply had to sit next to her. You snooze, you lose, old boy.”
Elliot’s eyes hold his and I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile—oh, this is priceless.
Charles turns his attention back to me. “So, Kathryn, we were meant to meet tonight. I feel like the gods have shone down on me—tell me all about you.”
Good grief.
My eyes flick to Elliot, who raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his champagne.
What’s going through that control-freak head of his?
I tip my head back and skull again.
Help.
Oh what hell it is to ride on a charity ball tonight.
At first I thought teasing Elliot with Charles was a little fun, harmless flirting, but as the night goes on . . . not so much.
Charles is now openly flirting with me and I don’t want to be rude, but with Elliot in earshot it’s my worst nightmare. Elliot is talking to other people at the table, but I know he’s listening to my and Charles’s every word.
I’m deflecting compliments and sidestepping his flirting, but with every new tactic he tries, and he’s fucking trying them all, my blood pressure rises a little more.
At any moment I’m expecting Elliot to go bat-shit crazy, and dive across the table and punch Charles straight in the nose, because that’s who he is.
But to my surprise, he’s being calm and collected, his public persona firmly in place.
It’s very unsettling.
His eyes hold mine as he lifts his Scotch to his lips and takes a sip, emotionless and cold.
He’s fucking pissed.
Out-of-control Elliot Miles is manageable. Cold and calculating Elliot Miles is a completely different story. This situation is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
“Elliot.” We hear a sexy voice with a German accent, and I look up to see a drop-dead gorgeous woman in an ice-pink, strapless evening gown. She has long, dark hair and a body to die for.
Elliot glances up and then says something to her in another language. I can tell by the look on his face, it’s flirty . . . I know that look all too well.
She laughs on cue.
Huh?
What did he just say?
She replies in . . . I think it’s German.
He gives her a sexy smile and stands and holds his hand out for her. He says something else to her in German and she throws her head back and laughs out loud.
What the fuck?
“Who is this?” Charles asks.
Excellent question, Charles . . . you giant dickhead.
“This is Varuscka.” Elliot replies as he looks at her all adoringly. “And we’re dancing.” He leads her by the hand to the dance floor and takes her in his arms. I glare after them as my blood begins to boil. Varuscka Vermont, the woman he gave a lift home.
Seeing him and her together now . . . maybe there was more to it.
What the actual fucking fuck?
I pick up my glass and drain it, then refill my glass so fast that it sloshes over the side.
“Steady on.” Charles laughs. “Don’t want to get drunk and disorderly, do we?”
I glare at him, shut up, shut up. This is all your fault, you fucking idiot.
He’s playing games . . .
He just wants to pay me back for talking to Charles all night, it’s obvious.
Calm, calm . . . keep fucking calm.
With a shaky hand I lift my glass to my lips and I glance over to the dance floor. Elliot is holding her close in his arms, his back to me. Tall, dark, and handsome in a black dinner suit, he looks orgasmic, a standout in the crowded room. He’s talking in her ear and by the look on her face it looks like he’s telling her how many ways he could lick her to heaven.
