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Crushed with disappointment, I cry into my pillow in an attempt to let all the embarrassment flow out of me. To eradicate the memory that just minutes earlier I was admiring myself in the mirror, planning to seduce Michael Luciano, confident that my actions would be welcome and reciprocated.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I chastise myself, thumping the bed covers with closed fists.
I freeze as there’s a knock at the door. It’s probably Carmina, come to escort me downstairs personally.
“Go away!” I shout rudely, returning to my distressed actions.
“Cecelia?”
It’s the second time I’ve heard him say my name this evening but this time it has an edge to it. Still, I don’t move. I hear the door open and then close, and feel the air in the room instantly change, become more charged.
“Cecelia, sit up and look at me.” It’s an instruction not a request.
I sit up and move to the edge of the bed, dangling my bare legs over the side. After wiping my eyes, I sniff and look over at him, chin slightly raised in a not very convincing show of confidence.
He’s standing near the door with his feet apart and both hands in his trouser pockets. His shirt collar is unbuttoned and he’s not wearing a jacket or tie. A lock of his normally slicked back hair is falling over his forehead. He looks unbelievably sexy and handsome. I feel a thrill run through me at the mere sight of him.
“I requested your presence in my study at nine o’clock. It is now quarter past. Where were you?”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. If I tell him the truth, I’m an eavesdropper. If I lie, I’m disrespectful for ignoring his request. Caught between a rock and a hard place, I decide to go on the attack instead.
“I heard you,” I say, looking down and biting my lip.
“Heard what exactly?” His tone is still crisp.
“I heard you talking to someone… I couldn’t help it, I wasn’t listening on purpose, but I heard you both talking about me, and I heard you say I was a nobody and…and…” The memory of it makes my eyes well up again and I pause to try to compose myself. “So I came back upstairs because why would you be interested in speaking to a nobody anyway?” My bottom lip wobbles and it takes a lot of effort not to let myself cry again.
To my surprise, he starts to laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and shaking his head.
“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” I say, indignant at his response.
“I laugh when something’s funny,” he retorts.
Suddenly, fury and misery and embarrassment all swirl within me and I propel myself up off the bed towards him, eyes blazing and temper fraying. Reaching him, I look up at him with as much menace as I can muster, my hands on my hips. I’ll show him I’m not a nobody.
“I said, don’t laugh at me,” I repeat.
He smirks down at me, his beautiful full lips and chocolate brown eyes still conveying amusement. “You look like a knockout in that dress. I knew you would.”
The comment takes me off guard and as I open my mouth in surprise he leans down and covers it with his, one strong hand cupping the back of neck as my spine liquifies. I melt against him, senses fizzing and electrifying like no sensation I have ever known. He kisses me deeply, hungrily, our tongues and lips moving in unison, and I don’t even care that my sore lip is protesting. It’s my first real kiss and it’s even better than I imagined. He moves his other hand along my shoulder and down my bare arm, his fingertips barely making contact with my skin, causing goosebumps. I shiver in anticipation of what’s to come, my senses already in overdrive. If he can make me feel this good with a kiss, I think, what else can he do?
“Are you cold?” he asks in response to my shiver.
I shake my head, gazing up at his full lips, into his eyes, his brown irises almost completely covered by his dilated pupils. It thrills me that I caused that reaction.
“If anything, I’m too hot.”
“Yes, you are,” he says, grinning.
I surprise myself by jumping up into his strong arms and his hands immediately snake down my back and hips and under the material of my short green dress—my knockout dress, apparently. He squeezes my buttocks over my panties and carries me over to the bed, laying me down and leaning over me. Breathing heavily, he stares into my eyes, gently stroking my tear-stained cheek with his thumb before tracing his fingers down my neck, over my collarbone and across the material of my dress before tracing the outline of my breast. I catch my breath as he does, delighting in his feather light touch.
“You’re not a nobody, Cece,” he whispers. “Not to me. What you heard wasn’t the whole conversation. You’re very much a somebody.”
He kisses me again, butterfly kisses against my lips and cheeks and neck, and I arch my back, pulling his body closer to mine as the kisses deepen, our mouths hungry for each other. I can feel a hard bulge against my thigh, and I move my hand down toward it, wanting to feel him against my palm. He gasps and closes his eyes briefly as I do, and I’m shocked at how hard it already is.
“This is the effect you have on me,” he says, enjoying my surprised expression, his voice thick as I rub the length of him through his trousers with one hand. Even though I’ve never done this before, it feels right, natural, and Michael seems to be thoroughly enjoying it.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Cece,” he whispers. “Show me what you like.”
