AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sometimes.”
The song drew to a close and we paused to applaud again. “Only sometimes?”
“Yes, Mr. Hardigan. Only sometimes. Now, you should go and fetch your young lady before her latest suitor decides to steal away with her.”
Yes, I really should and at the same time. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am.”
She chuckled as I offered her a hand and she shook it once. “Until next time.” Then without another glance in my direction she was walking away. “Gerard, darling…”
I glanced after her for a moment, then shook my head as I left the dance floor and headed for Mayhem.
ChapterTwo
LAINEY
Genevieve Whitten tilted her head as Mark Rolson continued to drone on, at length, about the upcoming exhibition. The man was in love with the sound of his own voice. His wife, Hayle, had half-checked out of the conversation, her attention elsewhere. I was certain the only reason Genevieve bothered to focus on him at all was the same reason I was. Rolson and his wife served as chair people for tonight’s charity and the event’s de facto hosts.
If anyone would have the information on the secret pieces up for tonight’s auction it would be them. Of course, Rolson’s droning tone could be marketed as a cure for insomnia. The man’s inflections barely altered. He spoke about the selection of hors d'oeuvres being offered with the same enthusiasm he would use when discussing the weather or the current music the ensemble was playing.
Across the room, Pretty Boy danced with an older woman I didn’t know. The woman was quite handsome, her eyes sharp and almost polar blue. They popped even from where I was standing. Her snow-white hair was styled impeccably and her evening gown dramatic, if understated. There was a sharp intelligence in her expression that made me curious. Especially when Milo’s attention dipped to the woman with just a flicker of surprise.
Not much surprised Pretty Boy. Whatever she said, it restored some of his humor. A good thing. Tossing my drink in his face had been rude, but I needed to “escape” to just intrude on the Rolsons, at least initially. They weren’t always keen on “drop-ins.” Their arrogance far exceeded their social credit and yet they wielded the elitist capital they had accumulated with a kind of blunt-nosed charm that older families tended to indulge.
To a point.
I’d rather just walk away and ignore them myself, but again…Grandfather had a passion for art and Degas was one of his favorite artists. The auction was by invitation only. If I could net us a chance at the possibleCount Lepic and his Daughters,said to be available as part of tonight’s shadow auction, then I could endure a few minutes of social boredom.
As much as I pretended otherwise, I kept a visual check on Pretty Boy. Attending galas and other events was not comfortable for him. Dressing up, the expensive clothing, and the shoes—he was not a fan. He disliked it even more that I purchased him a whole wardrobe and had several suits custom made. We’d had more than one argument and more than once he decided to fuck his way to winning it.
My thighs flexed at the memory. While I definitely enjoyed his efforts, I couldn’t let him change my mind. For a moment, our gazes locked and I couldn’t quite suppress the smile that curved my lips. He’d taken the wine incident without missing a blink, despite the brief surprise. Guilt slid out to rake its claws across my belly.
If Rolson were anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered. The man and his wife, however, loved a good bit of gossip. Speaking of which, I reoriented my attention to whatever Rolson was saying because I’d let Pretty Boy distract me. Genevieve spared me a rather bland look.
The Whittens were a rather inconsequential family who’d benefitted from some sound investments. Her mother, Tara, had worked for the Benedicts before I was born. She married Clancy Whitten, who was making a name for himself in politics as a fixer. Everyone needed a fixer.
Genevieve traded on that reputation and the accumulated new money of her family’s investments to net a socialite status. But she was low tier. Wealth tended to diminish as it trickled through generations. If their family money lasted to her grandchildren, the Whittens would gain more influence. Until then…
I flicked a look to Pretty Boy again, I really was sorry I’d needed to separate us for this part. At least if he were here, I could be boredwithhim. Genevieve let out a little sound that pulled me back to my audience. Dammit, Pretty Boy.
What had I missed?
Before I could do a full assessment though, a hand glided down my arm. Electricity seemed to follow the light brush of fingers even as the scent of sandalwood, vetiver, where the woodiness held elements of fire and jasmine. The cologne—an exclusive edition of Baccarat Rouge—elicited a very primitive response before Ezra even opened his mouth.
“Lainey, why are you over here with these bores?” He barely spared them a look as he turned me toward him. The light seemed to catch on the suggestion of gold flecks of his deep green eyes as he dipped his gaze to mine. The curve of his mouth deepened as he dipped his head, a wordless kiss to my jaw, then another to my ear. “I’ve come to rescue you.”
There was nothing quiet about his teasing remark nor subtle about his rudeness. I tilted my head but he was already focusing on my companions. The friendliness evaporated from his expression.
“That was your cue,” he said. “You can go now.”
Mark Rolson began to sputter but then his jaw clamped shut and I stole a look at Ezra. The dark look he wore had my tummy tightening for a moment.
“Of course,” Rolson said abruptly, taking his wife’s arm. “Forgive me, Miss Benedict. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
“You weren’t—” I started to say but Ezra dragged me back against him. Where Milo’s chest was broad and his arms were thickly muscled, Ezra was all lean, toned, and tall. They both wore a tux really well but there was no mistaking whose arms were around me. I flicked a look from him to the Rolsons then back. The sculpted line of Ezra’s jaw just added to the disapproval radiating from his expression. There were times when he was very much a chiseled work of art.
Then he opened his mouth.
“She’s too polite and you’ve taken too much advantage. Goodbye.” He all but shooed them away. When I would have rounded on him, Genevieve let out a throaty laugh.
