Closer (17 page)

“Inez,” he whispered, tugging her hand and pulling her back.  “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, no kidding.  Whoever decorated the ballroom clearly has a black velvet fetish,” she replied, straining to catch a peek into the ballroom as the sliding doors pumped opened for the catering waitstaff to dart in and out of it.  “And the corridors of this yacht look like the villain’s lair in a James Bond flick.  Tinted windows, ebony wall paneling, and pinstripe blue neon lighting.  I mean, really…is this a respectable gala or Dr. Evil’s bachelor party?”

“No…” Sven stammered as his vision faded away into disorienting darkness.  He surveyed his surroundings, attempting to capture a flare from a wall lamp or the glow of an overhead chandelier—any bit of light that would produce an image.  But the yacht’s dim lighting and dark paneling cloaked everything in darkness.  For the first time since the aftermath of the accident when his eyes were bandaged for weeks, he was completely sightless.

Distress raced through his veins.  “Inez, I can’t see anything.  Not even your face.”  He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm, struggling to focus on her lips and profile. 

Abruptly, the sound of the revving engines and spinning propellers caused the cabin to vibrate, and the deck rocked away from the dock.

As panic set in, he turned, then hesitated, uncertain which direction they had entered.  “We need to get off this ship.” 

Stubbornly, Inez pulled back on his hand. “Whoa…no way,” she protested. “No way are we leaving now.  I just spent the entire car ride over here, psyching myself up to show my ruffled panty ass to all your fancy high-class friends, and now you want to leave before I even get a glass of champagne?”

He raised his head higher, like he was treading water through invisible waves, fighting to capture a wisp of light.  But everything around him had disappeared into a uniform veil of murky shadows. 

“Inez—” He seized her chin, turning her face towards him, needing to ensure that she was looking at him and registering the severity of the situation. “I cannot see anything,” he insisted, his voice wavering.  “Nothing at all.”

She lowered his hand and crowded him into a corner, away from the blaring music filtering from the ballroom and the foot traffic of the catering staff. 

“It’s a moonless night, Sven.  Not even vampires are finding the pretty girls tonight.”

The live jazz music swelled to its climax before ending with the festive blare of trombones.  She turned towards the direction of the applause. 

“And just for the record…if I have to muster up the confidence to get on a yacht despite my ridiculous fear of water and wear ruffled panties tonight in front of that entire ballroom of people, you’re going to have to find a way to muster up the confidence to get up on that stage and accept your freaking genius award.” She paused, as if she wanted to make certain he was listening. “And maybe even sing some bad karaoke.”

The edge in her voice kept him calm and focused.  He slowly exhaled through his nostrils, quelling the adrenaline pounding through his chest. 

“Metallica?”

“No way. More like Cyndi Lauper.”

He exhaled again, realizing he was completely trapped.  The sliding doors pumped open.  He squinted in their direction, attempting to discern anything beyond them, but he could see nothing except obscuring shadows.  He adjusted his eyepatch and cleared his throat, calculating the odds of navigating all the challenges that lay ahead of them.  A hush invaded his soul.  She was right.  She had her own fears to conquer and she was willing to do it for him.  He didn’t want to fail her.

“How many people are in the ballroom?” he asked.

“Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

“The truth.”

“The truth is…” she paused, wavering.  “The truth is you’re one of the most influential architects of the twenty-first century.  How many people do you think are in there?” 

He clenched his jaw.  “More than I can possibly fool.” 

“People are easy to fool, Sven.  The hard part is believing we can do it.”

She touched his cheek.  He covered her hand with his own.

“How?” Dread dampened his tone.  The odds were completely against them.

“With the help of loads of alcohol,” she asserted, as if it had been the plan all along.  “So how many drinks does it normally take to get you plastered?”

“To get me what?”

“
Plastered
,” she insisted louder, like he simply didn’t hear her.  “I want to make sure we stop right before you get so staggering drunk that you won’t be able to walk yourself back to the limousine.”

“Inez, I’ve never been that drunk in my life.”

He heard her cluck, like she was supremely disappointed or annoyed—or both. 

“Oh…right.  I forgot.  You’re
European
.  You’ve probably never been wasted, just for the pure sake of being wasted, right?  Okay, fine.  I’ll use my best judgment.”  She paused and pulled away, checking him out from head to toe.  “Over six feet tall and a little more than two-hundred pounds, mostly muscle, but no dinner…okay, so probably six shots over the course of a few hours, maybe eight, if we’re mixing up vodka with a few of your precious Belgium ales.”

“You cannot possibly want to get me plastered tonight.  I cannot think of a worse plan.”

“It’s the perfect plan, Sven.  And it’s the only way we’re going to get through this reception. Excuse me?” she abruptly called out to someone. 

“Yes, ma’am?”  The waiter slowed his pace and doubled back towards them.

“I’ll take three of those…thanks.” She swooped up two shots from the waiter’s tray while leaving the third one behind.  “Sven…tip him, please.”

Without a beat, he obeyed, reaching into his pocket, unfolding his handkerchief, and withdrawing a single bill between his fingers. 

“Dang,” the water drawled.  “Thank you very much, sir.”

“He’s the guest of honor, and there’s more where that came from,” Inez replied.

“For real?  The guest of honor?”  The waiter sounded young, eager, and easily impressed. 

“Yep,” Inez confirmed. “So please let your manager know that Mr. Sven van der Meer has arrived, and he would like the band to play ‘So What’ by Miles Davis to announce his entrance.”

“No, Inez,” Sven cut in.   The last thing they needed was an obscene amount of attention drawn to them when they entered the room.

“Shhh,” she ordered, handing over the first shot and watching him down it.  “You just focus on drinking.  Nothing distracts people more than good music and there’s nothing better than masterful jazz like Miles Davis.  It’s your night.  You’re the guest of honor.  You deserve a grand entrance.”

“Damn straight,” the waiter agreed, like they were on the same team.  “Plus, if I may say so, Mr. van der Meer...that’s one fierce eyepatch.  Definitely worthy of a cool jazz serenade.”

“Wait until you see him on the dance floor after he’s had a few shots,” Inez added, swapping out his empty glass for a fresh one.

The waiter snapped his fingers and pointed at Sven. “Dawg.”

Sven threw back the second shot—premium Russian vodka. 
Oh, God… what horrible mistake had he made? Allowing Inez to be in charge
? 

“Inez—” Sven cautioned her and returned the empty shot onto the tray.

But she ignored him.  “Okay, good.  So that’s the plan.  What’s your name, by the way?”

“Devin,” the waiter replied. 

“Good, Devin.  Now, go tell your manager that Mr. van der Meer has arrived and make sure that the band plays his request.  Got it?”

“You got it, Ms. van der Meer.” 

“Oh, and make sure you check back in with us every half an hour to refresh Mr. van der Meer’s drink.  I don’t want to ever see his glass empty.”  Inez nudged Sven in the ribs.  “Tip him again, please.”

Sven sighed and held up the bill between two fingers.

“Pheeeeeww,” Devin whistled, accepting the second hundred dollar bill.  “Endless rounds of primo Stoli and some Miles Davis.  Coming right up.”

Sven heard the waiter rush away, certain he had just wasted two hundred dollars.

“I could get used to this,” Inez said.

“What?  Giving away my money?” he replied, savoring the casual intimacy of her fingers against his chest, straightening his tie and smoothing his lapels.  “Getting me plastered?  Or pretending to be Ms. Van der Meer?”

He waited, wondering if she would take the bait.  She didn’t, of course.  Her silence confirmed she was all business tonight, and as much as he tried, he still couldn’t make out the expression on her face. 

“Okay, drink up.”  She handed over a third shot to him.

He grimaced like it was poison.  “I much prefer Belgium ale.”

“Sorry, cranky pants.  Blind beggars can’t be choosers.”  She coaxed the shot’s rim to his lips.

“Inez, getting drunk isn’t going to magically cure my blindness.”

“No, but it’s going to make you a helluva lot easier to manage.  And trust me, you’re going to be a lot more charming if you’re drunk than if you stay sober with that rigid stick up your—”

He suddenly thrust forward and seized her entire body into his arms, covering her haughty, saucy mouth with his own like a punishment.  He was tired of her incessant talking and he wanted nothing more than to force her into silence.  He kissed her like he intended to set her on fire before cooling her down with each wet, persistent stroke of his tongue.  He had wanted to kiss her like that since this afternoon—kiss her without restraint and make her feel the same sexual yearnings that he had been forced to repress.  She had been the one to assert the professional boundaries between them, and now, with every order she gave him, he wanted nothing more than to smash them to pieces and assert his domination over her. 

He exhaled into her throat, feeling her supple tongue entwining with his own—the same way they had kissed at the museum.  His cock grew hard and hungry, and if they had been anywhere else, he wouldn’t have given a fuck about his professional obligations.  He would have pushed her up against the wall, forced up her dress, tore down those damn ruffled panties, and teased her clit with his tongue until her thighs parted and her head dropped back in surrender—all just to prove that her ice queen persona was a bigger charade than their arrangement.  He would have ravaged her wetness, relishing each of her panting gasps as he invaded her glistening slit until she moaned and groaned and dug those fake fingernails into his scalp.  And he would have savored, and denied, every plea for him not to stop until he made her shake, quake, and heave with shuddering satisfaction.

Instead, he made sure to be the first one to pull away from their rapturous kiss.  Downing the rest of his third shot, he winced as the sting peppered his throat.  He couldn’t make out her expression, but he could hear her accelerated breath, flustered and shallow.  And, of course, he had gotten what he had wanted—her silence. 

“So tell me…if this was Dr. Evil’s bachelor party, which sexy Bond girl would you be?”  He couldn’t help it.  He suddenly felt invincible again.

“Whichever one gets to kick 007 in the balls,” she shot back, wiping her lipstick off his mouth.

“Naturally.”  He nodded, licking her taste, stilling lingering on his lips, and feeling the effects of three drinks invigorating him.  Apparently, she was right.  He felt a lot more charming inebriated than sober—sightless or not.

Chapter Fifteen

Inez closed her eyes and touched her lips, unable to believe he had just kissed her—
again
—and unable to believe he had been the first the one to pull away.  When she opened her eyes, part of her wanted to slap that arrogant smile right off his smarmy Dutch face, but the other part of her wanted him to do it again, claiming not only her lips, mouth, and tongue, but her entire body and relieve the aching tingle of wetness between her legs.

Bastard.
  She glared at him, knowing he couldn’t see her rage. 
All of this was a game to him
.

The mellowing sound of Miles Davis subdued her.  She had come up with a brilliant plan to get them through the night, and no matter how much of a pain in the ass Sven intended to be, she had meant what she said: she wasn’t going to let him skip out on attending one of the most prestigious events in his career just because he was sightless.  She had been hired by him for
exactly
that reason, and she wouldn’t fail in her job by letting him fail tonight. Plus, getting Sven through tonight meant scoring her another five thousand dollars. Sven kissing her was just a distraction.  The arousal of his tongue swashbuckling her into submission was just an annoying diversion.  He had tested her from the moment they first met, and he was testing her again. 

Fuck him
. 
She would not fail
. 

Feeling the heat from his kiss flushing her cheeks, she unfastened her mink wrap and drew it off her shoulders, abandoning it on a nearby lounge chair.  She had a job to do and he had a gala to attend.  There was nothing stopping them except the inconvenient fact that he was completely dependent now—more than ever.  The only thing more inconvenient than that was the fact that the crotch band of her ruffled panties was damp—yet again.

Ugh.  Bastard
.

The smooth trumpet of Miles Davis’ jazz signature piece crooned through the sliding doors.  That was their cue.  No more screwing around—literally.

“Give me your hand,” she ordered him.  “And don’t move, talk, or speak unless I tell you to.”

With a dreamy expression of amusement, he shifted his eye down onto her lips, as if he was enjoying the stern edge in her voice.  “Yes, Mistress Inez.” 

She eyed him, uncertain he intended to obey.  There was no time to find out; she had to get him into the ballroom before the tempo change.  She nudged him towards the sliding double doors and held her breath, listening for the band’s melodic climax.  Right on cue, they stepped through the sliding doors.  She held onto Sven’s hand like they were jumping out of an airplane together.  Just as she had hoped, the ballroom erupted with applause.  Bright spotlights flashed over them as a booming female voice introduced them through the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the man of the hour has finally arrived, the recipient of this year’s Modern Genius Award—Mr. Sven van der Meer.” 

Sven stood his ground, like he was used to receiving applause at every entrance.  Inez, on the other hand, squinted past the blinding spotlights, struggling to make out the details of the crowded ballroom.  With her hand shielding her eyes, she barely spotted the stage, the band, and the sea of shadowed faces peering back at them.  Inexplicably, she bounced forward with an uncontrollable yip.

Sven had just goosed her. 

She shot him a death glare. 
Was he freaking crazy?
  There was a spotlight and a thousand eyes on them and he was nipping her freaking ruffled ass!?

“I’ve wanted to do that all evening.”  He gazed at her, like it was the most natural explanation in the world.  Sven—tipsy and disruptive—was clearly going to be a bigger challenge than she thought.

The applause slowly waned and the spotlight faded, and a heavyset woman rushed towards them.  “Hellooooooo,” she called out with a wave.  “We’ve all been waiting for you.”

Sven tilted his chin towards the sound of her voice, as if he was struggling to identify it.

“Woman in her fifties,” Inez whispered. “Heavy set, red hair dyed like a strawberry lollipop.”

“Amara Cartopolus.” Sven confirmed.  “I tried to lick her strawberry lollipop last year in the steward’s cabin.”

“You. Did. Not.”  Inez tried to suppress her horror—and failed.

Sven relaxed with a grin, as though he was reveling in the fact that he had made her pitch change by an entire octave. “It’s true. I didn’t.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to get someone else I know in there.”

He twitched his eyebrow and reached out to goose her again.  Just in time, she dodged his hand and glared back at him. 
Oh friggin’ hell
. 
What monster had she just created?

Sven laughed and swayed, momentarily off-balance before sauntering in the wrong direction.  Inez cut in front of him and rotated him towards Amara.

“We’re honored to have you here with us tonight.  And just in time for the presentation of the award.”  Amara showered Sven with lavish kisses on both cheeks like he was her long-lost nephew. 

“Lovely to see you, Amara.  As always.  This is my girlfriend, Inez Sanchez.”

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. 
Girlfriend
.  It wasn’t the first time Sven had presented her as his girlfriend, but it was the first time she noticed how much she liked it. 

Amara extended a bejeweled hand.  “A pleasure...and don’t worry.  I’ll only steal him away for five minutes for the acceptance speech and then he will be all yours again.”

“Miss Sanchez knows I am more than happy to be all hers all night.” Sven eyed Inez’s exposed ruffled bra and sharpened his accent.

Inez rolled her eyes while Amara giggled and cooed. Apparently, Inez had miscalculated.  Inebriated, manwhore Sven was
way
more of a threat than sober, stick-up-his-ass Sven.  Then, like the worst timing in the world, Devin, the fresh-faced waiter, eagerly cruised up to Sven with a fresh vodka shot.

“Here you are, Mr. van der Meer,” he said, offering the shot glass. “Just like I promised.”

“Thank you.” Sven accepted it and unexpectedly downed the entire thing.  “Perfect for making that acceptance speech slur right out.  Don’t you think, Amara?”

Amara bustled behind Sven, encouraging him towards the direction of the stage.  “I think you’ll be charming no matter what you say.”

Inez fretted, realizing the looming threat of their separation. 

“Sven, I think you’ve forgotten something,” Inez called after him, opening her purse and pretending to search for something, anything—just to stall.  “Your glasses,” she finally blurted out. “You
know
you can’t read your acceptance speech without them.”

He passed his empty shot glass off to her. “It’s true.  I can’t see anything.  I’m blind as a bat.”  He cackled with laughter, like he had just delivered the punchline to a hysterical joke.

Inez stared at his Mad Hatter glee
. They were in trouble.  Big trouble.
 

“Maybe it would be a good idea if I came up onto the stage with you to help you read it,” Inez replied sternly.  It was a desperate move.

“Not to worry, dear,” Amara cut between them with her heavy bosom.  “In my experience, the best acceptance speeches are always the spontaneous ones.”

Like a bad nightmare, Amara escorted Sven through the crowd and up the half flight of stairs to a black platform performance stage.  Amara attempted to pass off the glass sculpture into Sven’s hands, but he fumbled it, almost dropping it on her foot.  Barely able to stomach the consequences of her broken promise, Inez winced and looked away.  She chewed on her fake fingernail for comfort until his petition echoed in her mind:
never leave my side
. 

God, what had she done?

Spurred by guilt and desperation, she bolted into action and pushed through the crowd of tuxedos and sequined gowns before someone ensnared her hand, intentionally holding her back.

“That is quite possibly the most revealing dress I’ve seen all night.”

She glanced down at the masculine hand encircling her wrist.  Its owner sneered at her with bright teeth and malicious delight. “And the only thing better than a revealing dress is the irresistible woman revealed beneath it.” He tilted down his gaze, pouring his breath down her plunging neckline.

Inez recognized him from yesterday’s cocktail hour.
But what was his name again?
  She scanned the lapel of his white tuxedo suit jacket, as if she expected to find a nametag.  Then, like a curse, his full name floated across her lips:
Eliot Watercross.
 

Mercenary and vengeful, his fierce green eyes settled upon her.  “Inez Sanchez, right?”

She nodded and attempted to writhe away, but he pinned her against his own body. 

“Miss Sanchez,” he repeated with a hiss. 
The hiss of a snake
, she thought.  “You know…I never forget a name or a perfectly sculpted…hand.”

He drew her arm to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist.  It was hard not to acknowledge how attractive he was—prominent cheekbones, tanned complexion, Hollywood smile—if he didn’t reek of cognac and foie gras.   

“And I never forget a face or a man with bad breath,” she tossed back.

His smile spread wider as he processed her impenetrable glare.  His eyes shifted towards the stage and onto Sven who stood in front of the crowd while holding the microphone with ease, looking dashing in his slate gray suit and slicked back hair.  The overhead lights of the stage illuminated him like a mythic demigod.

“You know, your boyfriend is about to accept the Genius Award,” Eliot replied, lowering his sharp profile to her cheek.  “But he hasn’t been very smart about agreeing to fully cooperate in our next business venture.  Just a bit of advice, Inezzz Sanchezzz,” he paused and buzzed his warning against her ear.  “If you care about Sven, I would do everything in your power to convince him that working with me is much better than working against me.  With or without my bad breath.”

His strong hand constricted around her wrist like a python before finally releasing her. 

Gag
.  Foulness filled her senses as he turned away, sauntering towards the caviar table and disappearing into the shadows. 

Inez gazed back at Sven.  Not even five minutes into the banquet and she had already broken her promise never to leave his side.  And now, he was up there, alone on the stage, standing in front of dozens and dozens of guests, staring out into the crowd like a lone warrior fighting to maintain his balance—and his pride.

“Good evening…” he said carefully as the microphone amplified his Dutch accent.  “Thank you everyone for allowing me the opportunity to accept this award. To aspire to build one of the tallest buildings in the world requires not only genius, but sheer stubborn…” Sven paused inexplicably and gazed out into the crowd.  His black eyepatch and European accent afforded him an air of distinction and the ballroom hushed themselves into silence. 

“Blindness,” he finally pronounced into the microphone. 

Inez shook off the physical sting of Eliot’s warning and squeezed through the crowd to the foot of the stage. 

“Blindness to the fact that an impossible feat is not impossible at all.  It simply requires a large measure of bravado and an even larger quantity of…” he stopped again. “Straight premium Stoli.”

The audience laughed.  Like a foolish schoolboy, Sven grinned, his hidden dimples made prominent by the blazing stage lights. 

Inez pushed towards the center of the crowd
. 
He stared down at her, as if the bright stage lights offered him the illumination he needed to form an image. 
Perhaps he could see her now?
 

The panic in her chest receded.  He seemed relaxed, confident, and in command of the crowd
. 
He was acting as if the whole thing was a joke—on them.

“The Spire has been a much maligned project from its very inception.  For this reason, I am grateful to receive this award from the Modern Architecture Foundation.  I would like to thank Amara Cartopolus, The City of Chicago, all its city officials and to all of you who have supported our efforts to bring it into fruition.  But…” he paused and swayed.  For a moment, Inez feared he was about to fall forward off the stage.  “There is one person I would like to thank tonight above all others…and that is my fiancée.”

Fiancée?
  Like all the other guests, Inez scanned the room, wondering who in the heck he was talking about?  Then, a numbness paralyzed her body as the men and women in the crowd slowly cast their eyes on her. 
He meant her.

“I am grateful to her for affording me the opportunity to accept this award tonight,” Sven continued, waffling briefly before pushing out his words.  “And accept it without the blindness of ego that fueled my ambition to build The Spire, but rather a humility that now quiets the soul.  Thank you, Mistress Inez.  And thank you, all.  Good night.”

The crowd tittered and erupted with applause.  The band swung into a new Miles Davis tune as gestures and words from the crowd encouraged Inez towards the stage’s stairs.  It was the perfect opportunity to rescue him.