Dance with the Billionaire (42 page)

It all grew too much, and I came loudly, shuddering, my sweaty body shivering and shaking, feeling Blake’s mouth once more kiss my neck, and I ground my ass back against him, the deep moans of my pleasure spilling from my lips, my mind flashing white from the intensity of my orgasm.

Once I was finished, I pushed myself backward, away from the stranger, twisting towards Blake, needed to feel his kiss, pressing my mouth hungrily against his, the heat of our bodies so delicious as I pressed my tongue wildly into his mouth, needing him, tasting him, still hungry for so much more.

“I want you,” I began, unsure if I could really finish the sentence.

Just say it ...

I swallowed back my fear, then tried again, my fragile body pounding with my heartbeat.

“I want you to take me to that room,” I said, my voice trembling as I finally spoke my darkest desires aloud. “I want you to bind my hands and feet, just like I saw you do that night. And I want you to do whatever you like to me ...”

At this, Blake smiled. Then, to my surprise, he shook his head.

“I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”

His voice was tender, gentle, but even so, I felt the anger and embarrassment rise up inside me. I felt my cheeks flush with heat and my bottom lip quiver.

You’ve embarrassed yourself again.

You’re still just a silly little girl ...

And I turned and ran, away from Blake, away from that woozy, flashing corridor, back towards the safety of the locker rooms.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“It’s looking great!” Blake said, his eyes sparkling, his white teeth flashing, as he looked around the apartment.

Everything was in place now — well, everything except a few finishing touches, a few pictures to hang on the walls, and a few pieces of furniture. But the main work was done, and I had to say, I too was pleased with everything.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, unable to disguise the awkwardness in my voice. After all, this was the first time we’d seen each other since our moment at the club. I could still feel the heat of his skin on my fingers, could still conjure up the memory of his hot throbbing cock against my fingers, his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue slipping into my mouth …

And so far, neither of us had acknowledged it. My anger had cooled a little. I just wished we were able to speak about what had happened. But instead we were back to our previous roles again: that of client and designer. And I couldn’t help but feel myself growing ever more nervous with each passing second, nervous that Blake wouldn’t even acknowledge what had taken place between us.

Perhaps it was a simple rule; that what happened in the club stayed in the club? Or perhaps he felt he’d made a mistake, taking things too far with me, and now he wished to just get things back on track as colleagues. But either way, it seemed as if he was set on pretending everything was just normal between us, and I’d be damned if I was gonna be the first one to bring up what had happened. 

“I think when Wiltshire sees this,” Blake continued, totally oblivious to my heavy heart, “he’ll be receptive to the idea of you joining the team. We’ve got a lot of hotel redesigns planned over the next twelve months.”

“Fantastic,” I said, trying to summon as much enthusiasm as I could, knowing this should be brilliant news, but at the same time still too focused on the other issue between us.

Perhaps I should have just pushed him harder, back at the club.

Or perhaps I should have fucked someone else ...

Had a little more fun ...  

“Thanks, Jessica,” Blake said with a smile. “I’ve got my twelve o’ clock now.”

“Great,” I said sadly, gathering my bag, eager to finally beat a quick retreat out of the apartment.

“Oh, and one more thing. Alex is hosting a charity fundraiser at The Grange, next Saturday night, and I wondered if you might like to come?”

“Do you really think that’s such a good idea?” I replied with an ironic smile, my mind flashing back to that scene with Greg at the last corporate event Blake had invited me to. “I’m not sure how ready I am for another work function, after what happened last time.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, his voice suddenly growing serious and urgent. “This wouldn’t be work, Jessica. I’m asking you there as my date.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart leaping, my legs suddenly weak, taken aback by the sheer simplicity and sincerity of what he’d just said. “In that case … then sure.”

“Wonderful. I’ll send a cab over to your apartment then, for seven o’ clock on Saturday night.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” I replied, meeting his eye, another memory of his touch flashing through my racing brain.

And while his confident demeanor never waivered, I was surprised to notice that he seemed pleased – even excited – that I’d said yes.

Does he perhaps want me after all? 

§

I felt like screaming. Despite all my amazing new outfits, nothing was right. I kept staring at the thick, gold-embossed invitation card, to the annual Wiltshire Ball that had arrived at Fallon’s apartment by courier that Saturday afternoon.

Evening dress?

None of my new clothes came under that category – not even the party dress Fallon had pressured me into buying. Evening dress meant long and formal, a proper gown.

Why the hell didn’t he give me more notice?

If I’d known I’d have to get properly dressed up, I could have at least hired something. But it was already late afternoon, and the car was arriving for me at seven. Fallon’s apartment now looked like a bomb had hit it; there were clothes everywhere. I’d tried on everything she owned that wasn’t pants, and for a girl who seemed to live in skinny jeans and t-shirts, she owned a heck of a lot of dresses, mostly from her previous style phases.

I looked at myself in the mirror. 

I was wearing the closest thing Fallon had to an ‘evening dress’: sleeveless, hot pink taffeta, ruffled from the waist, but at least it was nearly floor-length. It hung loosely around my bust, but I could pin that, surely?

I tried to think positively.

The color actually worked really well against my chestnut hair and pale complexion.

Who am I kidding?

This dress was from Fallon’s short-lived eighties Madonna phase and it was obvious. There was no way I could go in this. I’d be better off in her jeans and Bikini Kill t-shirt again ...

Just as I was about to sink to the floor in despair, the buzzer sounded.

I looked up, panicked.

Oh shit.

Is the car early?

Am I really gonna have to go in this?

But no, it wasn’t quite six. I nervously headed to the door, and was surprised to see a second courier, this time carrying an enormous black rectangular box.

“Jessica Clark?” he asked, holding out the slip for me to sign.

I received the package, confused, and took it back into the safety of the apartment, stepping around mountains of discarded clothes as I made my way for the couch.

I gingerly opened the box, delicately folding back the sheets of pale pink tissue paper to reveal ...

No way.

I lifted the contents from the box, unable to believe my eyes. It was the most exquisite thing I’d ever seen. A silver, floor-length, Christian Dior evening gown, with delicate beading all over the bodice, shimmering like it was covered in a thousand tiny jewels.

It was a dress for a princess.

§

I looked around the beautiful, old-fashioned lobby of The Grange, the flagship in the Matthews Hotels chain. The floor was a striking black and white marble. The low mirrored Art Deco coffee tables and blue velvet sofas dotted about gave the place an opulent, European glamor. And the centerpiece was a huge imposing staircase that seemed to pour into the room. It made anyone who descended it look like a film star, and for a second I caught myself imagining Jessica Matthews, elegantly sweeping down the staircase of her husband’s finest hotel.

“Blake, this place looks amazing,” I said.

“You look amazing,” Blake breathed in my ear.

“It fits perfectly,” I whispered back to him. “How did you know?”

“Let’s just say, I found the shape of your body difficult to forget.”

I smiled back at him, feeling a flutter of excitement as my eyes took him in — his crisp, tailored suit, his immaculate hair, his chiseled features – and I marveled again that he was actually my date for the evening.

“Let me get you a drink,” he said, stepping away, to head over to the drinks table.

And as he did so, I caught sight of a familiar face and my heart sank. Marianne. Again.

Why can’t I just have one perfect night?

She looked ... Well, she looked, to put it mildly, slightly nuts. She had a great dress, I’ll grant her that: emerald silk, totally her color and obviously expensive, but like last time, it looked like she’d hit the bottle rather early. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and as she opened her mouth to laugh, too loudly, at something her unfortunate companion had said, I noticed that her lipstick was smeared across her front teeth.

I turned away, keen to avoid another scene.

She was clearly even more drunk than last time, so God knows what she’d be willing to say in public. However, this was a large private function, and with any luck, I could go the whole evening without her noticing me.

But much as I tried to disappear into the silk wallpaper behind me, it soon became clear that she hadn’t just spotted me, but that she’d honed in on me and was going in for the kill – verbally at least. It was as if the whole room had descended into a hush, just her loud, nasal voice remaining, that same voice I’d spent so many months listening to, so many months taking orders from …

“Of course I was supposed to take on the Matthew’s apartment project, with the prospect of more work after that … Until some silly little slut with ideas above her station opened her legs and stole it right from under my nose …”

I tried to take a few deep breaths, to keep my vision fixed straight ahead, to not let her words get to me, but I couldn’t help but feel my pulse begin to race and a flush of heat rise to my cheeks.

“Oh, just some airhead who used to work for me,” she continued, despite the fact that nobody had actually asked her any further questions. “I taught her everything I knew, and then of course she went and fluttered her eyelashes, stuck out her cute little tits, and whisked him away. Won’t be long before he realizes what a talentless, vacuous little fraud she is though …”

Just then Blake returned with my drink, his eyes widening when I almost snatched it out of his hand and gulped back as much of it as I could in one go.

“Thirsty?” he said with a questioning smile.

I nodded at Marianne, who was still shooting daggers at me, her mouth hanging open in a sloppy, drunken snarl as she swayed back and forth dangerously on her six-inch Jimmy Choos, the poor guy standing next to her looking frantically around the room for an escape route.

“Just promise you won’t let the wicked witch over there put a spell on me,” I replied.

“Oh God,” Blake said when he saw her. “I’m sorry. She’s on the board of one of Wiltshire’s charities. I should have realized she’d be on the guest list.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to tune out her voice, which was still cackling away in the background, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “And thanks again for inviting me. I mean it.”

“I’m glad you could come,” Blake said with a smile. “I wouldn’t be having half as much fun if you weren’t here …”

I looked up into his eyes, unable to keep the smile off my face, wondering once again just what exactly might happen later on, once we were finally on our own.

§

With Blake by my side, I began to relax and enjoy myself again. I actually managed to avoid Marianne for the rest of the night, and even forget about her after a couple of glasses of Dom Perignon.

“Jessica, I want you to meet Elizabeth O’Connor,” said Blake, leading me across the room. “She might look low-key,” he whispered as we approached, “but Elizabeth’s hedge fund is one of the few that made money during the last recession. She really knows her stuff ...”

He gestured towards a petite woman in a plain black dress. She didn’t look particularly glamorous, she wasn’t plastered in make up, but I could tell that she’d clearly spent a lot of money on her appearance. Those blonde highlights alone must have cost her hundreds of dollars a month. I was beginning to learn a little bit about these things.

“Elizabeth darling,” Blake began warmly. “You wanted to meet my new protégé?”

I was taken aback by the warmth and sincerity of Elizabeth’s smile. Her grey-blue eyes sparkled and she extended her hand for me to shake.

“That dress!” she said. “It’s Dior, isn’t it? I can tell. It’s divine. I can’t carry that sort of thing off myself, but it looks like it was made for you.”

“Wow, thanks,” I replied, smiling. I almost blurted out that it was a gift from Blake, too, but figured that probably wasn’t the best thing to say right now.

“So Blake tells me you’re just starting your own design business? How exciting! It’s a great time for it, right now. You should come over to my office sometime; we should discuss your strategy. And while we’re at it, I’ve just bought a new summerhouse in the Hamptons, and whatever Eurotrash owned it before? Well, my God, the whole thing simply needs ripping out and starting again from scratch. I’d love to know your thoughts ...”

§

It seemed like I was introduced to an endless parade of men in suits and society hostesses. And after a while I felt like my head was spinning. I excused myself to go to the powder room, to touch up my make up and, to be honest, just to take a moment to catch my breath.

But as I entered the bathroom, I heard a low, woozy groan coming from the stall at the far end of the room. Wow. Whoever was inside sounded more than a little worse for wear.

“Hello?” I called out. “Everything okay in there?”

And in reply came another low, grizzly moan.

I took a few tentative steps towards the stall, wondering just what on earth was going on, and hoping whoever was inside was okay.

“You need any help?” I called out.

No reply.

So I gently pushed on the door. It wasn’t locked and it slowly swung open to reveal …