Dirty (10 page)

“It will look absolutely fabulous on you, doll.” Marcy smiled. “Try it on.”

“Here? Now? No! I’ve got work to do. I couldn’t…”

She put up a hand. “Say no more. You didn’t buy this dress. Do I have to guess who did? Mr. Lover Boy from The Blue Swan?”

“Dan.”

“Dan bought you this dress?” Marcy said. “Just for fun?”

“No. He wants me to wear it tonight. He’s taking me out.”

“Very nice,” Marcy said, her subdued answer a sign she was more impressed than she’d admit.

I touched the material again, trying to imagine myself wearing such a creation in public. Worse. On a date.

“Look,” she said. “He got you shoes, too. Oh, and a wrap! And a bag…damn, girl! The man has taste, and obviously money. And—” Marcy reached inside and pulled out a strap, a wisp of lace, a garter belt “—he knows what he likes.”

“Put that back,” I said sharply. “I don’t even know if I’m going to wear any of this stuff.”

Marcy looked at me with a raised brow. “Sure you are. You’ll look beautiful.”

I frowned, shaking the dress but not quite willing to put it back in the box. “It’s very…”

“Sexy.”

“Yes.”

Marcy shrugged. “You don’t think you can be sexy, Elle?”

That wasn’t it. I knew very well I could be sexy. I could put on red lipstick, let down my hair, squeeze my breasts into a pushup bra and my ass into tight pants.

“I don’t think I need this to be sexy. This…this is a parody.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.”

I thought she might be right, and could I blame him for wanting a parody when I had given him the cliché already? I stroked the dress’s fine, soft fabric, then looked into the box at the shoes. Hooker heels.

“Where’s he taking you, might I ask? Dressed like that?”

“I don’t know.”

Marcy laughed. “Hope it’s not a funeral. You’d make a dead man rise in that getup, Elle.”

She left me to ponder that possibility. I was sure he did not plan to take me to a funeral. So where, then, did he want to go?

Princess Pennywhistle wouldn’t have been afraid. She’d have put on the dress and gone to meet the Handsome Prince. I looked again at the shoes, the wrap, the lingerie. He’d spent a lot of money. Bought black. My size. The Prince Who Paid Attention.

I smiled at the thought and put the dress and all its accessories away. Dan had been right. I wanted to go with him. It didn’t really matter where.

I met him in the lobby of a swanky downtown hotel with real trees growing from its marble-tiled floor. A fountain made water-tinkle music in the hush. Chandeliers glittered overhead. I searched but didn’t see him.

“Elle.”

Dan’s voice turned my head. He looked good. Damn good. His tux fit as though it had been tailored for him, like he owned it instead of renting. He took my hand and pulled me close to him, aligned my body with his. His hands went to my waist.

“Nice dress.”

“This old thing?” I looked down at it before meeting his gaze again.

“It looks perfect on you.” He kissed my cheek, a soft brush of his lips on my skin that became a nuzzling of my neck. “And you smell delicious.”

I shivered at the movement of his lips on my skin, my nipples perking. The display of affection made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t pull away. He kissed the curve of my shoulder and then took my hand.

“Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” I asked as he led me across the lobby toward one of the ballrooms at the end.

“My class reunion.”

I stopped short so fast he kept going for a couple of steps. Our arms stretched out. “You’re taking me to your class reunion?”

He nodded toward another couple dressed in formal wear heading for the same set of doors. “Yes.”

I wasn’t sure what I had expected of the evening, but not that. “Why?”

He gave another man a small wave and a smile of recognition, then pulled me aside into a small conversational grouping of chairs around a gas fireplace, lit even though it was the middle of May. He looked over my shoulder, smiling for the benefit of others, not me, as he explained.

“I wasn’t going to come tonight, but then Jerry—my friend Jerry Melville, he’s in arbitration—told me Ceci Gold was going to be here tonight.”

I studied his face. “And Ceci Gold would be…?”

“Head cheerleader. Prom queen. Class president. Harlot who broke my heart.”

“Ah.” I glanced around. “You were high school sweethearts?”

“No. I jerked off to her picture in the yearbook like every other guy in the class, but she never looked at me twice. Three years ago we met up at The Hardware Bar on ladies’ night. She was celebrating her divorce with Blue Maui shooters.”

“I see.” I did, much better.

Dan’s eyes were fixed over my shoulder, watching the other couples heading through the doors. He smiled, nodded, waved, his pleasant expression belying the content of his conversation.

“She took me home that night and tried getting in my pants but was so drunk I felt too guilty to fuck her. I spent the night on her couch. She was so grateful for my behaving like ‘such a gentleman,’—her words, not mine—that she asked me out for dinner. We dated for three months before she dumped me unceremoniously for a guy she met at the same bar on a night she wasn’t too drunk to fuck.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“Don’t be.” Dan focused on me, his grin losing some of its hard edge for a moment. “She was as conceited, high-maintenance and frigid a bitch as she was in high school. She gave me nothing but a headache and blue balls the entire three months I wasted on her.”

“Ah.” I tilted my head to look at him. “I thought she broke your heart.”

He gave me a shark’s grin. All teeth. “She fucked with me, is what she did.”

“She made you angry.”

“Yeah. She wasted my time. And she lied to me. She didn’t have to do that. We weren’t serious. Not in love. She didn’t have to play me.”

“Nobody likes being lied to.” I found it interesting that three years later he still sounded so bitter.

“Jerry said she’s going to be here tonight.”

The dress made more sense now. “And you want to make her jealous?”

He put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. “Yes.”

“With me?” I had to consider that for a moment.

I hold no false ideas about my looks. The mirror shows me features many would call pleasing. I have long dark hair, greenish-blue eyes, skin that could be described as porcelain. I work at keeping in shape but have been blessed with a natural hourglass shape men seem to enjoy. I know, as my mother accuses, that if I ‘took care of’ myself I could garner much more male attention. I wear the clothes I do and keep to myself because I want attention on my terms, only. So yes, I know I’m pretty, but mostly I prefer being plain.

Dan kissed my cheek again, lingering over it. “Definitely.”

“I’m not so sure I’m a match for a former prom queen,” I told him with a small frown.

He ran a hand across my hair, which I’d pulled into a loose chignon. He tugged a strand to curl next to my face. “You will blow her out of the water.”

We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.

“What makes you think she’ll be jealous of you being with me?” I asked at last, ever pragmatic. “It doesn’t sound like she cared that much.”

“She’ll care. Because she’ll see you with me and even though she doesn’t care about me, she’s the sort who likes to imagine no man who’s had her could ever move on. Besides, you’ll drive her crazy.”

The first part, at least, made sense. “How do you figure that?”

“You look gorgeous, Elle, and you don’t act like a gorgeous woman does.”

“I don’t?” I sounded cynical. Because I was. “How do I act?”

“You act like an angel,” he whispered in my ear and sent a shiver down my spine. “But you fuck like a demon. Don’t you.”

Angel. Demon. I was neither, or maybe both in his eyes.

“You want me to do this.”

“I do, yes.” He smiled. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Dinner. Drinks. Dancing.”

“It’s a date,” I whispered, like we shared a secret.

Dan leaned in close, put his forehead to mine and whispered a reply. “Humor me.”

Should I have been angry with him for what he asked me to do? For his assumption I would agree? Maybe. Yet there was something appealing in the way he presented the issue to me, as a done deal rather than something to negotiate. He acted as though I would do what he wished for the simple reason he asked it of me, but that’s not why I agreed. I did it because he believed I could.

I
didn’t need Dan to point out which one was Ceci. I knew her already, if not her, at least her type. She was tall, blond and built like…well, like a prom queen. She wore a red dress with lipstick to match, and my lip curled a little before I managed to smooth it.

It wasn’t luck that put us at her table, but swift maneuvering of the place cards by Dan, who gave a chuckle so evil as he switched them that I had to step back and look him over.

“What?” He asked, catching my stare.

“I didn’t think you could be so…mean.”

“No?” He looked at me. “Does it surprise you?”

“No. Most people can be mean.”

“But you thought I was a nice guy, and now you don’t?”

He took my arm to lead me toward our table.

“No,” I told him. “I know you’re not a nice guy.”

“Hey.” He frowned. “Yes, I am.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave him a disbelieving look. We stared at each other for a moment, not caring that people were passing us by and that we were blocking traffic.

“You’re teasing me.” He sounded uncertain.

“Yes, Dan. I’m teasing you.”

He shook his head with a little laugh. “You’re devious.”

“Sometimes.”

“No,” he told me, leaning in to kiss my cheek, close enough to my lips anyone watching would think he kissed my mouth. “I don’t believe it.”

He pulled away, admiration shining in his eyes. I warmed to it. We shared a smile, and I knew how rare this was for me, this rapport, even though he couldn’t have.

“Dan?”

The feminine voice made me turn, and there she was. Prom queen. Ball buster. Blond bitch.

We faced each other. Two ice queens. I kept my smile, though I felt it morph from bemusement to calculating appraisal in that automatic way women have when we meet our rivals. It was okay, though. She was giving me the same look.

She cataloged me efficiently and without the subtlety to keep me from noticing. Her eyes took in my hair, my face, my body, my dress. Most of all, her gaze took in the way Dan’s hand curled loosely around my waist. Possessing me.

“Hello, Ceci.”

Her eyes flickered over me. The smile she gave him was no more genuine than the one she’d given me, but she put a lot more effort into it. She tried to make me invisible, a tactic that would have worked but for one small detail.

Dan wanted me to be sexy.

“This is Elle Kavanagh,” Dan said, blandly polite. “Elle, this is Ceci Gold. She was our class president.”

She shook my fingertips as limply as if I’d handed her a dead fish to shake instead of my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

I knew she expected me to say the same, but I didn’t. I smirked, instead, and gave her the same sort of looking over she’d given me, because I knew she expected it.

Having sized each other up, we were free to stake our claims. She simpered at the man who came up beside her. Tall, dark-haired, wearing an expensive suit, he didn’t look much like Dan. I smiled at him, too.

“Dan, this is Steve Collins.” Ceci simpered. “My fiancé.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Dan shook the other man’s hand.

Steve, to give him credit, was either nice or self-confident enough not to posture. Or, as it seemed more likely, he didn’t know his bride-to-be had picked up Dan in a bar and taken him home once upon at time. Either way, the men shook hands with more genuine sincerity than we women had.

“Looks like we’re at the same table,” Dan said, then to me, “should we sit down?”

We did. Boy, girl, boy, girl, just like in elementary school, which meant I ended up between the two men. The other two seats remained empty. We passed around rolls and chatted inconsequentially about what we might be served for dinner.

Ceci chattered about her job, party planner; her house, new; her upcoming wedding, ostentatious; and her plans for a Caribbean honeymoon, malicious. She kept her hand on Steve at all times. His shoulder, his hand, probably his thigh, too, as if when her hand disappeared under the table we wouldn’t know what she was doing. Securing him to her. Proving he was hers, making it all right for her to flirt with Dan in front of Steve and me, because obviously she couldn’t mean any of it. Not the fluttered lashes, or the pouting lips or the sly double entendres that sent her into bouts of giggles she’d have avoided had she known they wrinkled her forehead.

I said little, which I think she didn’t expect. There are unspoken rules about bragging. The less I said, the more frantically she spoke.

“So, Elle, what do you do?” Steve asked finally, proving he really was a nice guy.

Ceci had opened her mouth to spout more inanities, but at her fiancé’s question, she pinned me with her gaze. “Yes, Elle. What do you do?”

“I’m a junior vice president of corporate accounting and finance with Smith, Smith, Smith and Brown,” I told him. “In other words, a glorified bean counter.”

I couldn’t have pleased her more. Accountants are nowhere near as exciting and sexy as party planners. Everyone knows that.

“Don’t listen to her.” Dan’s fingers rubbed the back of my neck. “Elle’s got a great position at Smith, Smith, Smith and Brown.”

I glanced at him. “Do I?”

He smiled and leaned closer. “You do. I checked. You’ve got your own secretary.”

I did, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. What exactly, had he checked? I didn’t have time to ask, because Ceci took that moment to add her own comment to the conversation.

“Is he cute?” She was being transparently witty. “The secretary.”

“Her name’s Taffy,” I told her. “And she’s adorable.”

“I guess bean counting must be a good business, then.” She faltered, like she wanted to say more but couldn’t think of what.

“It’s good enough, I guess. It’s steady work, and the money’s nice. It’s not as glamorous as astrophysics, but the pay’s actually better.”

That stopped them all.

“Astrophysics?” Dan’s fingertips skated down my bare back, traced the line of the bodice, then rested flat against my skin.

“I have a Master’s in astronomy,” I explained nonchalantly. “With a concentration in celestial mechanics.”

Blank looks.

“It’s the science of the motion of celestial bodies under the influence of gravitational forces,” I explained. I didn’t expect them to understand what that meant, either.

I don’t often tell people about my ostentatious beginnings, my attempt at glory, but I always love watching the looks on their faces when I do.

“Wow,” Steve said. “That’s impressive.”

Dan half turned to face me, his hand moving on my skin, tracing the exposed bumps of my spine. I’d never told him about my degrees or the jobs I’d held before going to work at Triple Smith and Brown. Now as I talked about it both men looked as intrigued as if I’d been describing my kinky sex practices. Ceci didn’t appear to like that much. Astronomy might not be sexier than party planning, but it’s a hell of a lot smarter.

“Astronomy,” she said with a small furrow of her otherwise perfect brow. “Horoscopes, right?”

Both men turned their heads to look at her, and she frowned. “What?”

“That’s astrology,” Steve said.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Same difference.”

“They’re both the study of stars,” I said. “But astronomy has a lot more practical applications.”

“What made you leave that for accounting?” Steve leaned in, probably unconsciously, but I noticed the body language. Ceci noticed it too and frowned.

“There might be billions of stars,” I said. “But there aren’t billions of jobs.”

Steve laughed with a quick glance at Ceci, who didn’t seem to share his good humor. “That must have been quite a change.”

“Not as much as you’d think. It’s all just numbers.”

Ceci’s laugh failed at being bell-like by a good measure. “Oh, you were the class brain, huh?”

“Class brain,” I agreed, looking at her. “And I heard you were prom queen and class president.”

“And voted most popular,” she said without even bothering to hint at false modesty.

“Well then,” I told her without even a hint of false insincerity, “it’s a good thing high school was a long time ago.”

Longer for them than for me, too. I hadn’t realized Dan was already in his thirties. I’d be twenty-nine on my next birthday. Time was running out, according to my mother, at least, but not as fast as it appeared to be for Ceci.

The first awkward silence passed around the table.

I glanced at Ceci, who was smiling so hard she looked manic. Her eyes went from the back of Steve’s head to my face and back again, back and forth, fast. I felt sorry for her, so wrapped up in being adored she had no sense of herself without the admiration to tell her she was interesting. Of course, she was a bitch, too, that much was clear, and she had been flirting mercilessly with Dan for no good reason other than to build herself up and take me down. So my pity was short-lived.

“Ceci,” Dan said. “I’m sure Steve won’t mind if I steal you away for a dance. Would you, Steve?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Clever, clever Dan. I ducked my head to hide a smile, catching her gaze as I did. The expression on her face was priceless. Go with Dan and reaffirm he had, indeed, not been able to get over her, but leave Steve to discuss the mysteries of the universe with me? She nodded, her struggle clear to me, at least, then stood.

“Don’t you worry, Elle,” she said. “I’ll take good care of him for you.”

I smiled, catching Dan’s eye. I had no worries. He wasn’t my boyfriend. No attachments. She didn’t threaten me.

“I won’t worry,” I replied, and turned back to Steve.

“So how long have you known Dan?” he asked.

“Not long.” It had been three months. A lifetime and yet only a moment.

“You’re a cute couple.”

Maybe he was trying to be nice, or maybe he was doing what some people do when they’re about to make an advance they want to be able to pretend is something else if it’s refused. He smiled at me. Leaned a little closer.

“We’re not really a couple.”

“You’re not?” Steve looked surprised, but I didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes. Mr. Perfect was, after all, just a man. “Sorry.”

“No reason to be.”

We stared at each other across the table, and his glance flicked over my shoulder, to the dance floor. I didn’t turn, but whatever he saw must not have pleased him, because he frowned. He spoke without looking at me.

“Would you like to dance?”

Then I did look, following the line of his gaze to where Ceci had draped herself over Dan, turning the upbeat ballad into some sort of sultry hoochie-coochie tango. Dan, for his part, looked as if he was having a good time, and somehow managed to give the impression that his hands were all over her when in reality they stayed perfectly still. It made me smile. He had talent.

“Sure. I’d like to dance.” I let him take my hand, and by the time we got to the small square of wooden parquet the hotel had arranged for dancing, the music had changed.

“You all might remember this one.” The dj cued up the next song. “From what I heard, it was y’all’s prom theme.”

“Oh, boy,” I murmured as a late eighties love ballad came on. “Hold me back, I might cry.”

Steve laughed and pulled me into a competent dance position a little too close to be casual but nowhere near what his fiancée was doing with Dan. We danced in silence for a few moments. The colored lights flashing on his face made shadows. His hand drifted a little lower, less on my lower back and more on my upper ass. I glanced at his arm, then back up at his face. He was smiling.

I looked at Dan. He smirked over Ceci’s shoulder. Ceci, however, was not smiling. “If looks could kill” might be an old and clichéd turn of phrase, but it was true. It didn’t seem to matter what she was doing with my date. Only what I was doing with hers. Or more appropriately, what he was doing with me, since I wasn’t doing anything but not telling him to stop.

Another slow song came on. Steve drew me a little closer. I smelled his cologne, though I couldn’t identify it.

“Smart women are so sexy,” he murmured in my ear.

Steve had long legs, broad shoulders, white teeth and even features. He smelled good. He danced well. His hands were big enough to splat across my entire ass, something I was quickly discovering.

I didn’t want to be dancing with Steve.

I looked over at Dan. He might have been holding a rag doll, for all the attention he paid the woman in his arms. Our eyes met. The song ended, and Dan left Ceci standing there while he came over to take my hand from Steve’s.

“Pardon me,” he said pleasantly. His eyes never left mine. “I think this dance is mine.”

He took me in my arms without another word, without looking away, and held me close to him. My head fit perfectly on his shoulder, one of his hands at the small of my back and the other holding mine. He pressed his lips to my hair.

“Mine,” he murmured, and we danced until the music changed again, became faster and no longer suited to slow dancing.

Then he took me by the hand and led me from the room, past a scowling Steve tossing back a shot of something at the bar, and an arm-crossed, pouting Ceci next to him. Dan took me down the hall, pushed open a door, led me inside the coatroom.

I didn’t have time to ask him what he wanted, but then, I didn’t have to ask. In May there were no coats to cushion me as he pushed me back. Only the jangle of metal on metal as he set the hangers swinging, and my gasp as he slid a hand beneath my dress and found me already wet for him.

“He wanted you.” He fastened his mouth on my neck, just at the curve of my shoulder. “He wanted you so bad, Elle.”

He stroked my clit with his thumb through my panties, then put his whole hand inside them. His palm pressed me, his fingers playing with my slickness. He put a finger inside me, and I muffled my cry with my hand, not caring if I smeared my lipstick.

“Would you have gone with him?” He asked in my ear, his hot breath blowing a loose strand of my hair.

I turned to look at him. “Tonight?”

“If he’d asked you.”

“No.”

His fingertip found my clitoris again and circled it, making my hips push forward. “You wouldn’t?”