บท 7: Chapter 7
Though soul-tingling, classical music washes over the crowd.
My hearing is overwhelmed by the bass-thump of my heart hammering in my chest.
Out of nowhere, Kels returns to my side, munching down on something.
"Vance," she says sourly, her smile poisonous. "You're shorter than I imagined," she says, just to irritate him because he is well over six feet.
"Kelsey." His eyes take her in, slowly. "A pleasure."
"I'm sure," she says with her tone stained with scorn. She then takes a quick notice of my new necklace. "What is that?"
I hold up the empty box absently. "A gift."
She glares back at Vance, her boring eyes drilling holes into him. "No matter your wealth, you could never buy a woman like her," she says, smiling innocently. "So treat my girl right or they'll have to add manslaughter to my criminal record."
Grayson frees a guffaw, his amusement meant as an affront. "Well, Vance, if you don't mind. I was going to ask Avara to dance?"
A muscle twitches in his jaw. "I do mind."
"While you two debate that." I dump the box back in Vance's hand. "Kel and I are going to dance."
I take her hand, leading her through the dazzling crowd to the center of the dancefloor.
"What is going on with you?"
"He's here," I say with a conspiratorial voice. "The guy that was staring at me at the coffee shop, remember?"
"The hot Japanese dude?" She looks around eagerly. "Where?"
"This isn't funny."
"And you're being a paranoid racist," she points out with a grin. "Are you trying to say all Asians look alike? How are you sure it's the same guy?"
"I'm not racial profiling here, Kelsey. It's him," I say firmly. Ink-black spills into my periphery. "Look, there he is."
She throws an aimless glance behind her, angling her head for an advantage.
His eyes fall on me and for the moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of us. Something glints in his eyes like a silver-flash of lightning slicing across a night sky. There's unsettling stillness in them, a controlled power that crackles beneath the surface.
"I think he's leaving—spin me, then let me go."
She holds my hands, pretends to dance with me for a moment before she spins me, then lets go so I can whirl away. I weave through the clusters, looking for him but instead. He finds me. Strong hands grip my hips, firm and unyielding, pulling me with a force that leaves no room for resistance. In one swift motion, I'm swiveled around, my body colliding with a hard chest that feels like steel beneath the warmth of flesh. My breath catches as I look up, only to be met with eyes that are as dark as cosmic black holes, vast and consuming. They draw me in, a silent promise of oblivion in their depths, threatening to swallow me whole and leave nothing but the memory of this electrifying moment. The air between us crackles with a dangerous mix of desire and dominance, something divine that teeters on the edge of control.
"I hope I wasn't disturbing you." The bass of his voice is deep, his accent refined. "You look like you're searching for someone."
I swallow. Hard. "Looks like I found him."
He takes my hand and holds it aloft with his other arm locked around my waist, positioning us for a waltz. He whisks me away, moving us in small circles across the dancefloor and people easing out of our way. The intensity of his gaze pins me in place, cold yet electric, as if he's measuring my every breath, every thought, with his piercing stare.
"How did you get in? This is a high-profile event."
He chuckles, a dark and menacing sound. "You would be surprised at how easily I can get in—" he pauses so the meaning behind his words can sink in, "—to events like these. You're a difficult one to hold down alone. So many guards watching you, but I suppose it makes sense. To them, you are a precious asset."
I have fallen into step with him so naturally, I even forget we're dancing.
Curiosity creases my brows. "Many guards?"
He hums a yes, his eyes glossing over the surrounding crowd. "I presume Colton's men, a way of protecting his interests. Which is foolish. We have no reason to harm you if you're the instrument for getting everyone what they want."
The tempo of the ballad ramps up to a spicy and fierce composition. And our movements become that much swifter and sensuous, his calloused hands gliding across my bare skin, sparking an illicit sensation as he moves me like a petal amidst stormy winds. The path of his touch leaves a trail of heat in their wake. Every touch is a silent command. Our bodies press closer, moving in perfect harmony, driven by a primal connection that blurs the line between control and surrender.
"Then why are you watching me?"
"We're not concerned about you." He twirls me around, then dips me laterally, cradling me to his chest. His dark eyes tether mine to his. "We're more concerned about your father."
"My dad?"
He lifts me back up and we follow a combination of steps, so in sync it's like we've been in each other's arms before. The synergy between our motions seems tailored, like we've done this many times in another life. A moment fraught with danger and allure, something to be desired but also something to be feared.
"My father has done everything you demanded. You're getting your money."
"At the expense of his daughter. How can one place trust in a man who would barter away his own flesh and blood?"
Anger crashes through me, thwarting my fear. "You don't know anything."
I slip away to turn on my heels abruptly. He seizes my wrist, and he whips me back around with so much force and fervor; I clash into him and my leg slips out of the slit—he grabs my under thigh and he holds it level to his hip. My breaths come out fast and ragged, my heart nearly shattering its cage.
His eyes trace my face, lingering on my lips. "I know more than you. And it is you who knows nothing. This is a game of chess, Miss Du Pont. And you're a pawn."
His words slap a frown on my face.
"Avie?"
He releases me like he held fire in his hands. I wheel around.
Kel leaks out of the crowd, heading towards me. I glance back around and he's gone like a ghost that can disappear and reappear at whim. I see no inkling of him, like our ephemeral encounter was all in my mind. Kels approaches and waves me over.
"Vance is looking for you. He wants you to introduce him to some government officials."
I bat my eyes, dissipating childish tears, and I fix on a fool-proof smile.
"Sure, where is he?"
***
Vance and I sit at the rear cabin of the Rolls Royce.
I unclasp the necklace and I lay it inside the velvet box. I close it before I offer it back to him.
"Keep it," he says without looking back at me. "It was a gift."
"Oh," I say jeeringly. "I thought it was to stake your claim." I glance at him sideways. "I didn't peg you as the passively possessive type."
He gives me a jaded look. "That's because you know nothing about me. Only what I show you and the world."
"I don't think either should receive the same treatment," I mumble.
He brushes off my comment. "The gift was genuine, a form of an apology. How was I supposed to know that you were going to be in the company of that parasite?"
I frown at his words. "You know, you don't have to buy me something if you want to apologize or even just to do something nice. The best things in life are free… like a smile."
His expression remains unbreakable, a constant solemn construct.
"Okay…" I look away, clenching my eyes for a second. "About that kiss."
"All part of the charade," he dismisses with cold-hearted nonchalance. "Something that hopefully won't need to become a habit."
I'm surprised at the pinch that needles my heart. Weird.
"What a kind thing for you to say, love."
He flares a brow at the bite in my tone. "Why would you care? Because I know you don't. The only thing you care for is what you gain from the alliance."
My eyes snap to him, anger swelling up again. "That's not true—I mean, it is. You don't think there's a significant reason as to why I would derail my life to agree to marry someone I don't know. Everything I have done has always been for my dad. I gave up on my dreams to support his—my family is everything to me. So you don't dare give me the high horse about things you don't understand."
The car slows to a standstill.
"Well, if these reasons are so noble. Don't be modest, share them with me," he demands.
Frustration strangles me, its hands tight around my throat.
He sends me that condescending look like my silence somehow proves him right.
He's so infuriating!
He leans in with a deadened look that masks his face.
"At least have some dignity and show me the respect of admitting what you truly are."
The backseat door on my side opens up.
"And what kind of man are you to agree to this?"
"An ambitious one," he professes with unbound confidence. "One that won't put a ceiling over his ambitions. So even if I have to fuck a little gold digger. I don't mind getting my hands—or cock—dirty."
Shock clogs my airways, my chest heaves, and when the vehicle comes to a complete standstill, I leave the velvet box on the seat as I scramble out of the car. I thank the driver with a wobbly smile, battling persistent tears as I make my way to the entrance of my townhouse.
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