Find Me in Darkness (9 page)

“Hi,” she says, leaning forward and extending her hand to me. “I’m Dagny. You must be Christina.”

“Jaynie,” I correct.

“Oh.” She glances quickly at Mal, the question plain on her face.

“I’m afraid I used your stage name when I mentioned that you and Brayden were coming. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” I’m trying out that overly polite thing myself, but the truth is that I’d much rather be Jaynie around this man. Somehow, that just seems safer.

I smile brightly at Dagny. “So tell me, is that how it works? All the members learn about the new blood?”

“Not all the members,” Dagny assures me. “Only the VIPs.” She seems so genuine and so sweet that I like her despite the fact that she’s now resting one hand on Mal’s shoulder in order to keep her balance on the thin armrest. But that bit of familiarity is counterbalanced by the fact that she’s otherwise not paying attention to Mal at all. Instead, she’s entirely focused on Brayden.

And from what I’m seeing, Brayden has noticed that, too.

“I’m Brayden,” he says, then holds her offered hand for what I calculate is at least five seconds too long.

“I know.” Her smile is bright and just a little mischievous, and when the waiter returns with our drinks, she takes one of the glasses with no ice and helps herself to a small sip. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope,” Brayden says. I see the heat rise in my best friend’s eyes, and as I take a sip from my own glass I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be bumping into Dagny when I stumble into the kitchen to get coffee in the morning.

“Good.” Her eyes never leave his as she downs the rest of his drink, then eases off of Mal’s chair to stand beside Bray. She holds her hand out to him. “Looks like you need a refill.”

“I guess I do.” And then—because he is my best friend in the entire world, he meets my eyes, unwilling to leave unless he’s certain I’ll be okay. “Do you mind if I take Dagny to the bar and buy her a drink?”

For the briefest of moments I want to beg Bray to stay by my side. Because there is something about Malcolm Greer that both compels me and terrifies me.

Mostly, though, he excites me. And it has been a long time since any man stirred such a variety of emotions within me.

“Yeah,” I finally say as I turn to look at the man beside me. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine.”

Bray rises with an eagerness I rarely see in him where women are concerned, and I watch as he presses his hand lightly to the base of Dagny’s spine as he guides her through the crowd to the bar.

“Ah, those crazy kids,” I say, and Mal laughs.

“I thought Dagny might enjoy meeting him. She’s just moved back to New York from Los Angeles.”

“What does she do?”

“She works for me.”

“Oh,” I say. “And what do you do?”

He says nothing. Instead, he reaches for his glass and takes a long drink of his scotch, and all the while his eyes never leave my face. “Is that what we’re going to do now? Casual small talk?”

His low voice fills my senses like music, threatening to sweep me away. “I—” I swallow and try again. “Do you want an honest answer?”

“I have no use for a dishonest one.”

“In that case, yes. Small talk. The weather is always a good choice.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and I can’t tell if he’s amused or frustrated. “Politics? Religion?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Hollywood?”

I tilt my head from side to side as I consider. “Possibly. It has the potential to get too personal.”

His brows lift. “As in whether you prefer network or cable? PG or NC-17?”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Something like that.”

“Witty banter?”

“Definitely off-limits,” I say.

“Mmm.” He steeples his hands on the table. “I can see your point. Banter with you might inspire more sexual innuendoes than are usually tolerated among polite society.”

His voice has taken on a rough, sensual edge, and as a shiver runs down my spin, I try to tilt my head down. I don’t want him to see my face, because the mere thought of Malcolm Greer anywhere close to sexual innuendoes is more than I can handle at the moment.

He, however, takes no pity on me. Instead, he reaches forward and tilts my chin up so that I have no choice but to look into those fathomless eyes.

“Malcolm.” My whisper is like a plea, and he releases me. He remains as he is, though, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes fixed on mine. And when he speaks, his voice is so soft and gentle it makes me want to cry. “Tell me, Christina. What are you afraid of.”

I blink, and am mortified when a tear trickles down my cheek. “My name is Jaynie.”

He shakes his head, his mouth quirking up in an ironic smile. “No. With me, you will always be Christina.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to gather myself. “I don’t understand any of this.” It is probably the most honest thing I’ve said since we arrived.

“What? Tell me specifically what you don’t understand.”

I open my mouth, though I have no idea what I intend to say. Somehow, “everything” seems far too broad.

I am saved from having to find words by the arrival of our cheese plate. “Thanks for ordering this.”

“You said you were feeling light-headed. I thought it might be hunger.”

This time when I smile, it is entirely genuine. “You were right, actually. Bray and I were going to grab something to eat when we went out shopping, but we got so caught up there wasn’t time. He grabbed a sandwich at the apartment, but I only grabbed a shower.”

“I’m sorry you went hungry, but if you made the sacrifice to buy the outfit you’re wearing, then I have to say it was worth it. You look stunning.”

“I’m glad you like it.” My words are soft, but they are heartfelt. I’d fallen in love with the dress the moment I tried it on. It’s black and the material is so light and soft it feels as though I’m wearing a cloud. The bodice is fitted, and cut low enough that it puts my rather average cleavage to good advantage. It has short, flirty sleeves, and a skirt that hits just above my knees and has a sassy little swing when I walk.

I’ve never felt particularly sexy, but in this dress I think I could go sit at a bar and attract the attention of every male in the room. And though I’d bought it with no particular man in mind, I cannot deny that the way Malcolm looks at me now is making the torment I put my credit card through very, very worth it.

“Malcolm …” His name tastes delicious on my tongue.

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “You can call me Mal,” he says. “Though I do love the way you say my full name.”

“Mal,” I repeat, and then realize that I’ve been calling him that in my head on and off the whole evening. “That suits you, too.”

“What did you want to ask?”

I blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“You said my name. I assumed a question was going to follow.”

“Oh.” Once again, I blush. Frankly, I think I’ve broken some sort of blushing record this evening. “No. I—I just wanted to say it.”

“Did you?”

I can hear the heat in his voice. More than that, I can feel it. It winds through me, warming my blood and settling in all sorts of interesting places. My lips. My breasts. Between my thighs.

I realize that I am about to moan and gently tug my hand away.

“Now you’re being cruel,” he says.

“Just careful.”

“I didn’t realize hands were so dangerous.”

“With you, I think that words are equally so.”

His wide, sensual mouth curves into a grin. “Well, look at us. We’ve moved from small talk to witty banter after all. Shall I alert the media?”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Have we met before?”

He hesitates, then lifts his hand. And though I realize that he is only signaling the waiter for more drinks, it seems to me that he is stalling. “What makes you think that?” he finally asks.

“I don’t know. Nothing specific. You just seem familiar.”

“Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

“Perhaps you know me from the theater.”

“The theater?”

“Story Street. I invested recently.”

I sit up straighter. This is starting to make sense. “Where you there on Friday? Watching rehearsal?”

He nods, and the pieces fall into place. I must have heard his name whispered among the staff. And as for the sensation that he seemed familiar—well, maybe that was just my subconscious pointing out an attractive guy.

Voila.
Mystery solved.

“Is that why you say the invitation was because of me?”

Mal doesn’t answer, but I see the small smile and feel even more vindicated.

Across the room, I see Bray signal for me to come over. He’s alone, and since that seems odd under the circumstances, I tell Mal not to go away and head over to him.

“I’m gonna book,” he says.

“You’re leaving? What about Dagny?”

He grins. “She’s pretty great, right? She made me swear I’d come back tomorrow. Apparently this trial membership thing is good for two weeks.”

“Okay, I give up. Why are you leaving if she likes you?”

“Call me crazy, but I actually want to be a doctor someday. And while I’m pretty sure that I could convince Dagny to
play
doctor with me—”

“Fine, fine, I get it. Study group. I forgot.” I swallow my disappointment at cutting the evening short. “Let me just say goodbye and I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, please. Why should you leave when all I’d do is dump you at home and then head to the lab? Especially when you seem to be getting on so well.”

“I like him.”

His brows lift. “This is an interesting development. So maybe I don’t need to remind you that you have to jiggle the button on the coffee grinder to get it to work. You might be getting your coffee here in the morning.”

“No way,” I say.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship.” Since I’ve never looked for a relationship, my statement is absolutely accurate.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fuck him.”

I shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He studies my face. “You don’t want to get involved with him, and yet you don’t want to just roll around with him. My darling Jay, I think this qualifies as an honest-to-goodness conundrum.”

I give him a shove. “Go,” I say. “Go now.”

He catches me by the wrists and pulls me in for a hug. “Whatever you do, be smart. And if you come home, take a taxi or have Malcolm walk you. Okay?”

“Promise,” I say, because I’ve watched enough episodes of
Law & Order
to know that walking around Manhattan by yourself after dark is a recipe for disaster.

I head back to Mal, and have to force myself to walk slowly so that I don’t look too eager. Or, worse, so that I don’t trip in my heels.

His smile when I take my seat is as potent as if I’d returned from a long journey across the sea.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says guilelessly. “I don’t like it when you’re away from me.”

“Are you always this direct?” I ask, though I cannot deny the warm surge of pleasure that flows through me.

“Only about things that are important to me.” His words are like a caress, stroking and teasing me, making my skin prickle and my heart flutter in my chest.

“Oh.” I swallow, then bite the bullet. “Am I important to you?”

“Very.”

I meet his eyes. “Why?”

He reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. His are warm and large, and I cannot help but gasp from the force of the connection that seems to surge between us, as if this slight contact has completed a circuit, and we are both now lit up. “Why are you fighting me?”

His words are gentle, but they strike me with all the force of a slap. I tug my hands away and put them in my lap. “I didn’t know that I was.” I stand up. Then I feel foolish and sit down again. But I’m edgy, and I can’t help but shift in my chair.

The truth is that I was fighting him. I know that I’m important to him. I know that he likes my company. And yet I cannot simply succumb and see where it leads. I have to analyze. I have to weigh and balance and try to control every little thing, because if I don’t, something might sneak in through a crack and hurt me when I least expect it.

I stand again, my thoughts too wild and jarring to let me stay still.

“Do you want to walk?” There is no frustration in his voice. If there had been, I think I would have just told him good night.

Instead, I nod. “Thanks. Yes.” I draw a breath as common sense returns. “Actually, it’s getting late. Maybe you could walk me home?”

I see the disappointment in his eyes, but to his credit, he only nods. “It would be my pleasure.”

We leave through a different door, this one in the back past the humidors. As we walk, he puts his hand at the base of my spine the same way that Bray led Dagny. The connection is undeniably intimate, and I sigh with pleasure at the surge of warmth that spreads down my back and between my thighs. Maybe I’m not going to fuck him, but I can’t deny that I like the way he makes me feel.

As we’re exiting, we pass a tall man with copper hair and piercing blue eyes that are focused very intently on my face. Once the door into the lounge has closed behind him, I turn back, as if I will see some lingering evidence of why he seemed so interested in me. Of course there is none.

Beside me, Mal has come to a stop. We are in a large room that appears to have once been part of a ballroom before this brownstone was redesigned. “Tell me something,” he says. “Why did you suddenly want to leave?”

I shrug. “It’s getting late, that’s all.” Once again I turn toward the door from which we’ve just exited, only this time I’m trying to change the subject. “Who was that? The man we passed?”

“Asher,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“Why was he looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“As if he knew me. As if he didn’t trust me.”

Mal brushes my cheek. “I doubt that. More likely, he was admiring you.”

It’s not the truth, but I don’t call him on the lie because I’m enjoying this time with him, and I don’t want to spoil it because of an enigmatic look from a man I don’t even know.