Just a Number (27 page)

Her cheeks deepen in hue as she drops her eyes between us and grips my tie firmly in one hand. “Well, you clean up pretty well, yourself, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

My hands move up and down her bare arms as she lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes are bright and full of desire as I continue trailing my fingers over every inch of bare skin. Naturally, this evokes a similar feeling in me, and it seems to be growing exponentially. I suddenly find myself not wanting to go to the party in favor of staying home and having my way with her.

This seems to be the direction my brain takes a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining.

Amelia’s bright red lips turn up into a coy smile, her right eyebrow arching mischievously, and I lean in to kiss her, making peace with the fact that we’ll be a little late for the party. Her breath shudders as my lips brush hers, and just as I’m about to close the infinitesimal gap between us, my phone rings. It’s not just any ring tone, though, it’s the one that signals that someone is down at the front door.

Slightly frustrated that we’ve been interrupted, I release a breathy laugh and shake my head. “The car’s here,” I announce, my voice low and raspy.

Amelia pops up on her toes and kisses me chastely. “Well, that’s probably for the best. I’d hate to have to redo my hair and all,” she whispers, foreseeing how the next hour or two probably would have played out. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of time after the party to…
play
.”

Smiling, I take a step back and hold out my hand. “Shall we, then?”

Her eyebrows pull together and her lips purse to the right as she glances down at the floor. When my eyes follow, I notice that she’s lifting her skirt slightly to show off her bare feet. It’s then that I remember she asked me to go and pick up her shoes.

“Oh, right,” I respond, feeling like a bit of a tool for having forgotten to give them to her. I turn to the hall closet, grab one of the boxes that are in there, and hand it to her after taking her intricately designed metal masquerade mask and setting it next to mine on the front door table.

She looks confused, glancing down at the big red bow I placed on the top of the pristine white box. This look only deepens when she takes the top off, bringing her gaze back to mine. “Owen, these aren’t the shoes I asked for,” she says, picking up one of the bright red shoes.

“I know,” I respond quickly. “And I know I probably shouldn’t have done this without asking, but I couldn’t find the ones you requested where you said they’d be. My search of your apartment also came up empty.”

A look of realization flashes in her eyes and she shakes her head. “That’s right! I loaned them to Liz a couple months ago.” She hands me the box, and I hold it while she balances on her left foot to put the right shoe on, then the other. She seems elated as she takes her first steps in them, and then looks at me again. “How did you know these would go with my dress?” she inquires. “You didn’t peek before you left, did you?”

Chuckling, I take her hands in mine and bring them to my lips, kissing them both lightly. “I assure you I did nothing of the sort. Confession time?” She nods, and I step back, reaching out and opening the closet door.

There, on the floor are three other white boxes, dressed with varying colors of bows in black, blue, and ivory.

Amelia’s laughter fills the apartment, and she slaps her hands to her mouth. “You bought me four pairs of shoes?”

I shrug. “Well, yeah. I had to have a backup plan…or several, I suppose.”

“So, why didn’t you give me the black ones?”

“I, um, sort of fancied the red when I saw them, and when I saw the color you chose for your lips, I knew they’d be perfect.”

Her smile widens and she hops forward and kisses me hard, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing the entire length of her body against mine. This doesn’t help my resolve to get us out of my apartment in the next few minutes, but I revel in the moment for a minute as she continues to pepper my neck and face with kisses.

“I love them!” she assures me between pecks. “Thank you so much.” Sliding down the length of my body until her feet are flat on the ground again, she looks coyly over at the other three boxes, biting the outer edge of her lower lip. When she looks at me through the corner of her eye again, I see her question lingering behind that familiar glimmer, and I nod.

“They’re yours.”

Before Amelia gets the chance to throw herself at me for the second time, my phone rings again. And while I realize how ridiculous it might seem, my phone sounds oddly more impatient than the first time.

“You know, I never really pegged you for a shoe addict,” I tease, grabbing our masks from the table before we step out into the hall and lock my door behind us.

Amelia giggles, slipping her hand into mine. “And I never pegged you for a man with a foot fetish,” she throws right back.

We step into the elevator and I pull her close, our linked arms hooked behind her back as I tilt my face down to kiss her. “There are a lot of things I never pegged myself as before now, Amelia,” I whisper against her lips.

She places her free hand on the side of my face, brushing her nose against mine lightly as she struggles to keep from kissing me…okay, so it’s me who’s struggling; she seems to be completely in control. “Are you suggesting I’ve corrupted you?”

“Corrupted?” I repeat, squeezing her hand behind her back and pulling her a little closer. “Mmm, no. I wouldn’t say that.” The elevator doors open with a loud
ding
, and I kiss her before leading her out. “But if that’s what’s happening, I’m rather enjoying every second of it.” I laugh lightly as I lead her outside into the chilly December air, the smell of a winter rain hanging in the atmosphere.

Our driver sees us approach and is quick to open the back door to the white limo I’d booked for the evening. I allow Amelia to step in first before following her, and it isn’t long before the driver starts the car and pulls away from the curb.

When we’ve driven a couple blocks, Amelia turns to me, looking excited, but nervous. “You okay?”

Amelia smiles and nods. “Yeah. I think this is going to be a lot of fun.”

I’ve known her long enough to hear the slight hesitation in her voice, so I prod her on. “But?”

“But,” she continues, “do we tell people who I am? Do we tell them the truth and go public before we tell Dad? Or do we play the masquerade to its fullest advantage and keep my identity hidden? What if we choose the first option and Gretchen shows up?”

The questions come out quicker and quicker, and, while I know they started off as an innocent inquiry, I have no trouble sensing her rising anxiety. It’s not unusual to see her behaving this way considering how we’ve been careless and been found out on more than one occasion.

“We tell people whatever you feel comfortable telling people,” I tell her honestly. It was never my intention to have her lie tonight; tonight was supposed to be about the two of us getting out and having a good time in a public setting without the fear of being found out, and I am going to make sure that damn-well happens. “If you want to introduce yourself as Amelia, then that’s what you’re going to do. I just want us to have fun tonight.”

Amelia exhales, relaxing back against the seat and resting her head on the back, letting it fall in my direction as she smiles appreciatively. “Okay,” she agrees. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Not wanting to ignore her other fear, I give her hand a squeeze. “And if Gretchen does show up, we’ll handle it. What’s going on between us is none of her business, and I don’t plan to include her in it now.”

In addition to the conversation, we also decide to avoid any blatant acts of public affection. Dancing and hand-holding are deemed appropriate, perhaps even a kiss to the hand or cheek, but nothing that could easily get out of hand. Amelia’s worried about how this might be perceived with my divorce not being quite final, so I agree to her request.

We arrive at the banquet hall that the company had rented for the ball, and I hand Amelia her mask before slipping mine over my face. She smiles, raising her hand and tracing her fingers over it. “It’s beautiful,” she says of the hand-painted black and gold mask. “I love the music notes. It’s very you.” Between us, she raises her hand, holding her mask. “Would you mind helping me?”

Always happy to oblige, I nod. Amelia turns around and places the mask over her eyes. I reach out and take the black satin ties on either side and pull them back to fasten the mask securely. When she turns back around, and I see the mask on her for the first time, I’m completely blown away. Sure, I was skeptical that the unique mask may not conceal her identity given its thin metal construction, but it did, and the eye makeup she chose to wear really makes the blue in her eyes stand out.

I can guarantee that she’s going to be the most beautiful woman at this party, and I’m not just saying that because she’s mine.

My hunch is only proven right when we enter the grand hall and all eyes are on us. Women drop their classic masquerade masks to their sides and gawk while their husbands look on, trying to be discreet—and failing, I might add. In truth, I’m sure a part of all the ogling is due in large part to the fact that most of these people are my colleagues and recognize me while wondering who the beautiful stranger on my arm is.

As one of the hired servers walks by with a tray of champagne flutes, I grab two and offer one to Amelia.

“Thank you,” she says, taking a sip and looking around, her eyes wide and glimmering with excitement as she takes in our surroundings from the formal decor to the elaborate dresses that all of the women wore. Her smile grows wider as she admires the beauty of original architecture and elegant lighting fixtures that bathe the room in light, setting the scene for tonight’s party. There are quite a few people dancing on the floor while the others mingle all around the room or near the bar.

Now, maybe I am being a bit biased, but there isn’t a woman in this room that can hold a candle to Amelia. It would seem that most, if not all, had chosen to wear a more traditional ball gown while Amelia’s is sleek and modern, fitting her body like a glove and showing off more skin than should be legal. Perhaps this just confirms the generation gap between them and Amelia.

“Is it weird that I can totally picture everyone breaking out into
Masquerade
?” She looks up at me, her eyes locking with mine. She must see my confusion, because she quickly tacks on, “You know. From
Phantom of the Opera
?”

“Oh,” I reply, choosing not to tell her that, while I’d seen it when the latest movie first came out, I didn’t really remember it, nor stay awake through it all. I do seem to recall the scene at the masquerade ball, and, after looking around, I can see how she’d think that to be a possibility.

“Owen!” a voice booms behind us, and we wheel around to find Elliot McGrath, my business partner and friend, and his beautiful wife, Alexis, approaching. They’re both wearing basic gold masks to cover their faces, but there’s no mistaking either one of them. Elliot, for one, is extremely tall and broad-shouldered, while his wife is supermodel-esque with long blonde hair that flows down her back in waves.

Both of them glance to my left to see Amelia before looking to one another and sharing a quick look. My separation from Gretchen isn’t news to them, and Elliot knew I would be bringing someone tonight based on how many tickets I had acquired, but I could see the two of them trying to figure out who she might be.

“Hi,” Amelia says, breaking the brief silence and holding out her hand.

Elliot is the first to grab it, and he smiles. “Hello. I’m Elliot, and this is my wife, Alexis. It’s a pleasure to meet you…?” He trails off, leaving his greeting open for her introduction.

Instead of giving into his silent inquiry, Amelia arches an eyebrow and smiles. “Isn’t the point of a party like this for everyone to remain anonymous?” she teases.

Elliot’s laugh booms, gaining the attention of a few surrounding party-goers, and he continues to ask her question after question in hopes of learning her true identity. Elliot and Alexis have both met Alan on several occasions when he's been in the city visiting and has joined us for a few drinks. They know of Amelia, but have yet to meet her.

Naturally, Amelia does an extraordinary job of dodging Elliot's questions, giving him answers that aren't untrue, but just omit a few key details that might lead them to conclude who she is to me. This seems to be a talent of hers, as I’ve come to realize during the course of our relationship so far.

“A,” she supplies, glancing up at me with a nervous twinkle in her eye. I place my hand on her back in hopes of assuring her that I’ve got her back on this, and she continues. “My friends all call me A.”

“Friends,” Alexis pipes up, looking between the two of us and deducing our relationship. “Is that how you know each other?”

“Oh, sort of, I guess,” Amelia replies with a smirk as my thumb strokes the skin of her back above her dress. “We, uh…we go way back. Old friends, definitely.”

Seeming satiated by her introduction, they drop their interrogation, instead letting the conversation shift to Amelia complimenting Alexis’s dress and vice versa. While I'm certain we could introduce her properly to them without Alan finding out in just a few short days, I think Amelia's still a little nervous that somehow it'll get back to him. I understand her need to tell him first—I want that too—so I go along with her wishes, even if it means tonight we'd be playing an interesting game of avoidance with my colleagues.

"If you'll excuse us," I say, interrupting their conversation before Elliot can ask another question Amelia will have to dodge. Yes, she's really good at it, but I can sense it still makes her slightly uncomfortable.

Placing my hand on the small of her back, I lead Amelia toward the bar to get another drink. She orders a Grey Goose and cranberry juice while I request a glass of scotch. "I think you handled that very well," I tell her.

She giggles before taking a small drink. "He's quite curious, isn't he?"

I laugh in response. "He can be," I inform her, tipping the bartender. "Can you blame him, though? He hasn't stopped asking me questions about what's happened to make me so happy in the past few weeks. Naturally, he suspected I'd met someone, and when I failed to confirm or deny anything, he took my silence as all the confirmation he needed. And now that he's seen me with a beautiful woman on my arm," I continue, placing my hand on her hip and pulling her toward me, "well, I think it's piqued his curiosity to its limit."