Just a Number (28 page)

"I suppose I can't fault him for that." She looks around the room again and smiles. "This really is amazing. It's like something right out of a fairytale."

Feeling particularly corny, I finish my drink and set my glass and Amelia’s on the bar top before taking her hand and pulling her toward the dance floor. "Then I think it’s my duty, as the handsome prince in this particular fairytale, to sweep you off your feet on the dance floor."

Amelia giggles as I spin her out onto the floor before we begin to sway a little more rhythmically to the live classical music filling the room. She moves gracefully, and I hold her body close to mine, my right hand resting happily on the small of her back, directly above the swell of her perfect ass. Every breath she takes has her breasts brushing against my chest, and I find myself shamelessly glancing down at them, loving how her dress fits so snug that it pushes them up and in. I want to touch them so fucking badly.

“Eyes up, Mr. Cavanaugh," she chastises playfully, the fingers of her left hand teasing the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.

My own fingers curl against the fabric of her dress as my desire for her swells by the second. "My apologies, Miss Michaels," I whisper under my breath, dropping my face next to her ear. "I just can’t help myself when you look the way you do." My lips graze the shell of her ear, and her fingers tighten in my hair while her entire body shudders in my arms.

"You sure do know how to sweet-talk the girls, don't you?"

I shake my head, spinning us once more on the dance floor. "Just you, Amelia," I respond, straightening up and staring deep into her electric blue-gray eyes.

Her lips twist up into a coy smile as her cheeks fill with color. "You're going to get
so
lucky tonight."

We share a few consecutive dances, and when the music shifts to something a little more upbeat, Amelia excuses herself to use the washroom. I take this opportunity to grab us a couple more drinks, and as I wait at the bar, Elliot shows up, clapping his hand down on my shoulder. He's alone, having left his wife somewhere—most likely with several of the other executives' wives.

"So," he begins, "your date seems great."

I nod in response. "She is. I really like her."

"She's younger," he states confidently. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I think it's great. Every guy should hook up with a hot young co-ed at least once." He must interpret my look of annoyance for what it is, because his eyes widen behind his mask. "Shit. No. I didn't mean to imply that she was a passing phase…though, if she is, that's fine too." He's rambling now, and deep down, I know he didn't mean any harm with his statement, so I cut him some slack.

"Relax, Elliot. It's fine."

He breathes a sigh of relief and then arches an inquisitive eyebrow at me. "So, uh, how old is she?"

"Old enough," I reply.

"Okay," he says, drawing the word out slightly. "But how long has she been 'old enough'?" He uses his fingers to make air quotes, and I roll my eyes.

"Does it matter?"

Laughing, he shrugs. "Nah. Not really. But, like every other guy that's laid eyes on her tonight, I'm trying to live vicariously through you."

Amelia returns at just the right moment, putting an end to this awkward conversation, and I pull her close. She takes her drink from me with a smile and looks between Elliot and me. “What are you boys talking about?”

Elliot grins guiltily, and Amelia reads his expression like a book. “Ah,” she breathes, “still curious, huh?” Elliot shrugs, gaining another smile from her. “Well, I’m sure you won’t be kept wondering for too much longer.” With that, she loops her arm through mine and nods back toward the dance floor.

We leave our glasses on a nearby table—it’s possible we won’t see them again, but that’s all right; it’s an open bar—and I pull her back into my arms. The band plays another slow song, and we move smoothly, our bodies pressed close once more.

“I know we’ve only been here a couple hours,” Amelia says wistfully, “but I’m having a really good time.”

I spin her and then pull her back into my arms while she laughs. “I’m glad, because I’m also having a great time.” I release her hand for a minute while we dance to stroke her face, grazing the thin metal of her mask with the back of my finger in the process, and she licks her bottom lip. This act draws me in like a moth to a flame, but because we’d agreed to refrain from any major shows of affection that could start churning the rumor mill, I hold steady, and we make do with smoldering glances, soft caresses, and whispered signs of devotion that cause my already-heightened desire for her to mount further.

I feel like I’m on cloud nine with Amelia in my arms, and the exuberant smile on her face tells me she’s right there alongside me. Of course, harsh whispers cut through the happy haze that shrouds us, drawing our attention across the room…to where Gretchen is currently making her way through the crowd of people with me in her sights.

Or, more accurately: Amelia.

Gretchen must’ve come prepared to go unnoticed for a bit, because she’s wearing a gold gown she likely bought months ago, right before I cut off her access to my credit cards. Her face is half-hidden behind a solid black mask, and her hair is piled on top of her head intricately. She’d be lost amongst a sea of others just like her if it weren’t for the fire in her eyes as she storms toward us.

Naturally, Amelia’s not oblivious to the impending drama, and she offers me a nervous smile, laying her right hand on my chest. “I’m going to make myself scarce. I’ll come find you in a bit.” As she walks away, she lets her hand drag across my chest, almost as though she’s staying connected to me for as long as possible before she’s forced to let go. I want to follow her, to tell her not to run away, but I decide to just deal with Gretchen before she can make an even bigger scene.

It catches me off guard a little when Gretchen doesn’t stop to confront me, but instead makes a move to follow after Amelia as she weaves between party-goers, trying to lose herself in the crowd while watching over her shoulder. I recover quickly, grabbing for Gretchen’s arm and stopping her.

Her eyes find mine, and I can see just how angry she is. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. What
does
surprise me is that she even has the audacity to think she’s allowed to be angry about my moving on.

“Let me go, Owen,” she seethes, trying to pull her arm free from my grasp. “You can’t stop me from finding out who she is.”

“Gretchen,” I start to say, trying to keep my voice low and calm. It wavers slightly as my irritation rears its head, but I manage to keep it at bay for the moment. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find out who your little
friend
is.”

Exasperated, I lead Gretchen through the room and out onto the terrace. A few drops of rain are beginning to fall, and the night air bites at the skin on my face as I release her arm and stand between her and the door. “Gretchen, you need to let this go. How did you even get in here?”

Gretchen smirks, but only briefly before her anger resurfaces. “All I had to do was mention your name at the door. Didn’t expect to hear you’d be here with someone. The moron you have letting people in thought I was your ‘plus one.’ I came here to talk to you in a civilized manner, but when I heard you’d be here with a
date
…well, I got pissed off.”

“You, of all people, have no right to be upset with what I do and who I do it with,” I remind her through gritted teeth.

Gretchen rolls her eyes. “You sure do seem to be having a hell of a time in the wake of our separation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you seem to have acquired a taste for younger women,” she says, crossing her arms. “I never pegged you the type to go through a mid-life crisis.”

While she doesn’t outright name Amelia, I can tell that’s what she’s alluding to. Does she also suspect that it’s Amelia who’s here? Gretchen never was good at paying attention to anyone but herself, which meant she oftentimes missed what was going on directly in front of her, unless it benefitted her in the slightest.

Annoyed that I’m here with Gretchen while Amelia is God-knows-where hiding inside, I glare and am unable to keep the venom from my tone. I don’t mean to engage her further when it comes to my love life, but I’ve had enough. “Well, thirteen years with you,
darling,
and I was bound to need some kind of outlet. Who better than someone whose body has yet to be affected by gravity?”

Gretchen’s eyes widen to the point that, had this been a cartoon, I’d be able to see steam erupting from her ears and nose. I’m uncertain what she’ll unleash on me next, but I refuse to back down. I won’t out my relationship with Amelia, but I won’t deny that I’ve moved on either.

I’m surprised when she doesn’t bring up my date, though I can tell she wants to. “I got the papers, Owen,” she shoots back. “Stephen dropped them off last night.”

“Good.”

She eyes me defiantly, and I fear what’s coming out of her mouth next. “I’m not signing them.”

My eyebrows shoot skyward, and my jaw drops simultaneously. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. I’ve spent thirteen years married to you while you built this company from the ground up and ignored me I’m not walking away with nothing.”

I’m unable to contain my laughter, and it draws the attention of a few people just inside the door. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before screwing around on me.”

Gretchen tries to feed me the same excuse that she’s been forcing down my throat for the last few months about how I pulled away first and drowned myself in work, but I put a stop to that right fucking quick. “Be that as it may, if you’d have just filed for divorce, we could have come to some kind of amicable agreement.” She opens her mouth to protest again, but I cut her off, pointing my finger at her and leaning forward until I’m right in her face. “Sign the papers, Gretchen, or so help me God, I’ll find a way to make the judge force your hand.”

Behind me, I can hear the countdown begin, signaling that the stroke of midnight is upon us. Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm back into the ballroom, leaving Gretchen on the terrace, and I look around for Amelia. I’m still so infuriated that Gretchen would show up here like this, but when I find Amelia by the bar, sipping another glass of champagne, it dissipates a little—not entirely, but enough for now—and I push my way through the crowd. She must sense my presence, because she turns to me, smiling, and makes her way toward me, finishing her drink and setting the glass down on her way over.

With less than ten seconds left, we reach each other, and I pull her into my arms, holding her close as though we were dancing again.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Eight!”

“It is now,” I reply.

“Seven!”

Amelia’s hands move up my chest, tugging on the lapels of my suit lightly. “You didn’t push her off the terrace, did you?” she teases.

“Six!”

I laugh, shaking my head, and curl my fingers into her hips. “No.”

“Five!”

“I assure you I did nothing of the sort,” I continue.

“Four!”

 “That’s good.”

I tilt my face down toward Amelia as the countdown nears the end, and she looks at me with wide, nervous eyes that also hold a glimmer of excitement.

 “Three!”

 “What are you doing?” she asks, looking around. Her gaze freezes to the left, and I follow it, finding Gretchen watching us. This reignites my earlier feelings of irritation, and I’m even more certain of what I’m about to do. “We shouldn’t.”

 “Two!”

I turn her face back to mine and brush my lips over hers. “Perhaps not, but I think we’ve earned it.”

 “One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Before she can protest further—not that I think she will, if I’m being entirely honest—I press my lips to hers, pulling her hips against me again. Her fingers tighten around my lapels, and she steps onto the tips of her toes to deepen our kiss.
Auld Lang Syne
begins to play, the sounds of the string instruments filling the grand ballroom as everyone rings in the New Year around us.

That familiar hum of desire vibrates through my veins, filling my entire being and electrifying the surface of my skin. Amelia moans against my mouth, tugging on my lapels to pull me closer, even though it’s impossible, and my arms wrap around her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly.

Breathless, I stop kissing her, resting my forehead against hers as she tries to find her bearings and feeling her warm breath fan across my face and neck. “What do you say we get out of here? Head back to my place for the night?”

Smirking, Amelia looks up at me through her lashes. “My place is closer.”

21. Choose Your Fate

H
e’s agitated. It doesn’t take a genius to see this. It’s nothing I didn’t expect from him when I saw Gretchen approaching us, either. I’ve been in close proximity after a heated exchange between the two of them before, and this is no different.