Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) (23 page)

I
pirouette and he sighs.

“Christ,
you do that dress right.
And your hair.
It’s perfect.”
He leans in to kiss me. “Who stole your freckles?”

Laughing,
I say, “They did this airbrush make-up and it covered them up.”

“Hmm.
I miss them, but you are radiant.”

“Thank
you. You make me feel beautiful.”

“You
should feel it in your own right because you are. It has nothing to do with
me.”

“Do
you miss my ruffles?”

A
hearty laugh erupts from him. “As much as your cupcake.”

“How
about a drink then instead of a cupcake?”

“Sure.
We have a driver tonight so it’s good.”

We
arrive at the venue in style, which happens to be a Christmas Fund Raiser for
Cancer, and I have to admit I feel like a million bucks. But then again, it’s
easy to feel like that with Kestrel as my escort. Eyes follow us everywhere.
Women whisper as we pass. But he’s possessive with me and doesn’t even give
them a glance. I feel like preening. Even men take note, but it’s him they
stare at.
And with envy.
A waiter with a tray of
champagne glasses approaches and Kestrel snags two for us.

After
a sip he whispers to me, “This is shit-
pagne
. Don’t
drink it.”

I
raise a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Uh
huh. My mother is a champagne expert. I need to give you a lesson.”

“What’s
her favorite? Dom?”

“She
likes that. But she goes on little kicks of varietals every now and again. She
really loves
Heidseick
. Charles
Heidseick
and Piper
Heidseick
. But she’s gotten into
Veuve
Clicquot’s
La Grande Dame
recently. Champagne is her drink de
prédilection
.”

“Interesting. I never think of it to drink like that.
And I love your French accent. Very sexy.”

“Je
dois
vous
parler
en
Français
plus
souvent
,” he whispers in my ear. His breath sends shivers
down my spine.

I lick my suddenly dry lips.

“I want to kiss you so much I can taste it. Je
veux
vous
embrasser
alors
que
je
peux
goûter
.” His emerald eyes
are so bright I want to drown in them. His mouth begs to be kissed, and it’s so
close to mine, inches only, but I know if I do, we’ll make a scene.

“Kestrel, I …”

“Don’t say it. Give me your hand.”

My brain won’t function, but my hand, by some means,
ends up in his. He raises it to his lips, turns it over, and kisses the inside
of my wrist. Then he wraps my arm in his and we begin to walk again. My body
yearns for his. I want to slip into his clothes and be next to him. The music
plays in the background and we end up at a corner bar, ordering drinks. Wine.
He hands me a glass and our fingers touch. Fire erupts in my belly and zings
down to my core. Does he feel this way too? I look up and find him focusing on
me.

“Do you …” I begin, but then lose my nerve.

“Do I what?”

“Nothing. It’s silly, really.”

“Ask me.”

“When you touch me.”

“Yes. I do.
In my blood.
I want
you. Here and now. If you could feel me, you’d know.”

My teeth dig in to my lower lip as I digest what he
says. It’s mutual. That gives me some level of comfort.

“Don’t bite it off, angel.”

“Huh?”

“Your lip. You’ll look pretty funny without a bottom
lip.”

I smirk at him.

“We’ll work this all out. You don’t have to look so
worried about it,” he says.

“Is that what you think?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not worried. I was thinking I’m glad it’s not just
me.”

“Oh, it’s not just you. You’re a hell of a lot smarter
than that.”

A grating voice interrupts us.

“Well, look who’s here. If it’s not Dr. Save The World
and her rescuer-slash-lover boy.”

Simon. Why does he have to show up everywhere?

“Hello Simon.”

“Carter.”

Kestrel is wound as tight as a coil, ready to spring. I
squeeze his hand and lean into him. I don’t want to talk to Simon. Maybe if I
don’t say anything else, he’ll slink off into the distance.

I glance at Kestrel and he’s pinning Simon with those
emerald irises of his. Unblinking, his eyes are like solid chips of ice. He
looks so dangerous like this. Simon should back away now if he knows what’s
good for him.

“So who invited the riffraff?” Simon asks.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw you, you
little fucker.” Kestrel’s voice is cold as steel as he whips out his insult.

“How dare you?” Simon asks.

“Oh, I dare all right. Now be a good boy and fly away,
little pest.” He flicks his hand in front of his face.

“Of all the …”

I stand up straight and say, “Simon, if you’re smart,
you’ll get out of here.”

“If
I’m
smart
?”

“You heard me. Now go!”

His head pings between the two of us and then he must
think the better of it and slinks away.

“If that fucker does anything to insult you, I’ll take
him down. And I don’t care who sees it.”

“Calm down. It’s all right. He’s gone and we’re going to
have a great time tonight. Have you noticed all the Christmas decorations?”

“No. Even though the place is dripping in them, I
haven’t because I can’t take my eyes off of you. You’re by far much more
beautiful than any decoration in here. And the best part of all is you’re mine
tonight.”

“Would you care to dance with me, kind sir?”

“Can you stand me?”

“Yes, I can. I would love to feel you close to me.”

“Can you dance?” His eyes have a bit of a twinkle in
them as he teases me.

I do an exaggerated hand wave. “
Pfft
.
I was a debutante, remember?”

He escorts me to the dance floor where a slow song
starts up, and we begin to sway. His hand is warm on the skin at my waist and
it takes all my strength not to slide my own hand beneath his jacket, which for
whatever reason has now become offensive to me.

“Would you believe me if I told you everyone in this
room is staring at you?” he asks.

“Not a chance. It’s you they’re looking at. You didn’t
even notice it when we walked in.”

“Oh, how wrong you are. But I noticed them looking at
you
,
not me.”

“Flatterer.”

“Sexy dancing angel.”

“Not to change the subject, but do you know what they’re
serving for dinner tonight?”

He laughs. “I hope whatever it is, it’s better than that
shit-
pagne
they tried to pawn off on us.”

“You are much too picky.”

“No, I only think if you’re going to serve champagne, it
should be decent. There are reasonably priced ones out there that won’t kill
you if you drink them.”

“Kestrel, were you raised on the best of the best of everything?”

“Yeah, pretty much. My father was a super-snob. My
mother did everything he told her.
Pathetic, really.
I’m not proud of it. The bad thing is my tastes run that way now. It certainly
can be a curse.”

“Good thing you can afford it, huh?”

He laughs. “That’s the one thing I had an issue with
when I backpacked the trail. The food. Dehydrated stuff that was horrific. I
lost a bunch of weight. When I came home, I think I ate everything that wasn’t
nailed down.”

The song ends and he escorts me back to the bar to pick
up another drink. Then we move to a cocktail table.

“I should be mingling, but all I want to do is hang out
with you,” he says.

“Tell you what. We’ll talk for another fifteen minutes,
then we’ll mingle.”

“Ah, I see. You’re going to keep me on track here.”

“Yep. So tell me, did you travel a lot growing up?”

His lips thin and he says, “No. I was in boarding
schools, getting kicked out of a lot of them. Then I’d come home and get my ass
kicked by the Dragon. Oh, we traveled some, but not as much as you’d think. I
didn’t do any significant traveling until I graduated from college. I went
abroad for a few months before I went to work for my father.”

“You never did tell me where you graduated from,” I say.

“Hmm. I didn’t, did I? I finally finished at Columbia
and by the skin of my teeth. It wasn’t because of the curriculum. It was
because of my attitude and anger issues. They threatened to expel me but
Langston gave them a lot of money to keep me in.” He spreads his arms wide and
says, “So here I am, a Columbia grad. Aren’t you impressed?”

“I would’ve been impressed no matter where you graduated
from. So, after that, where did you travel?”

“The usual. Europe. What about you?”

“We did family trips. I had planned on doing a semester
abroad during college, but then Ells happened and I never got a chance. My dad
was a sailor so we did some sailing in the Caribbean too.”

“Name your favorite place,” he says.

“Can’t say. I found something special about each one.
But I wish I could’ve gone as an adult. I might have felt differently. You?”

“I did the off the beaten path sort of thing so I liked
northern Italy, Paris—because there was something really cool on every
corner, and I loved Scotland.”

“I bet you had droves of Parisian women following you
around with that accent of yours.”

“Not exactly. They thought I was a stupid Yank. I was a
rough looking dude who thought he knew everything and did not integrate well
with his peers. Not impressive at all.”

“You were alone?”

“Yeah. I did almost everything alone back then. I wasn’t
very fit company.”

I reach my hand out and cup his cheek. “You are fine
company now, Mr. Hart.”

He covers my hand with his and says, “So are you.”

I release a sigh. “Okay, time to mingle.”

For a young man who didn’t interact well with his peers,
he has made a giant leap since then. Soon he has everyone eating out of his
hand, including me. He exudes a natural charm, a keen wit, and he’s very
clever. It’s easy to see why his business is blossoming so quickly. When it’s
time to be seated for dinner, I’m happy to see that Simon and his father are
not at our table. That would’ve been most awkward.

Instead, several city council members are here, along
with the President of the University Medical Center of Charleston, Dr. Tom Garner.
I’m ecstatic because I’m seated right next to him and even better, he
recognizes my name.

“It’s so good of you to join us tonight, Dr. Drayton.”

“Dr. Mitchell, I’m so happy to be here, seated next to
you.”

He gives me a quirky look and smiles.

“We at the university are thrilled with your research.
We hear big things have been happening in your lab. I’m going to have to drop
in for a visit soon.”

“Oh, you must. I’ll have to show you what I’m working
on.”

I lean over to Kestrel and say, “Oh my God. I can’t
believe he knows me!”

“He better damn well know you. You’re going to make this
place famous.”

“Oh, hardly. I think they’ll be better known for their
successful heart transplants and such.”

Dinner is served and we all chat amongst ourselves, as
much as those large round tables of ten will allow. Then when everything is
cleared, the speeches begin. I hope they don’t drag on too long as they
sometimes can.

Dr. Mitchell heads to the podium and begins by thanking
everyone for attending. Then he goes into a brief explanation of what the
University Cancer Center is doing. But to my utter shock—and
horror—he introduces me to the crowd and asks me to stand as he moves on
to my research. He delves into what I’m working on and even asks me to remain
standing as he speaks. When he finishes, the room breaks out into a booming
round of applause.

Though it doesn’t last more than a few minutes, I want
to crawl under the table.

When I sit, I’m shaking like a tree in a hurricane.

“It’s good, angel. It’s all good. It’s what you
deserve.”

“D-did you know?”

He chuckles. “Sort of. It was mentioned that he was
going to talk about the research, but I didn’t realize he would call you out by
name.”

“Jesus.” I grab my drink and guzzle it straight down.

“Why do I find that so utterly sexy—you tossing
back a drink like that?”