Enraptured Page 3

  “But you’ll be the only one coming,” he added in an undertone.

  She swallowed. Hard.

  Blaine never ceased to excite her, never ceased to make her want him even more than before. But she couldn’t afford what this would do to her…to them. Her eyes connected to his in the mirror. Saying goodbye was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  His stare narrowed, sharp, possessive. “Are you wearing any underwear?”

  She nodded, as helpless as a mouse in the presence of a cobra. “A thong and garters,” she managed, voice whisper-soft.

  “Good.” His hands moved downward from her hips, lifting the skirt of her dress that was three gauzy sections, shaped like the petals of a rose.

  His touch was all heat between her thighs. When he pushed aside the scrap of lace that was her thong to expose her cunt, she all but collapsed against him, her bones turning to liquid.

  “You’ll climax for me,” he said hoarsely, “then every time you walk, every time you sit or stand tonight, you’ll be aware of the wetness down there.”

  His breath touched her ear at about the same time his fingers parted her flesh. “Every time someone comes near and smells your aroma, they will know you are mine.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  If words were an aphrodisiac, then he was the master. She was close to convulsing with pleasure even before one of his fingers massaged the aching gem of her clit. Over and over again. Until she was writhing and grinding against him, her head resting against his chest and his dark, glittering eyes holding hers, watching as her breath abruptly caught, her body jerking with release, then trembling with the aftereffects.

  “I must be all kinds of a fool for not filling your cunt and fucking you senseless, my seed spilling into your wet pussy,” he said throatily.

  She was incapable right then of answering back and recovering any semblance of the upper hand. She didn’t even have the energy to mention that any more sex between them would be with a condom sheathing his cock. Instead she said weakly, “Your romantic words get me every time.”

  “Perhaps I’m saving the romance for later, hmm?”

  She pulled free from his embrace, the intensity of his stare causing her to feel uneasy. She looked away and adjusted her thong, her dress, before she gathered up her clutch purse and took his proffered hand.

  * * * * *

  Of course the party was at the Sydney Opera House, with beautiful views of the harbor and its myriad twinkling lights along the shoreline.

  She sneaked a glance behind them. “No bodyguards tonight?”

  “No. Believe it or not we’re safer amongst a crowd.”

  A handful of musicians had set up beside a raised stage and a makeshift dance floor. They played cover songs, and right then a popular ballad leant the stifling rich atmosphere a little more cheer.

  The women in their sequined gowns and flashing jewels made Brandy feel underdressed. But as if reading her thoughts, Blaine said in an undertone, “Your simple, stunning elegance has already drawn the eye of every man in the room.”

  She shivered a little, recognizing he meant every word. Yes, they were attracting a lot of attention, but it was from the women as much as the men, their envious glances sliding between her and the delicious man by her side.

  Even without all his wealth and good looks, there was something magnetic about Blaine that drew the eye. He carried himself with an inborn assurance and self-belief she secretly envied and admired in equal measure.

  Blaine took two drinks from a passing waiter before handing one to her. She murmured thanks, the bubbly effervescence that slid down her throat lending her a little more courage.

  She could handle herself in any social situation, but formal affairs such as these left her feeling inadequate, as though she didn’t belong. She could only hope she appeared every inch poised and confident on the outside.

  Blaine introduced her to one group of people after the other until she lost track of the number of important and influential guests he was on first-name basis with. Then he drew her toward the next group.

  Oh. Shit.

  “Brandy, I’d like you to meet Calvin and his wife Sharlene.”

  Her eyes fixed on Calvin, she kept all her shock on the inside as she allowed him—a former client—to take her hand and press fleshy lips to her knuckles.

  “What a pleasure,” he said with a drawling smirk, his nostrils flaring as though he really was aware of the musky scent between her thighs.

  Except she had a bad feeling the scent only emphasized his adverse opinion of her. The one and same man she’d rejected when his fetish for rough, violent sex had become apparent. He’d also been the man who’d fast-tracked her into becoming more selective with her clients.

  “Kate? Oh my god…is that really you?”

  Even before she tugged her hand free to turn toward Calvin’s wife, she knew who she’d face. Brandy would remember that voice anywhere. Class-A bitch and spoiled rich kid, Sharlene’s prettiness had just happened to be all on the outside. Her inner ugliness hadn’t stopped her from being the most popular girl in high school.

  The same woman who’d made her life a living hell.

  “It really is you!” Sharlene looked her up and down with frank and disbelieving envy. “You look amazing.”

  The other woman could say that now. And little wonder. Age hadn’t done Sharlene any favors—or maybe her husband was as nasty out of bed as he was in it, infecting those around him with his own personal brand of ugliness?

  Sharlene’s face twitched into what should have been a frown, if only her obviously wrinkle-free, botoxed features allowed such movement. “Why the name change?”

  Calvin guffawed, his heavy jaw made more noticeable with his obnoxious laugh. He lifted a shoulder that was still as broad and heavy as his linebacker days when he’d lived in the states. His career was one thing he’d managed to boast about in their short time together. “Sweetheart, use your imagination. In her line of work she needs to be anonymous for her own safety.”

  Brandy felt the blood drain right out of her face even as Blaine stiffened beside her.

  It was a travesty that the one man she had feared the most referred to her line of work as being dangerous.

  Sharlene’s eyes rounded with evident realization before she clapped a hand to her mouth. “No. Way! Kate. Ah, Brandy, is that true?” She leaned forward, clearly titillated when she hissed, “You’re a whore?”

  And just like that something within Brandy shut down. One well-aimed hit to the solar plexus and she was the shy plain Jane with no friends and all too many insecurities.

  Blaine put his arm around her rigid shoulders and drew her close, shielding her from harm. She wilted against him. This once she could only be thankful for the security he offered.

  Later…much later, she’d be strong again.

  Blaine’s gaze held Sharlene’s as he challenged softly, “Define whore?”

  The other woman shrank a little at the clear undertone of warning in his voice, his quelling and distasteful stare. Brandy released an unsteady breath. How easily he’d switched all the ugliness back onto Calvin’s wife.

  Blaine swung away from Sharlene, who was grappling for a suitable reply. His attention was all on the man who’d forgotten the meaning of discretion in order to settle a score. “Tell me, Calvin, how is it you know so much about Brandy?”

  Sharlene turned to her husband with sudden uncertainty in her eyes. “What is going on, Calvin? How do you know her?”

  Brandy leaned farther into Blaine’s strong body, feeding off his strength just a little longer before deciding enough was enough. The time for being strong was here and now, not later. She stepped out of his arms. “Actually we have met.” When Sharlene threw her a glaring look of disbelief, she added, “Except I didn’t much care for his penchant for violence.”

  If Calvin roughed up his spouse in the same way he did his escorts, Sharlene would get her drift. And going by the other woman’s stifle
d gasp, it was clear she did.

  Sympathy for Sharlene and the life she must share with this man softened any ill will toward her. Brandy could only hope the nasty displeasure stamped into every hard crevice on Calvin’s face wouldn’t see his wife harmed. But his focus wasn’t on his wife. It was all on her.

  A pulse beat into life at his temple, his hands curling into fists. “Listen to me, you little—”

  “I believe we have a meeting early next week,” Blaine said in an undertone that somehow oozed authority right along with the threat of reprisal.

  Calvin pulled himself together, at least outwardly. He all but bowed to the alpha when he nodded stiffly and said, “I’ll be there.”

  Blaine looked anything but appeased. “See that you are.” When he took her arm once again and escorted her away from the pair of piranhas, he murmured, “Are you okay?”

  She looked up at his taut face. “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

  Calvin had seen to that.

  Blaine’s eyes narrowed, dangerously assessing. “Your job?”

  She shivered, aware that Blaine was far more lethal than anything Calvin could muster. But she didn’t answer, didn’t feel the need to explain herself or her chosen career. Except her silence seemed answer enough.

  His mouth tightened. “You know you don’t need to do what you’re doing. Not anymore.”

  She inhaled sharply. He didn’t need to say the words, didn’t need to tell her he’d look after her. But why did he think being his mistress would be so much better? She’d still be getting paid for sex, the only difference being that it would be singular instead of plural.

  And then what?

  Nothing. She’d be right back to square one again the moment he’d had enough of her.

  No. She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. She’d already learned that the hard way.

  As though knowing he’d pushed her far enough, Blaine changed tactics and asked, “Would you care to dance?”

  The dance floor was empty, but sensing Sharlene’s and Calvin’s eyes still boring into her back, she knew she needed to fight fire with fire. Screw them. Let them watch. She wasn’t going to make excuses. She loved sex, loved her job. She wasn’t going to let another person’s judgments make her feel inferior or ashamed in any way.

  When were men like Calvin going to realize they paid their unhappy wives a whole hell of a lot more than any call girl to satisfy their needs?

  She lifted her chin. Better to stay than run scared. “I’d love to.”

  His eyes glinted with satisfaction and something else, something not quite definable when he smiled and she stepped into his arms. Her belly fluttered. Sometimes she could swear she glimpsed more than lust in Blaine’s stare, something deeper, especially of late. It was those times she had to remind herself she was a call girl and that men rarely saw beyond that label.

  No matter that Blaine thought he wanted a longer-term arrangement, she’d still be nothing more than a paid mistress. She wasn’t girlfriend material. She’d gone into the business with her eyes wide open, aware of what she was getting into.

  She’d made her bed…

  A slow melody started up, but Brandy scarcely noticed. She was too attuned to Blaine and his strong feelings for her. His interest was the last thing she needed, especially knowing this would be their last night together. Yet somehow it didn’t stop the glow from spreading inside.

  Just remember you’re nothing more to him than his whore or his mistress. Revel in the time spent with him while you can.

  She pushed away all reservation and instead concentrated on following Blaine’s lead. He was a fabulous dancer. While she’d had enough lessons to make her passable in any given situation, she knew with Blaine in charge they moved fluidly across the floor, his big, adept hand on the bared skin of her back, her skirts swishing.

  And all the while dozens of admiring eyes followed them.

  She looked up at Blaine’s determined stare. Is this what he really wanted? Did he hope people would see them as a couple and associate them as being together? She frowned. Surely it’d be the downfall of his celebrated career if others got wind of who he was really with?

  Evidently he didn’t care.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked, his head bent and his voice brushing over her ear.

  She ignored the instant raise of goose bumps. “What do you mean?”

  “That exchange between you and Calvin…not to mention his wife.”

  She shrugged, keeping her tone light, casual. “Calvin was a client.”

  The tightening of Blaine’s hands confirmed his possessiveness. It also reconfirmed her decision to part ways with him before things got even more serious.

  As though perceiving her thoughts, he visibly relaxed, his touch gentling. “Go on.”

  She shrugged. “And Sharlene was someone I knew in high school.”

  “A friend?”

  Her short burst of laughter held no trace of humor. “Hardly. She was more an enemy who made my life miserable in every way.”

  The song came to an end.

  They stilled. Neither moved as another ballad swept over them.

  Blaine’s hands tightened fractionally as he stared down at her. “She felt threatened by you.” Before she could disabuse him of that absurd idea, he added, “Life has a funny way of evening scores.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I almost feel sorry for her being married to that…pig.”

  “He’s that bad?”

  She nodded, her mouth drying at his intense look. “Worse.”

  His face tightened. “Then I’ll be certain he knows never to go near you again.”

  She pulled back and shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Is it really so bad to have someone want to look out for you?”

  Yearning once again pulled at her defenses. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to his arrangement that would be unattainable long-term. Besides, she’d fought hard for her independence and she wasn’t about to hand those reins over to someone else.

  About to put her thoughts into words, a well-coiffed matron with sky-high heels and heavy earrings mounted the stage nearby and took hold of the microphone. “First of all, I want to thank you one and all for coming tonight and making this annual awareness fundraiser a resounding success.” As a polite round of applause dimmed, she added with a beaming smile, “But I’m sure you are all hungry. Please take your designated seats and let our guest speakers entertain you.”

  Blaine took her hand and guided her through the throng of people to the intimate round table close to the stage.

  “I’m the keynote speaker,” he informed her at seeing her arched brow.

  After he pulled out her chair then seated himself, she leaned in close and said in an undertone, “Then perhaps I should have asked what this charity fundraiser is all about?”

  He nodded toward the stage. “You’re about to find out.”

  A young woman with long, mouse-brown hair and an even more timid demeanor stepped up onto stage. Although her voice shook, it was loud and clear just how bad her youth had been as she recounted her days spent terrorized by schoolyard bullies.

  The first course arrived, some kind of consommé in a delicate chalk-white bowl. Brandy didn’t touch it. All her attention was centered on the young woman whose past sounded so similar to her own.

  She was half-aware of Blaine’s considering stare on her, but this once she was unmindful of his regard. The woman’s speech was poignant and sad. Worse, it brought back memories like a reopened wound, fresh and painful. And more than a little confronting.

  When the woman on stage finished off by conceding as a teen she’d attempted to take her own life, Brandy’s throat clogged, her vision misting over. The woman might be timid, but she had the heart of a lion. Not only had she faced her fears, she spoke about them in the hopes others would be saved from the turmoil she’d gone through. The next spea
ker was announced when Blaine tilted his head close to her, his voice feathering across her earlobe. “We’re funding a national campaign aimed to put an end to bullying.”

  She sucked in a steadying breath, but it didn’t stop the odd sensation from taking over her body. It was as if tonight she’d been brought full circle.

  Blaine signaled for a waiter who immediately came over then filled her empty wineglass. She took a mouthful, barely noticing its extravagant flavor. Barely registering the monotonal voice of the man who’d taken to the stage.

  “I didn’t thank you,” Blaine said in an undertone.

  She turned to him, his open warmth and adoration producing an ache somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

  Her mind scrambled to make sense of it all even as lightheadedness assailed her. This was all wrong! Blaine didn’t love her! Of course he didn’t.

  So why was she drowning in a sea of denial and he was the lifesaver with an outstretched hand?

  “Wh…what for?” she managed.

  “For accepting my invitation here tonight. And taking a chance on us.”

  Her mouth dried. Had she found any words to eventually voice, it was too late. The coiffed woman once again took the microphone and announced Blaine’s name.

  He pressed a reassuring kiss to her scalp before brushing a lingering hand across her shoulder. Moments later he stood and took to the stage.

  She gulped in some air, focusing on Blaine to steady her nerves. The non-fantasy part of her brain stepped in, logical and reasonable. Blaine wanted her to be his mistress. That. Was. It. Only as her breathing returned to some semblance of normality did she perceive her anxiety attack had slowly seeped away, like it’d never been.

  I’m happy on my own, I don’t need a man permanently in my life to make things right.

  Yet all her attention stayed on Blaine, everything within her drawing strength from his commanding presence.

  His gaze moved over the crowd when he introduced himself, his voice strong, authoritative. Captivating.

  “Some of you might know me as a friend.” He smiled, acknowledging a few of those in the seated audience. “Some as a business acquaintance. One thing I know for sure.” He paused, holding the audience in the palm of his hand. “Without you people I’d never have become who I am today.”