‘Well, it’s just that I’m your legal advisor and?—’
‘Scarlett, even an old fool like me can see that Gregory hasn’t brought you here as a legal advisor.’
I pull away from him and twirl under his arm, my cheeks ablaze.
‘So you’re like a father to him?’ I ask, returning my free hand to his left shoulder.
‘As much as I can be. Gregory’s a man. He’s always been much older than his age. He had to grow up quickly.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I think that’s his story to tell.’ He pushes me away, turning under his arm again. ‘He’s a good man, Scarlett: the best. He’ll move the earth for the people he loves.’
‘Can I cut in?’ Gregory says, standing to our side, his legs parted and strong, his shoulders broad, his hands folded behind his back. He’s a man who demands attention.
Lawrence raises the back of my hand to his mouth Leo in Titanic style, then passes it to Gregory. His hand is big but his hold gentle when it wraps around mine. He runs his other hand from the bare flesh between my shoulder blades down to the small of my back and pulls me close to him. My legs are locked either side of his, my left thigh pressed up against his right. I stare at where our bodies connect and inhale a nervous breath. He gently lifts my chin with his index finger until I’m gazing into his hypnotic, brown pools. We stand like this until I realise that everyone in the room can probably read my thoughts and must know that, despite my better judgment, I’ve unequivocally fallen for this man.
His shoulders rise and fall with his breath, then he begins to turn us, slowly at first, growing faster with the music – Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin.’ He leads me into each step, never missing a beat. We turn faster and faster still, until the room is spinning and everything except his face is a blur. I’m flying and there’s no one else in the space but the two of us. I submit to his hold, allowing him to move me. My head tips back as I laugh, genuinely happy. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in his hench arms.
He slows us down with the rhythm of the music and pushes me away, twirling under his arm. As I return, he drops his foot in front of mine, bending me back towards the floor, the weight of my body resting in his arm at the small of my back. He leans his face towards mine, so close, I can feel his next breath on my lips. My body aches for his kiss. My lips part and my hips rise reflexively towards him, silently begging. He raises his head excruciatingly slowly, blowing caressing air up my neck, to my ear, and he whispers. ‘I’m not going to kiss you.’
He pulls me back up to standing as the band switches to the next track. I can’t tell whether my head is fuzzy from dancing, alcohol, or the ten thousand thoughts and emotions running in all directions through it. Taking my hand again, he begins to turn me, slower this time. ‘I know you have your reservations,’ he finally says.
‘Yes,’ I manage, fighting to remember what they are. ‘You’re a client, for a start and?—’
‘And?’
‘And I can’t help but wonder whether I can trust you. I just can’t figure you out. You’re up and down. Your family and friends tell me you’re a great guy. Yet, I know you’re hiding something from me and I don’t like it.’
He turns us through the legato verse, his gaze penetrating me, challenging me. His Adam’s apple moves under his skin and I force my eyes shut to stop myself from wanting to bite it.
‘All you need to know is that I always get what I want.’
‘And what is it that you want, Gregory Ryans?’
‘You.’
He presses his thigh between my legs until I can feel my blood pounding in my clit, my entrance wet, craving him. I bite down hard on my lip. I can’t let him take the upper hand.
‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’ he asks.
‘I can let it go. I can forget about it. God, that would be so much easier right now. But I’m hoping you don’t want me to.’
‘How much do you need to know to just let go?’
‘All of it. All of you.’
‘I’m not the kind of man who exposes himself.’
‘Then just tell me something. Tell me something true.’
There’s a momentary flutter of panic in my chest, which I think is fear that he might not let me in, a feeling that makes no sense to me at all. Then he sighs. ‘Like I said, Lawrence has been with my mother since I was ten. He moved us over here from South Africa and we’ve lived with him ever since. He met my mother when we were still living with my biological father.’
He swallows as he pushes me away to twirl but I’m not numb to his delay tactic.
‘My father was a drunk, probably still is. The only thing he ever cared about was work, his businesses. He’d come home late, stinking of drink and he’d beat my mother. The first time I saw him do it I swore to myself that I’d make him pay.’
I feel his chest rise then fall with his exhale, pressing against mine, as he continues to turn us to the beat, but his attention’s set over my shoulder, detached.
