I lean back in my chair, letting the music wash over me, the violin's melody soaring high and sweet, evoking images of blooming gardens and gentle rains—it's beautiful, transporting, and for the first time tonight, I enjoy something fully, my nerves easing as the piece builds to its crescendo. Applause ripples through the crowd when it ends.
The first course is served soon after. Waiters in crisp white and black uniforms glide between tables with plates of seared foie gras and rich torchon ham on top of tiny squares of brioche toast. The main course that follows is herb-crusted rack of lamb with minted pea purée. The meat is tender and pink, its juices mingling with a Bordeaux reduction, but I can’t eat much on account of the dress, the fitted bodice constricting my ribs with every breath. All I can do is push the food around my plate and take tiny bites that barely satisfy me.
Blake notices and leans in close, his breath warm against my ear over the din of conversation. "Are you back on your diet?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
I smile at him, hoping it looks genuine, but being this close is nearly giving me a stroke. My heart stutters as I feel the heat radiating from his body through the tuxedo, solid and commanding beside me. The scent of his cologne, that intoxicating mix of tobacco and citrus, wrapping around me like a caress. His eyes bore into mine, gray and intense, searching as if he can see straight to my core. I feel as if I am on fire.
I have no choice then, but to get up, and murmur an excuse. I need to collect myself.
“I uh… I need a moment,” I say and head towards the powder room. I weave through the tables. The ladies' room is a sanctuary of polished granite and soft lighting. Mirrors line one wall andthere are fresh orchids in vases. The air is scented with vanilla air freshener. I splash cool water on my wrists at the sink, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are glittering and I look like I am coming down with a fever. I will my pulse to slow to normal before heading back, but the headache pulses stronger now.
The auction and donations have started by the time I return. The emcee, a well-known news anchor from CNN, announces pledges from the stage as the spotlights sweep the room and crazy amounts flash on the large screens. The spotlight falls on Blake. He gives a gracious nod. Five million dollars flashes on the screen. I look at him, my eyes widening. What? Five million! That money could let Emma and me escape the grind forever, and he just casually gave it away. His impassive expression gives the impression that money is pocket change to him, but it does stir a mix of awe and unease in me.
My headache is throbbing behind my eyes now, but before I can tell him I want to leave, the lights dim further, and a short film about the charity's work begins on the screen. It’s archival footage of restored artworks, narrated in soothing tones. He leans in then, his lips brushing my ear again, whispering, "This should be our song," he says as the soundtrack swells to Kovac,My love, the melody rich and strange filling the hall.
“No way you’ll see me crawl. Like a shark, I’ll be ripping you apart.”
I blush, heat flooding my cheeks anew. He knows. He knows. And yet he stands and offers his hand. His eyes are intense, and I accept. He can’t know. I’ll just have to convince him that I’ve changed. My fingers slip into his warm grasp. We stand together for a second, then we join the others on the dance floor, where couples sway under the great chandeliers.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BLAKE
Idon't know what I was trying to prove by giving that champagne without asking—I couldn’t resist testing her, seeing if she'd push back… The old Carolyn would have. I have to admit it excited me when she accepted it. It was the confirmation that she had really changed. Everything about her had. These last few years have made her a stranger, and that moment she accepted was like discovering her all over again, but even better this time because she has finally become everything I thought she was all those years ago.
But then she stopped after that one sip, setting the flute aside so quietly, reaching for the wine instead, her fingers trembling just a touch on the bottle. It threw me, that small act. And even now, it leaves me unsettled and slightly confused.
What is really going on with her? The changes are stacking up like pancakes at an all you can eat buffet table. If I didn’t know better, I would question if she is even the same person. It’s like a scene from the body snatchers, only the new version is so much warmer, nicer and hotter, much hotter.
As we reach the dance floor, couples are already swaying to Etta James' sultry voice from the orchestra's speakers, the melody ofAt Lastwrapping around us, I decide to brush my thoughts away and bask in the moment instead. No more overthinking; just this, right now, with the sexy body snatcher in my arms.
It is the first time I've been this close to her in years. I pull her in, my hand settling at the curve of her back, the silk of her gown warm and smooth under my palm. Her body fits into mine exactly as I remember it. How we used to be, but with far more intensity. The murmur of conversations at the edges of the dance floor dies, and the world falls away.
All I feel is her, the subtle press of her breasts against my chest, soft and full through the thin fabric, sending a jolt straight to my cock. How is it possible? It all makes zero sense. My wife, after so many cold years, becomes an unbearably intoxicating sexual goddess that I find impossible to resist.
She moves a little awkwardly at first, her steps hesitant like she's relearning this dance with me. But then she softens, and her hips sway gently to the rhythm, her perfume wafting up to me in heady waves of floral sophistication. It wraps around my senses like a tease I can't ignore. Where our bodies touch, her heat radiates through the gown, seeping into me, making my pulse thud heavy in my veins.
I'm so fucking hard already. I savor every moment of it. The ache keeps building. It is insistent and unyielding, and my cock is straining against my trousers. I have no plans of hiding it. Why should I? She's my wife, after all, and this desire that's roared back to life isn't something I'll apologize for, not when every sway brings her closer. I listen as her breath catches softly.
She feels it—the hardness pressing against her as we turn in a slow circle. I wait for her reaction and feel her body tense for a fraction of a second. It’s a subtle stiffening, but I catch it.Her eyes flick up to mine, and I stare back at her, daring her to reject this pull. My gaze holds hers with that raw hunger I can't mask, willing her to see how much I want her, how this fire's consuming me.
She doesn’t push back, doesn't break the contact. Instead, her cheeks flush a deeper pink, and her lashes lower. Hell, she wasn’t this shy when we first met. Then she melts a little more into my body, and triumph surges through me, hot and victorious.
The dance ends too soon, the final notes of Etta's voice fading. We return to our seats, my hand lingering on her back. The air buzzes with renewed chatter. More people come to say hello then. A philanthropist couple we've known for years stand in our way, the wife in a sparkling gown air-kisses Carolyn's cheeks with effusive compliments on her necklace. I nod and make the right responses, but the restlessness builds, like a coil tightening in my chest and threatening at any moment to snap. I can't be here anymore. Everything grates on my nerves now, plus Carolyn looks kind of flushed and unwell. Her skin is warm under my touch, and there is a faint sheen on her forehead as she smiles weakly at the latest well-wisher.
I lean in close then, my lips brushing her ear. “Are you alright? Do you want to get out of here?” I whisper.
She nods, relief flickering in her eyes. After a few murmured goodbyes as I can manage, we take our leave. We slip out, and Franklin is already waiting with the Bentley. The city lights twinkle beyond the museum's grand facade.
The partition goes up, sealing us in privacy, and the car ride becomes the most sensual foreplay I've ever encountered. In the dim interior lit only by the passing streetlamps, her gown has ridden up to reveal more of her thigh through the slit. Every bump in the road shifts her closer, our legs brushing, her sweet scent filling the space, and by the time we pull up to themansion, I have loosened my tie. I yank at the silk knot with fingers that ache to touch her. My breath comes fast and heavy, and desire is like a live wire under my skin.
Franklin bids us goodnight.
The foyer is silent. Moonlight filters through the tall windows in pale shafts across the marble. The staff has long retired for the night. Fuck it. I can no longer take it. This ismywife, so why the hell not?
My body pins hers against the wood paneling. I stare into her eyes, and she looks up at me mesmerized with anticipation and desire. It makes me wonder why I have waited this long to do this. I lean down and kiss her with shocking hunger.
My mouth claims hers in a desperate crush, my tongue delving deep to taste her. She tastes sweet from the wine, warm and yielding. I am desperate for her, my hands roaming up her sides, feeling the silk bunch under my palms, the curve of her breast, the thud of her heart matching my own frantic beat. She even kisses differently.
