She thought of her clutch purse, sitting in the cloakroom, containing the leather cuff Dmitri had given her earlier. She intended to hold on to it forever.
So why she had brought it with her into the ballroom she had no idea. Because she wouldn’t be needing it. Because she would not be returning it to him.
But you want to.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, hoping to cool the arousal that was pouring through her body. She couldn’t dwell on this. Could not give in to the attraction she felt for him.
She also did her best to ignore the sound of her shoes on the marble floor. Her rather saucy high heels that she’d never given a second thought to before Dmitri.
Shoes that begged a man to bend her over furniture, he’d said.
No.
She did her best to ignore the voice that was growing increasingly louder inside of her. The voice that was starting to question her resoluteness. Starting to wonder why it would be such a bad idea to just give in to what she wanted.
Because, the more sensible part of her answered, I’ve spent too long forcing myself into this mold to break out of it now.
Well, that sounded like her. Clinging to something out of sheer bloody-mindedness and no other reason.
What about fear? Is fear a good enough reason?
Yes, she had decided fear was a good enough reason. And she ignored the kick of disappointment in her gut as she reaffirmed her decision. She was keeping the leather cuff with her. He was never getting it back. Good luck charm or not. The slight twinge of guilt she felt about it was ridiculous, because that was why he had given her the cuff in the first place. She was certain of it. To make her feel guilty, to make her feel as if she should give it back, rather than holding on to it because of what it was, not because of what she wanted.
Of course, that wasn’t how he’d said it.
Leaving the decisions entirely up to her, now that she thought about it, was the worst part. Because if she indulged herself, she was to blame. Because if she deprived herself, it was because of her. And she couldn’t blame anyone else. It was the only good thing about Nathan, and the incident with him.
She’d been sixteen, and while she took her share of the blame, rerouting her entire life based on her mistake, she logically knew that a good portion of the fault lay with him. Because he had been adult. Because she’d had no experience with men.
She hadn’t realized until this moment, standing in a crowded ballroom, just how much blame she did allow Nathan to bear. And how that blame spared her a good portion of the pain she would feel otherwise.
It made her wonder if what really held her back was fear. Fear of rejection. That she might take her clothes off for a man again and see nothing but pity. See that while he’d wanted to use her, he didn’t really want her body at all.
That there was something wrong with her, with it. With everything she was inside and out.
She couldn’t stand that.
She took a deep breath. This was not the time to be thinking about that. She had to circulate. More importantly, she had to find her fiancé and circulate with him.
She looked across the ballroom and saw him standing next to a table with a tray of champagne positioned on it, looking out of place.
There he was, the Dmitri she knew. He looked too large for the space, too wild. And that was precisely what drew her to him.
She started to cross the room and he looked up, meeting her eyes. He schooled his expression into one of perfect civility and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to come to him, his movements fluid like a panther. Or more terrifying, like a banker. When she made her way to where he was, he didn’t speak, instead taking her hand in his and lowering his head to kiss her knuckles.
She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from focusing too intently on the press of his lips against her skin. On what it had felt like to have his lips touch her other places. She cleared her throat. “Who are you? And what have you done with Dmitri?”
He released her hand. “Are you not pleased?”
“I’m pleased. You look every inch the suave sophisticate. How can I not be pleased?”
“You do not seem pleased.”
She lifted her shoulder. “I’m possibly a little bit confused. You seem different.”
“Because I’m not shirtless and dripping with sweat?”
She swallowed hard. “Perhaps. Perhaps it is that.” It was, partly. Because the wilder parts of him were so well concealed right now, and she rather admired those parts.
Not because they matched her in any way, but because they so weren’t her. Because they were so far from her reality. They were like everything good and lush. Refreshing in a dry wasteland of parties, crystalline conversation and self-denial, of which she had grown exceedingly weary.
Just then she felt very tired. Tired of being good. Tired of the long road to atonement. Tired of being afraid.
Tired, quite frankly, of being a virgin.
She would do anything right at this moment to go back to the moment on the balcony when his hand had skimmed over her curves and she had felt nothing but desire. When she had felt no guilt, no trepidation, nothing but need. When the voices in her head had been completely blocked out in favor of the heat that was coursing through her body.
And her mind was back on the cuff that was in the cloakroom in her bag.
No.
“So—” she snagged a glass of champagne from the nearby tray “—how do you find the party so far?”
“It is going well. I’m not particularly looking forward to giving my speech, but I feel prepared.”
“You are prepared.” Much more prepared than she had imagined he could be for something like this.
“And you look surprised.”
“I am, perhaps, a little bit surprised.”
“Don’t be—this was your idea.”
She looked away from him. “I suppose my surprise comes from the fact that you listened to me.”
“Well, I did enlist your services. And your hand.”
She lifted her hand, causing the yellow diamond on her finger, which she was starting to like, to glisten in the light. “More like I enlisted yours,” she said.
“But I agreed that you could be of use.”
“Oh. That’s nice. I’m of use,” she said, lowering her hand.
“Not exactly the use I’m hoping for yet.”
“Stop,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that went through her. She should be angry at him. She should not find him sexy.
The music stopped playing, and the emcee running the event went to the front of the room and started doing an introduction for Dmitri.
For some reason her stomach went tight. It wasn’t possible she was nervous for him, was it?
No, not that. She was nervous because she needed it to go well. Because he needed to say the right thing, or else all of this would be pointless. She was here to help him, and she really did want this to succeed. She didn’t like failing, even when the cause wasn’t hers.
Dmitri