Chapter Twelve

 

 

 

“Why did you do that? Why the hell did you do that? That woman’s insane, and the crowd, they don’t know. They were sympathetic, but they have no idea. You could have ended up passed out on the floor. Christ, you could have ended up in the hospital.”

“At least I waited until after the auction,” he mumbled.

“Er… Well, that’s good, I guess,” she said, then she added quickly, “This isn’t funny. You’re reckless.” She fumbled in the mini bar until she found a bottle of water, which she opened and handed to him. He shook his head.

“Not yet. I need to…just be still.” His complexion had gone gray with a tinge of green around the gills. She looked about desperately then grabbed the silver ice bucket and offered it to him—just in case.

He nodded slightly, but said nothing, only laid his head back against the seat and scrunched his eyes shut tightly, ice bucket balanced in a suicide grip on one knee.

If he were anyone else, she would have grabbed one of the cloth napkins, wet it in the cold water and wiped his sweating forehead and, God knew, she wanted to touch him, to hold his head if he threw up, to do something, anything to ease his distress. Instead, she sat silently, because that was what she wanted when she felt nauseated—for people to shut the fuck up and leave her alone.

Apparently that wasn’t exactly the case with him. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” he managed, then swallowed hard a couple of times.

“What do you mean, why? You know why.” She jammed her feet hard against the floorboards to keep her knees steady. It was bad enough one of them shaking like a leaf, she thought. “What happened… It was—”

“Unprofessional. Yes, I know. Your secretary’s goddamned email said as much. But you could have least—” He was suddenly shallow-breathing, lowering his head between his knees.

“Fuck! Are you going to pass out? Please don’t pass out. How the hell will I know what to do if you pass out?”

“I’m not going to fucking… Oh, God.”

“Do you need the bucket? Some water? What do you need?”

“I need my dignity back,” he said, bent double like he was talking to the floorboards. “It’s humiliating enough to be in this position, let alone having the woman I masturbated with watch.”

“Shh!” She glanced back through the open privacy window. “Shall I roll down the windows so you can shout it to all of Portland, maybe? And anyway, goddamn it, you brought it on yourself. Clearly Dillon had everything planned out carefully for you. All you had to do was follow his instructions and then—”

“And then I saw you,” he said to the floorboard. “I wasn’t going to run the risk…fuck.” He reached again for the bucket.

She couldn’t help it, her own stomach did a little pirouette. “Try to breathe deeply,” she said. “Let it roll over you.”

“Please shut up for a minute,” he half-whispered.

Had he really put himself through what had to have been his worst nightmare because he wanted to see her? Idiot! Her—not him! She was an idiot for not giving him the closure he needed. Fuck! She’d worked as a tutor for almost four years now. She knew how important closure was. She knew it, and yet, in her embarrassment at her unprofessional behavior, she had denied him that essential element. She sat with her eyes down, trying to give the man as much privacy as she could under the circumstances. She felt like a total asshole. She wondered what to say, wondered how the hell she could ever make up to him for what she’d put him through. When his breathing eased, she glanced up. He was still pale, but at least the green and gray were fading, and his gaze was locked on her.

“What?” she asked. A blush crawled up her cheeks for some reason she couldn’t name.

“Dillon was right,” he said, offering her the first relaxed smile she’d seen since they’d left the gallery.

“About what?”

“The dress. He said it was the color of heart’s blood and that it suited you.” He shrugged. “I have no idea how he knows what color heart’s blood is, though I’ve long suspected him of being some kind of practitioner of magic, possibly even a dabbler in the dark arts, but only for a good cause, of course.”

“Of course,” she said.

“But he was right about the dress suiting you. When I looked out across the room before I gave my little speech, you were like a beacon. You were all I could see.”

She tugged at the fitted bodice and sat up a little straighter. “Myrna helped me pick it out. She said it was my color.”

He leaned back against the seat, still studying her. “It looks soft.”

“It is.” She struggled not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. “Do you want to touch it?” she asked, blushing at the look of surprise on his face. “Well, you don’t have to touch me to touch the fabric, do you?” She shifted slightly to one side and tugged at the tail of the dress where the fabric was split high up her left thigh. With a bit more shifting and wriggling, all the while with him watching wide-eyed, she held the length of the dress from the split out to him. “Is that enough?”

He nodded, his breathing suddenly faster and his pulse beating hard against his throat. He was breathing faster, and she was holding her breath. He reached out and took the hem of the dress into his hand, and she let go, both of them sighing in unison.

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “It must feel like you’re constantly being caressed every time you move.”

“That’s really why I chose it—the way it feels.” She ran a finger over the fabric of the bodice, feeling her nipples peak beneath it. “I love soft things against my skin.”

“Me too,” he said. Holding her gaze, he lifted the fabric, brushed it over the stubble of his cheek then brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss into its folds. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have moaned.

 

* * * *

 

“Is that woman his girlfriend?” One of the reporters asked Dillon, who was now standing at the podium answering questions about Lex. The driver had just texted that that he and Kelly Blake were in the limo en route back to Mountain View. He couldn’t help it, the thought of the lovely Kelly Blake offering the man comfort gave him a warm fuzzy. Damn, he was such a soppy romantic.

And, truth be told, he was a bit of a schemer too. Though Dillon hadn’t planned it, he certainly didn’t try to correct himself when the words just popped right out of his mouth. “She’s his fiancée.” The crowd erupted in chaos over which he could hear an occasional clinking of glasses from a far less sedate group than the one that had arrived at the Hendricks several hours ago. After the little wine shower had loosened everyone up, they were ready to party, and he’d just given them one more excuse. Hell, he figured surely he could run interference with the press long enough for the idea to sink in and take root. Really, what harm could it do? The man had put himself at risk of humiliation and possibly even hospitalization to be with Kelly Blake, for fuck’s sake. And she…well, she had more than acquitted herself very nicely, indeed, with the risk of her own humiliation and, considering the vitriol Ms. Spaulding was spewing after the pinot noir bath, he reckoned she had risked life and limb as well. And no doubt the story the bitch would tell on Talk About Town tomorrow would not flatter Ms. Blake overmuch, though he was pretty sure she’d made more than a few fans tonight for her heroic efforts. He liked her. He liked her a lot. She was good for Lex, and Lex needed something…someone good in his life. That being the case, Dillon was willing to go out on a limb and take a chance. “They’re just newly engaged, actually, as of tonight. Mr. Valentine wanted to ask her on this special occasion.” The crowed oohed and awwed their approval, and Dillon figured he was on a roll, or at least he was until he saw Kelly’s secretary making wide-eyed fish gasps from the back, then he took another chance.

“Look, I’m not the expert on my boss’s lovely new fiancée, but her secretary certainly is.” He motioned Myrna to the stage, noting that the PR guy for the event, the man who was also her ex, if his research served him right, was pushing her front and center with a reassuring smile.

As she mounted the stage, giving him something related to the evil eye, he leaned in to kiss her cheek like they were old friends. “I saw the way you helped her. I know you think exactly what I do about the two of them. Help me out here?”

The smile on her face went from strained to genuine, a look he’d seen before on women who couldn’t resist the urge to make matches wherever the opportunity presented itself and even sometimes when it didn’t. Oh, he was so right about this.

Myrna moved to the microphone and nodded. “Ms. Blake is a writer, a novelist, in fact. She writes the Sarah Cassidy novels among others, under the name of Gina Alan.”

With the amount of press shoving Dictaphones and cameras their way, Dillon figured that should boost book sales considerably. The woman was really good at her job.

Once she’d let that soak in, she continued. “I’ve had the pleasure of working for her for the past four years now, and the privilege of considering her my friend for longer still. Though this engagement may be sudden, it’s most definitely welcomed by all who know the happy couple.”

Oh, she really was good, he thought.

“She threw wine on me,” Gale Ann Spaulding moaned. There was an undercurrent from the audience more than hinting that she bloody well deserved it.

“Mr. Valentine isn’t comfortable around crowds, Ms. Spaulding,” Myrna said with enough syrup in her voice to give the whole room diabetes. “Ms. Holland did ask multiple times for everyone to step back and give the man some breathing room.” Her smile was all sweetness and light, but Dillon was pretty sure she would happily rip the woman’s head off with her bare hands and stuff it up her ass given half a chance.

Myrna continued. “The two have kept their plans secret because they both value their privacy and they hope very much you’ll understand that and give them the space they need to build a relationship that will result in more great work from both of them.”

Dillon had to resist the urge to cheer, but the crowd did not, and when the reporters rushed to speak all at once, Myrna raised a hand. “No more questions tonight. Just enjoy the rest of the evening and the lovely art.” Then she turned and walked off the stage with Dillon’s hand under her elbow.

“Is she going to kill you?” he whispered without moving his lips.

“Probably, and will you be joining me in death, Mr. Matthews?”

“More than likely.”

At the bottom of the steps as the two moved toward the east exit, which was still relatively free of people, she handed him her card. “I’ll call her in the morning, and I’ll expect a full account from you as well.”

He resisted the urge to salute.

 

* * * *

 

“I think we’re being followed,” Kelly said, glancing out of the back window.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. There were three limos and two cars waiting to pick me up if I needed a quick getaway.”

“A good plan,” she replied. “Possibly the only part of your plan that was good.”

“That’s what Dil said.”

“You should have listened to him, you look terrible.”

“I’ve been worse,” he said, and the boyish smile slipped from his lips. “Much worse. Thanks to you and your friend, that Spaulding woman only grazed my lapel with a fingernail long enough to disembowel a mammoth.” He shivered.

At Kelly’s suggestion, Lex now lay in the seat across from her, eyes closed, still stroking the hem of her dress. Though he’d managed to keep down the few sips of water he’d had, and didn’t seem to be in any real danger, he wasn’t quite recovered enough to fully engage.

“Thank you,” he said, his lips curling in a smile, “for rescuing me from that harridan.”

“It was my pleasure.” She studied his face while she could, while he had his eyes closed. “I’m normally not for wasting good Oregon Pinot Noir, but, seriously, it was a Kodak moment.”

“It was that. Wish I’d have been able to enjoy it a little better.” He laughed softly, then moaned and sucked in a tight breath.

“Still nauseated?”

He shook his head. “It’s just that the seat keeps spinning beneath me.”

“That sounds more like you’re drunk,” she said. “Put one foot on the floorboard, that’s supposed to help.”

He followed her advice.

This time, she did douse a napkin in cool water, then she laid it on the seat next to him. “You can put it on your forehead, or your neck is better still, at least it is for me.”

He did as she said and she was rewarded with a sigh. “That’s nice. Thank you, Kelly.”

“I don’t know what to call you,” she said. “Jesus, I don’t know anything after everything that has happened. I’ve just been sitting here yelling at Alexander Valentine and before that I…” She shoved a hand to her forehead and her face burned with heat. “Oh God, I can’t believe what I did before that.”

“Lex,” he said, offering her a smile that was warm enough to make her insides tremble. “Please call me Lex, and I’m glad you know the truth.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the headlights of passing cars having a strobe light effect on the dark interior.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she half-whispered. “Not after everything that’s happened between us.”

“Say you won’t stop being my tutor.” There was another flash of a smile. “Look how much I’ve improved since you’ve started seeing me. I’m now able to go to crowded parties and make an utter fool of myself.”

“Just like everyone else then, are we?” she said with a chuckle.

He shook his head. “I do it with a lot more drama.”

“I can’t argue that point. You stole the show.”

“Will you, then? Keep being my tutor?”

“I’ll think about it.”