“What do you think of it?” He sounds genuinely curious, and thankfully, not horrified by my sad recital of the alcohol I’ve tried in my lifetime.
“It’s dry, somehow. Like I’m thirstier after drinking it.”
“What’s your major, Anita?” I must give him a questioning look in the pause that follows, because he adds, “So that we can appear a couple this evening. I should know about you.”
Oh. My cheeks flame. Of course Raoul Midas isn’t actually interested in me, Anita Washington. That invisible scarlet letter burns on my skin. I’m not in a bar full of people, now. There’s no one here to judge me… except me. I’m a fallen woman now. A prostitute.
“Computer engineering.”
His eyebrows go up. “An interesting choice.”
I wait for some further comment about my gender. Despite the supposed steps forward in equality, women only account for twenty percent of engineering graduates. When he doesn’t say more, I hesitantly share, “I’ve always loved computers. My dad encouraged me. He would let me take apart the computers at home, even though I could have broken them.”
“You didn’t, though.”
“No, I put them back together. But better than before.”
A low laugh fills the space of the limo, making hair rise on my arms. “I like you, Anita.”
“Thanks. I like you too.” Then I realize I’m a call girl. I’m supposed to flatter him, to please him. I’m supposed to make him satisfied in every way. I like you too, is hardly the stuff of seduction. “I mean, I really like you. You look so handsome. And I appreciate the dress.”
He frowns. “You don’t have to fake things with me.”
Weirdly enough, I’m not sure I was faking it. I do like him, in a terrified kind of way. And he’s ridiculously handsome, in an intimidating kind of way. “I do love the dress.”
“The dress wasn’t for you.”
“It wasn’t?”
That amber gaze heats as he takes it in, from the spaghetti straps to my waist to the hem above my crossed legs. His head shakes slowly. “No, Anita. It was for me, so I could enjoy watching you all evening. And I will enjoy it.”
Unease skates through my body, along with something else. Something warm and alluring. The sense that I could let myself go in his arms. He knows what he’s doing, and I… don’t. “Where are we going, anyway? The agency only told me it was a black-tie affair.”
“It’s for the birthday of a young woman, the daughter of a business partner.”
“Oh, a birthday party!”
“Yes,” he says, his voice dry. “A three-hundred-thousand-dollar birthday party.”
I can’t help the gasp that fills the dark space. “Three hundred thousand dollars? I mean, wow. That can buy a lot of balloons.”
“I’m going to enjoy having you on my arm all evening, listening to your commentary about our little circle. But there’s some business we need to deal with first.”
“Business?” I’m imagining a contract that needs to be signed or money that has to change hands. Madam Durand didn’t mention anything like that. All she asked for was my bank account information so she could wire the money tomorrow morning.
“We’re going to have to kiss to make this convincing. So that I can touch you, flirt with you, even kiss you in front of the hundreds of people at the gala. You can’t shy away from me or appear shocked, understand? Not if we’re going to pretend to be on a date.”
The champagne whirls in my stomach. “A kiss. Of course.”
“Don’t faint on me,” he says, sounding amused.
“I’m not going to faint. I mean, I’ve definitely kissed before!”
“Have you?” He’s somehow closer than before. The darkness seems to hide him, even inches away from me. Only the warmth of his body gives him away, the hand on my lower back, the whisper of his breath on my lips. I have been kissed before, by frat boys with wet mouths and hard tongues. I’ve never been kissed like this, with knowledge and surety.
My hands move instinctively to his chest, but he makes a sound of refusal in his throat. He grasps my wrists, his grip gentle as he forces them down to my sides.
Don’t touch him, that’s the message he sends, even as his hands coast over the side of my gold dress, his other hand fisting in the glittery fabric covering my thighs. For some reason he doesn’t want my hands on him, even as he grasps me with large hands and pulls me close.