I's too soon for trust. Can't be that. But baby, you're getting there, aren't you? For every twisted, manipulative bastard like me, there's a Dietrich Montgomery, making me look like fucking Ghandi. Karma: I thank you.
I offer her my arm, and she takes it without reservation.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice low.
She breathes in deeply; her ribs rise against my forearm. Silence.
"Let's get out of here," I decide aloud, easing her forward. "Terrace. Come on. We could both use some fresh air."
The walk to the terrace is a slow burning ache. We dodge through clusters of half-drunk people, suits and gowns and waiting staff alike. When the swing band bursts into an attention-seeking drum breakdown, we both wince in tandem. I find myself glaring at the men who stare through her dress, when I would normally proffer a smug smile; a part of me is angry that Montgomery and Finn were ignoring her—it reflects badly on my taste if she is discarded by others so easily.
Not that I could bring myself to discard her. Obsession alone is dangerous; obsession and desire? Give up and give in. Just for a moment, grasshoppers, ride that blissful wave.
When a waitress passes with a laden tray, I swipe two bottles of German beer. The huge terrace doors are swept open by two butlers, and we stride out of the hot bubble into cool, inky night. Beyond the melee of sweating, shouting ball guests, there's a quiet ledge off the staff entrance down several flights of stairs, and I steer us through the crowd toward it.
Leo shivers in the night air. Through the thin mesh of her sleeves, I feel her arm tense; she doesn't ask where we're going, but the thought strokes her nerves. Below us stretches the bruised New York City skyline, effervescent in shades of purple and deep blue. Tea lights shimmer in the wake of our footsteps. The beers grow warm in the grip of my free hand.
The ledge is off the side of a fire escape, affording us the same breath-taking view with a great deal more privacy. It's not large—barely six feet wide—but potted bay trees and a string of flickering fairy lights make it feel cosy. Romantic, even.
Jesus fuck. Pretend I didn't say that.
Leontine takes a beer from my hand and leans over the railing. The wind picks at her loosening hair, teasing black feathers and streaks of honey against the smooth nape of her neck. My eyes are drawn there, and then so am I, standing just an inch or so behind her, staring down. She's shorter than me by a good six inches; more, if she takes off her heels. I know she can feel my breath on her shoulder, yet she doesn't pull away.
We stand quietly for a moment, drinking in the pale wash of the moon. Every now and then, her hips sway slightly, and I'm tossed back to thoughts of the lingerie she probably isn't wearing. Her buttocks are high and full in this dress, and her waist dips above as if begging me to stroke the curve. I could drag so many things along the line of that heart shaped ass: my tongue. My cock. Or something sharper, something that would turn those soft breaths of hers into a burgeoning yelp.
"You were going to explain something to me," she says, still staring ahead at the sleepy city. "About your girlfriend."
Ah. She knows exactly why I brought her here, or thinks she does; now she wants assurance that I'm not a sleaze.
Oh, Leo. Of all the things you could doubt me for.
"She's not my girlfriend." I sound gruffer than I intend to, for which I blame the cold air and lukewarm beer. "It's complicated."
"So you're sleeping with her."
"You really don't waste any time, do you?" I'm baiting her, revelling in it. She's ridiculous fun to tease because she cares about my answers. Gives weight to my words.
Leontine puts her bottle to the metal floor and then turns slowly. Perhaps she hadn't realised quite how close I am; her eyes widen as I stare down at her, and she brings her arms to cross in defence. They push her breasts up in an invitation she can't possibly have intended, but one I enjoy all the same. I'm reminded of our first meeting, when she appeared to need more than a desk to hide behind.
"I'm not stupid." Her voice wavers in warning.
"I know, sweetheart. You've got your smarty pants degree to prove it."
She tips her chin, defiant. "I've got a lot of things."
"Oh, come on. That's too easy." I gesture to her breasts with a single finger. "Yes, you have a lot of things. I've noticed."
"Am I complicated, too?"
"I'm not sleeping with Tuija." I lean in a touch closer, close enough to place one hand on the railing behind her. "She's my assistant. I've known her a long time. People gossip."
"And do you want people to gossip about the two of us, as well?" She studies me acutely, as if she might hope to catch me out. "Because it sure as hell felt like it back on that red carpet."
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Leo."
She gives a short, sharp laugh. "Leo now, is it?"
"Isn't it?"
"You gave the impression that I'd already signed your contract. And I haven't. I don't even know if I will."
"Can't hurt to push your stock up a little." I cock my head, let my grin seep in. "Get people talking. Don't tell me you won't have a bunch of new interest by the time Monday rolls around."
"You think I'll sign if you seduce me."
"What I think," I say, "is that I brought you here to get away from those chauvinist sleazeballs."
"But you sent me an outfit with no underwear," she retorts.
My grin grows sheepish. "It would have spoiled the line of your skirt."
"You sent me these tickets, and a dress, and beautiful shoes, and now you've brought me down to a quiet balcony because you want to get me alone. I don't sleep with clichés, Mr. Lore."
Now I'm irritated. She's talking in circles—probably because she has no idea what she wants.
The beer bottle drops from my fingers and rolls slowly away to one side. I step further forward, placing my other hand on the bars and effectively caging Leo in my arms. Her brow furrows as she realises; perhaps alcohol has made her reflexes a little slow. How very unfortunate.
I gaze down at her, trying to ignore the heat rushing to my groin. The familiar scent of mulled wine floats up, mellowed a little by her nervous sweat. "Maybe I just want to talk about the acquisition."
She shifts about, obviously uncomfortable. "My lawyer says—"
"Fuck your lawyer."
She swallows. Drops her arms from her body, then appears to struggle with where else to put them. They hang awkwardly at her sides. "You're in my personal space. I'd like for you to move, please."
"That's very cute."
"Please move," she repeats, stressing the words.
"I don't want to," I tell her. And God, she's all the more desirable for thinking I might actually listen.
"What is it you hope to achieve here?"
Now there's a question. It cannot be answered with words. I breathe in the scent of her—perfume and panic—and inch closer again so that she's rigid against my chest. Then I slide a hand along her waist to the peak of her ass, just to feel the way her whole body pulls tighter.
I groan softly. Soak in her reluctant warmth. "You please me...so many ways."
A disgruntled hmph falls from her lips. She's noticed my stiff cock, the way it twitches on her belly.
"I could yank your dress up right here," I whisper. "Are you wet for me, sweetheart?"
I'm not sure which of us starts the scuffle. All I know is that desire brings my fingers to the split in her skirt; I thrust them up her thigh in search of her pussy. Before I get there, however, she twists to one side and throws her knee into my groin, which would hurt if she wasn't so short. This makes me laugh—I can't help it—and she's furious, all crushed against me, stamping on my feet with her heels. When her squirming increases, I take a fist full of honey and feathers, pull her head back...and shove my mouth over hers.
Her shocked whimper nearly does me in. She tastes like alcohol on the edge of a mint. A gasp, a muffled breath between us, then her tongue acquiesces to mine. Adrenaline pools at my pulse points. I'm hard, so fucking hard with her writhing up and down like this, that all I can think of is pulling her dress up and pushing inside. I'll put one hand over her mouth, squash her wrists in the other, bend her over the railing so the spikes scratch her dress to shreds...
Leontine stands on tiptoe to suck my bottom lip. Fuck, such a good girl for me already.
Her teeth sink in. Hard. She jerks her head back, tearing, and then spits out the stinging mess of my lip with a snarl.