My letterbox rattled. Crap. I hurried over to my bedroom window, as fast as I could in the heels I wore and, sure enough, Ezra’s car was outside. I could safely assume Hugo was in the back of it, behind the tinted glass. I threw a wave to acknowledge their arrival, grabbed my clutch bag from the bed and gave myself a final once-over in the mirror before heading downstairs.
“You look very nice,” Ezra said as I locked my front door behind me.
“Thank you. So do you.” I didn’t know why I’d said that. Ezra looked the same as he always did. Smart. Suited. Tall and bulky. Hot, quite frankly.
After sliding into the back seat of the black Merc, I leaned over and gently kissed Hugo’s lips. It took all my effort not to press harder, not to bury my tongue in his delicious mouth. I’d missed him incredibly, and it’d only been a few hours. However, I had lipstick that looked better on my lips than my chin. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself. You look beautiful,” he said, sliding a hand over my knee, letting it dip between my thighs.
I snapped them closed. “Hands off. I need to concentrate.”
“On what? Ezra’s driving.”
“On…being designery.”
“Designery?”
“Yes. Designery. Professional. I want to make a good impression.”
Hugo grinned, stared at me like I was the most magical thing he’d ever seen. “Heli, you’ll make a good impression just by walking in there.”
“You’ve been in my knickers. You’re biased.”
Just then, there was an audible cough from the front. “You do know there’s no privacy screen in this car,” said Ezra, eyeing us through the rearview mirror. For the first time, I saw him crack a hint of a smile. It suited him. “Also, I have ears.”
“See!” I slapped Hugo’s leg. “You make me lose concentration. No touchy touchy.” With that, I took his hand off my thigh and dropped it back on his own.
With a chuckle, he clamped his other hand on top of the one I’d removed from my leg, holding it down like he couldn’t control it otherwise.
The SLFAs were better than anything I could have dreamed, and not least because I was fully clothed. The atmosphere oozed glitz and glamour from its core. The lighting, the artwork, the colours, the fashion. Oh, the fashion. I could sense Hugo’s discomfort during the parts of the soirée that involved socialising, networking, blowing smoke up various arses…but that’s where I had no problem taking over. I breathed for this stuff. All Hugo had to do was look pretty on my arm, and pretty he did in a sheer black top with bell sleeves and flared silver trousers – both designed and created by me – while I introduced myself. He was my personal walking, talking mannequin, and the comments I received on his look made me want to wee my knickers with excitement.
I didn’t, thankfully.
Photographers snapped photos of Hugo, and then snapped us together, while reporters from leading fashion magazines asked me about his outfit and my design process and inspiration. Despite his social awkwardness, Hugo made a point of saying my name to every person who chatted to him. He told them how talented I was, how many more designs I’d made for him, how I was the lead designer for his next tour…which I was pretty sure he’d made up on the spot. It made me feel giddy and proud and excited and loved and a thousand emotions I couldn’t even decipher.
“This is one of the best nights of my life,” I whispered to Hugo, hiding my mouth with a tall glass of champagne so as not to look desperately pathetic to anyone around me.
Smiling, he grabbed my hand, started pulling me away.
“Where are we going?” I asked, no option but to follow.
He led me from the crowd of, mostly, beautiful people, out into a quiet corridor of the grand hotel where the event was being held. After a few failed attempts tugging on handles, a door opened for him. “In here,” he said.
He’d taken me into some kind of storage room that, after switching on the light, I could see housed a couple of rows of stacked chairs, and shelves brimming with folded tablecloths, and other surpluses. “What are you…” Hugo cut me off with his mouth on mine.
“I’ve been watching you all night,” he said into my mouth, his body pushing me backwards against the door. “So confident, so fucking beautiful.” He dipped his tongue between my lips, grazed my teeth. Then I felt his hand on my thigh, his fingers walking under my dress. “And this fucking dress. You look so hot in this dress.” He reached the edge of my knickers, slipped inside.
“Oh…” I dropped my glass, heard it smash, felt a cool splash against my ankle. “Hugo, we can’t,” I protested weakly, making no effort to stop him as I spread my legs a little wider.