She eyes his erection witheringly. “Get dressed. If you can.”
“With pleasure.”
“And you’re really not all that great at kissing.” Her face flinches slightly, which suggests that she doesn’t really believe in what she says.
“Likewise, sweetheart.” His heart is still thudding from the encounter but he can slowly feel his erection waning.
She waits, her face a black mask as he slowly puts his clothes on. Together, they leave the room without speaking.
9
Sam’s pulse is beating so hard at her bare neck that she is sure everyone in the ballroom can see it. The staccato trup-trup-trup must be unmistakable. Why else is everyone looking at her? Why is everyone averting their heads and stopping their conversations as soon as she and Brian Morton enter through the double doors?
Worse yet, the memory and imprint of his kiss are still fresh upon her lips. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his body against hers. His warmth. His delicious erection pressing against her as he held her close.
Oh, but he is remarkably beautiful. His torso is so lean that she can see … and feel, from whatever she could briefly grope … every muscle. His flesh is as hard as a rock. His eyes were swimming with desire when he gazed upon her earlier, and when he kissed her – French-kissed her passionately – she never wanted it to end. She wanted to drown in him and hold him and do everything to him that a woman can possibly do to a man.
And then he had to go and spoil it. Damn him!
She had been ready to forgive him. Forgive and forget the entire middle school. He was right anyway. Why penalize a kid who probably didn’t know what he was growing up to be? It wasn’t exactly as though he were an axe murderer, though he came close.
But then the adult Brian Morton turned caustic and sarcastic and her feelings towards him soured again. Feelings? Maybe that’s too emotional a word. She doesn’t know what she feels for and towards Brian Morton, other than she thinks he’s a conceited, arrogant prick who delights in tormenting her.
And yet she can’t deny her attraction towards him. Just look at him right now. In his dark suit and Hermes white silk scarf slung around his neck, he’s the epitome of gorgeous male virility. He’s striking enough to turn every head as he enters with aplomb.
Ah yes, maybe that’s the reason why everyone’s attention is riveted to them. It’s him, not her.
This was the exact reason why she wanted him on her arm. To make this splendid entrance. To show him off like a new Chanel tote. Look at me. I’m not totally hopeless. I have a glamorous and gorgeous and fantastically rich boyfriend.
Cassie and Caleb are already here. Their arms are linked as they happily stride towards Brian and her.
“There you are,” Cassie says pointedly. She is wearing a fabulous sequined little black dress, cut in the twenties’ fashion. “I’ve given up all hope that you would make it down here.”
“We’re just being fashionably late,” Brian says.
Cassie takes Sam’s arm and whispers, “So … were you torturing him up there?”
Sam flushes. “Not exactly.”
“Why? What happened?”
Sam does not reply, because the moment – the piece de resistance – that she has been planning for is about to occur. Lori flutters her way through the crowd – gaily, breezily, her shimmering gauzy pink tulle dress floating around her in a cloud. She’s a prettier, younger version of Sam, only that she has dyed her hair blonde.
“Sammie!” she screeches. “Oh, Sammie, you made it!”
Almost no thanks to your delayed afterthought of an invitation, Sam thinks as her sister bamboozles her way to fling herself into her arms. It is as though they are the most beloved of sisters. Siblings who share their every thought on What’s App and who spend hours manicuring each other’s nails. Instead of the truth. Since Sam went away to college, she only saw Lori on family occasions and festivals. And during intervals, Lori never texted her unless she wanted something.
Say, Sam, since you are away at college and all, you won’t mind if I borrowed your purple V-neck sweater, would you?
Lori is a powder puff of pinkness and screeches and perfume, and so Sam performs the dutiful but hasty display of sisterly affection by hugging her at arm’s length (body slightly averted, bosoms not touching).
Then Lori takes a couple of steps back. She appraises Brian.
“Wow, so you must be the new boyfriend.”
“I must be,” Brian says easily. He grabs Sam’s waist and pulls her towards him. “Aren’t I, sweetheart?”
Sam tries to beam. Brian’s body pressed against hers is very discomfiting. For all the wrong reasons. She can’t help flashing back to his naked body, pressed against hers at a different angle – his tumescent cock prodding her belly in a most alarming and yet enticing way.