Just a Number(79)

With less than ten seconds left, we reach each other, and I pull her into my arms, holding her close as though we were dancing again.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Eight!”

“It is now,” I reply.

“Seven!”

Amelia’s hands move up my chest, tugging on the lapels of my suit lightly. “You didn’t push her off the terrace, did you?” she teases.

“Six!”

I laugh, shaking my head, and curl my fingers into her hips. “No.”

“Five!”

“I assure you I did nothing of the sort,” I continue.

“Four!”

“That’s good.”

I tilt my face down toward Amelia as the countdown nears the end, and she looks at me with wide, nervous eyes that also hold a glimmer of excitement.

“Three!”

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking around. Her gaze freezes to the left, and I follow it, finding Gretchen watching us. This reignites my earlier feelings of irritation, and I’m even more certain of what I’m about to do. “We shouldn’t.”

“Two!”

I turn her face back to mine and brush my lips over hers. “Perhaps not, but I think we’ve earned it.”

“One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Before she can protest further—not that I think she will, if I’m being entirely honest—I press my lips to hers, pulling her hips against me again. Her fingers tighten around my lapels, and she steps onto the tips of her toes to deepen our kiss. Auld Lang Syne begins to play, the sounds of the string instruments filling the grand ballroom as everyone rings in the New Year around us.

That familiar hum of desire vibrates through my veins, filling my entire being and electrifying the surface of my skin. Amelia moans against my mouth, tugging on my lapels to pull me closer, even though it’s impossible, and my arms wrap around her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly.

Breathless, I stop kissing her, resting my forehead against hers as she tries to find her bearings and feeling her warm breath fan across my face and neck. “What do you say we get out of here? Head back to my place for the night?”

Smirking, Amelia looks up at me through her lashes. “My place is closer.”





21. Choose Your Fate



He’s agitated. It doesn’t take a genius to see this. It’s nothing I didn’t expect from him when I saw Gretchen approaching us, either. I’ve been in close proximity after a heated exchange between the two of them before, and this is no different.

He grabs at me desperately, his fingers digging into my hips as though he’s scared I’ll try to pull away—yeah, right—and the intensity of his stare both excites and frightens me…but not in a way that makes me afraid of him.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he’d kiss me at the stroke of midnight, but I didn’t get my hopes up since I’d asked that we try and refrain from any major PDA. You know, for his benefit given his very recent separation. You never know who’s watching, after all, and I didn’t want to risk any unnecessary drama.

Until his lips touch mine…

In that moment, I let go. I’m no longer worried about what anyone else might think. Especially Gretchen. Why should I be? She didn’t care enough about Owen and what he might think when she stepped out on him, so what business is it of hers if he’s moved on with me?

The answer to that is: none. It’s none of her business, and it only takes a little public make-out session for me to finally see that.

It feels like we can’t leave the party fast enough as Owen pulls me out into the winter rain. It’s a light drizzle, but the air is heavy with moisture, indicating that it’ll only pick up. Our town car is still parked outside, our driver seeking refuge from the light winter weather inside. Upon seeing us, he gets out and rushes around, but Owen’s already got the door open and is ushering me inside.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh,” the driver apologizes, grabbing the door and silently indicating for Owen to join me.

“Don’t worry about it,” Owen assures him, sliding in next to me and reaching for the button that’s going to put the privacy screen up. My heart races with anticipation, knowing that we’re about to fool around in the back of a town car, and I barely contain a whimper of excitement.

The driver climbs in and turns around to ask where we’re headed before the screen is up all the way, and I blurt out, “1280 Harrison Street. The Stack House Apartments.”

Then the screen is up and Owen is next to me, his lips on my neck and his hands on my breasts…then my ribs, waist, and finally hips and ass as he pulls me across the seat, forcing me on my back. I giggle as his hands move down my legs and under the hem of my dress, but I pick up on his frustration when they are forbidden to travel any higher than my knees due to the restricting cut of the gown there.