“PETA won’t be after you?” she said.
“We’re on top of the food chain in more ways than one.” His eyes held hers in the mirror. They were filled with lust . . . and affection. Maybe more than just affection. Desire. Obsession. Whatever she would like to read into them.
“What will you be wearing?” she said.
For answer, he grinned.
*
The Ceilidh was held on private grounds on the sprawling state of New York. The grounds were immense, stretching out into woodland, as was appropriate for a shifter holding.
“Are all shifters rich?” Kate asked in awe, taking in the brightly lit lanterns which decked the paths.
“Well, you’ve met Carlo,” said Rust.
Ah.
Still, this enclave was enormous. As Hector’s limo wound farther in, Kate could see that the trees were bedecked with colored lights as well, and there were flickering torches everywhere, which evoked a pagan sense of festivity.
“Who does this place belong to?” she said.
“A shifter billionaire called Aaron Mitchell.”
“Aaron Mitchell? The Aaron Mitchell? He’s a shifter?” She was aghast. Aaron Mitchell was only one of the most influential and richest people on the planet.
Rust laughed. “Yes, yes and yes. But don’t get too excited. He’s married with three children.”
“I’m not – ” she began.
“I know.” He stroked the back of her hand softly.
There was a cluster of cars at the large parking lot and several valets waiting to take their keys.
“This is where we get off,” Rust said, getting out to open the door for her. He was dressed in a simple white linen shirt and matching pants. But Kate knew that underneath, he wore the bare minimum. Like herself.
She was very self-conscious when she stepped out of the limo. Self-conscious that Hector knew what was underneath her mink coat. And self-conscious that everything would be revealed publicly once she went onto the gardens.
“Don’t worry,” Rust murmured. His arm was wrapped protectively behind her back. “Once you get into the mood, everything will come naturally.”
Her naked pussy underneath was starting to leak, if that was what he was referring to. But that was because she was dressed so provocatively. It was because she was so ‘bare’ underneath. Her hormones were starting to go into overdrive because her mind was spinning with the implications. And Rust’s overpoweringly magnetic presence was always omnipresent. Always reminding her of what he could do to make her melt.
It didn’t help that his thumb was now caressing the small of her back underneath all that mink. Back, forth, back, forth – the movement was both suggestive and proprietary.
She found it difficult to walk on the cobbled path in her heels, but Rust shepherded her. There were other guests on the grounds. The grass was lush and verdant and obviously well-tended to. Little oddly-shaped stones were strewn here and there.
Kate found herself studying the walking guests. They were in most part skimpily dressed, or dressed like herself and Rust. There were both men and women of myriad ages, or maybe it was difficult to tell in the wan light. They were chatting and laughing gaily, and they called out to one another in greeting.
“You know anyone?” she asked Rust.
“Some. But I’ve been out of the circuit for some time in New York, and so . . . no, mostly.”
“Are other people flying in?”
“Sometimes they do, but it’s not my party and I’m not privy to the guest list. Why do you care who I know anyway, Kate? We’re here to have fun.”
She sucked in a breath. “I’m just wondering if Thomas and Carlo would be here.”
“I don’t think so. This is a New York Ceilidh. I think they would find it difficult to wrangle themselves onto Aaron Mitchell’s guest list.”
They walked farther into the grounds, where the thick trees enveloped them. Within the cluster of greenery, the lushness of the environment enveloped her like comforting arms. And then she saw the stones, and it was as if she was cast under a spell.
Rust’s eyes were riveted to them too. She could hear his sharp intake of breath.
The stones were monoliths about twice the height of a man. They were old and weathered, and seemed to be transported from Stonehenge or somewhere similar. But unlike Stonehenge, there were carvings on the stones. Runic carvings.
“Want to see them close up?” Rust said.
“Yes.” She felt the power of the place, like an electromagnetic current thrumming just beneath the surface of her flesh. Her atoms were vibrating.
“Unnerving, aren’t they?” Rust said.
“What are they?”
“Ancient stones dug up from another land and transported here a long time ago. Aaron Mitchell went through a great deal of trouble and money to bring them over.”