Avoiding Intimacy (Avoiding #2.5)(12)

How could he possibly choose this song? She searched for his face out in the crowd, feeling the seconds creep by, as she stood trapped in the candlelight’s glow. Then, he materialized at the end of the runway, his arms crossed and face smug. He had created her cue without ever telling her. How many times had this song played in his bedroom while he had photographed her, when he had trained her, when they had been rolling around in his silk sheets?

Her smile never faltered while everyone oohed and aahed about her dress reflecting the flickering light. When the piano really began picking up, she knew it was time. Then, she owned that runway.

The dress moved flawlessly with her as she made her way toward Marco. She broke eye contact long enough to send dazzling smiles to people as she passed.

Cameras snapped from all directions as Marco’s clever creation traipsed across the floor.

As the piano hit the crescendo, Chyna reached the end of the stage and found Marco walking up the makeshift stairs to meet her. He reached out for her hand, and she obliged him. He turned to face the captive audience, smiling all the while, knowing that he had done it. He had won.

“Thank you so much for attending the thirty-seventh annual Glam Ball. I am pleased to present our newest model, Chyna Van der Wal, in my latest gown. I hope you all enjoyed my little star,”

Marco said, gesturing toward Chyna.

She almost cringed—almost. How dare he call her that in front of all these people!

Marco continued, “We’ll all be seeing a lot more from her later.”

She heard the double meaning in his words loud and clear, remembering the last thing he had said to her. I’m coming for you after the show. The audience might believe he meant her modeling skills or her body modeling his designs, but she knew better. Marco very briefly smirked at her only once. There was her man.

“Enjoy the remainder of the party!”

Marco cheered, returning his attention to his audience. “Until Fashion Week,” he said, holding his and Chyna’s hands above their heads.

Dim lights filled the room at the end of his speech, and the crowd began milling around, discussing the exhibition. Marco dropped Chyna’s hand back to her side, but he still didn’t let go. She gulped, wondering if this was the time he had in mind.

He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking and shook his head side to side slowly. “Later,” he whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “I know you’re still ready for me, but it’ll happen soon.”

Chyna swallowed, wanting nothing more than to spit out every angry diatribe she had in her drama-laden body. But, damn it, she was still on stage! This whole thing meant something to her. “I’d still be ready, even if you had finished me earlier.”

“I know how a performance turns you on,” he said, gingerly leading her down the stairs. A halo of people surrounded them as they waited to get a closer examination of Marco’s new star in the beautiful dress.

“I’m not the only one,” she murmured, keeping her voice as soft and airy as she could. It was hard keeping the bite out of it, but she tried to avoid any negative attention. These people were like vultures, hanging onto every fleeting fashion and every juicy piece of gossip.

“No, you’re not,” he said, slowly twirling her for display.

She had to be extra careful in her shoes as the train swirled around her ankles.

He pulled her in close to steady her, and then he whispered into her ear, “But, you’re the one holding on to all that built- up tension, and I can’t wait to be the one to release it.” He chuckled in a way that only Marco could make sound so sexy.

She would show him built-up tension with a sharp kick to the ass. Chyna broke away from him now that she was steady on her feet again. She began to walk away, but he still held her hand in his. He bent forward at the waist in a sweeping bow, drawing her hand to his lips and planting a possessive kiss on the soft crystal-dusted skin. She forced a smile on to her face, and a few surrounding individuals applauded at the display. His responding smile was a promise.

Thankful to be out of his clutches for a while, Chyna made a beeline for the nearest waiter. He offered her a glass of Champagne with a curt smile.

“Anything stronger?”

she asked, arching an eyebrow.

The guy did his best not to look surprised. “How much stronger?”

“Tequila?”

she requested conspiratorially.

“We have wine.”

Chyna rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“It’s vintage,”

he offered apologetically.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she groaned, taking the Champagne out of his hand.

“Mi dispiace,” he said actually apologizing.

Chyna waved away the apology. “Va bene.”

She sipped, okay, gulped down her Champagne, finishing the first glass before her waiter even departed. He raised an eyebrow, but he handed her another glass before walking away as if he didn’t want to be responsible for the centerpiece’s alcoholism. She actually sipped this one because she was terrified of walking around in this thing drunk.

Her eyes instinctually found Marco in the crowd. The reporters were hovering over him like moths to a flame, trying desperately to get the next interview. He was engaged with a particularly attractive blonde at the moment. Chyna wasn’t even surprised that the woman was basically molesting him or that he was letting her.