Spin (Songs of Corruption #1)(21)

He slipped between me and the knob. “Contessa.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave like this.”

“How should I leave?”

He kissed my forehead, and I let myself enjoy the tenderness. I didn’t want to rush out, but I couldn’t delude myself into thinking I was fully present, either.

“It doesn’t have to be meaningless,” he said.

“You won’t answer questions about your life, and I’m still in love with my ex. I don’t know how it can be meaningful.”

“I’ll answer one question right now if you kiss me back like you mean it.”

“Why are you doing this? You’re the one who wanted two bodies meeting and no more.”

“Because I can’t walk out of this room like this. You’re like a stranger all of a sudden. One question.”

“The girl. Who was she? To you, I mean? Why did you come here for her?”

“That’s three questions.”

“Pick one.”

“My sister. She’s my sister. Her name is Nella.”

“And?”

He bit his lip and looked down at my face. After a second, I realized he wasn’t going to answer me.

“Excuse me.” I pushed him away, but he shoved me against the door.

“I want my kiss,” he said.

“That was no kind of answer.”

“I answered two of the three. If you only cared about the last one, you should have said so.”

“Lawyer.” I said it like an indictment, and he smirked. I elbowed him, but he caught my forearms and pinned me to the door.

“Your underwear’s already ripped, and if I checked, I bet you’re wet again.”

“Get off me,” I said.

“I should f**k you right now.”

“Go to hell.”

I twisted, but his hands were bruising, and the growing hardness of his dick was enough to weaken my knees and my resolve. “Take your kiss then.”

He did, without hesitation or gentleness, prying my mouth open with his tongue, thick with the taste of my pu**y. He pulled away when we had to breathe, and we stared at each other, panting.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” I said. “Now excuse me.”

He backed away from the door, and I went through it before he and his beautiful dick could stop me. The air outside the bathroom felt fresher and thinner. I smoothed my dress again and pulled the pins out of my hair, letting it fall down in a red cascade. It was easier to keep that way.

I felt a weight between my legs. I could easily get my appearance together for the rest of the party. But I couldn’t hide the fact that my cheeks were pink with arousal and my ni**les stood on end. My arms still had goose bumps, and I was so wet I felt the moisture inside my thighs. But I walked outside as if it were my house, my party, my world, because that’s what I did. It was easier than math.

Dinner had started. Daniel was at his table with an empty seat next to him. He hadn’t mentioned the seating arrangements, but they shouldn’t have surprised me. Forgiveness didn’t sit across the room. He stood as I took my seat.

“Thank you,” I said. When our eyes met, I was sure he knew what I’d just done.

twelve.

he next morning, two things happened simultaneously. One. A dozen red roses on Pam’s desk.

“Wow, these from Bobby?” I asked.

“They’re for you.” She tapped a pen to the desk blotter, as if writing a song in her head.

Before I could open the paper flap of the card, the second thing happened. I caught the image on my assistant’s screen of Antonio and me in the hallway. It had been shot through the window the moment before we kissed. Next to that image was one of Daniel and me sitting together at dinner.

I’d feared looking weak. I’d feared the op ed pieces about my neediness and desperation, about Daniel’s ambition and mindless drive for power. The inevitable comparisons to greater women’s choices about cheating political mates. Maybe I should have worried about looking like a whore.

“Who’s that?” Pam asked.

Who was he? I ran the question over and over in my mind, and I didn’t have an acceptable answer. He was a man I’d met the other day. He was a magnet for my sexual hunger.

“He’s being investigated for fraud,” Pam said, as if he was just a guy on the screen and not someone I had been standing so close to I could feel his heat. “Is he the same guy with the cars?”

“Same,” I choked. “What’s the article say?” I opened the envelope so I wouldn’t have to look at the screen. I figured the flowers were from Daniel, asking for another reprieve.

“Says you and Antonio Spinelli are friends through WDE. And you’re reconciling with Daniel Brower.”

“They used that word? Reconciling?” I looked at the card.

One more question.

No name. An arrogant avoidance of redundancy. I folded it back into the envelope.

“Yeppers,” Pam said. “Right next to that picture with the hot Italian guy. Sneaky.”

“Journalist. In Latin it means ‘to say everything while saying nothing.’”

“Really?”

“No. But if the ancients had known anything at all, it would.”