Dating Games(51)

He brings a thumb to my lower lip, brushing against my flesh. One touch and I’m completely intoxicated by this man and the way my body responds to even the slightest graze of his skin against mine. I crane my head back, the distance between our mouths diminishing with each heartbeat. I’m no longer paying attention to the band rattling off Jenny’s phone number or the people squeezing past us to get through. It’s just Julian. Just this. Just us.

“Don’t let anything they say or do make you think you’re anything less than the amazingly beautiful and vibrant woman you are. In my opinion, you’re the most beautiful woman here.”

He runs a lithe finger down the curve of my neck, the warmth of him so close unhinging me. My eyes flutter into the back of my head, my skin flushing, my knees weakening.

“I think that’s enough to get them talking. Let’s go enjoy the party.”

When I no longer feel the heat of his breath so close, I open my eyes, struggling to calm my racing heart and act as if Julian hadn’t brought me to the edge of complete and utter bliss with his words alone. After taking several deep breaths to compose myself, I link my hand in his.

“If whatever project you’re working on doesn’t pan out, you’d make a damn good escort,” I joke in a husky voice as he leads me past a crowd of curious onlookers.

“Is that right?” His tone is amused.

“That’s right.”

“And what makes you say that?” He leans toward me, whispering into my ear, “Do I turn you on?”

“You could probably make a lesbian want to have a go with you just to be sure she really is gay.”

He’s silent for a moment before he bursts out laughing, the sound carrying over the band. It’s so natural and addictive. How can anyone not feel a pull toward this man?

“Thanks for your vote of confidence, but I doubt I could ever be an escort.”

“You never know. You could give August Laurent a run for his money. He’s got a great voice, too, but not like yours.”

We approach a bar and he places our drink order — manhattan for me, scotch for him. Then he faces me. “You’ve spoken to him?”

“I have.”

His eyes brighten in genuine enthusiasm. “How did you manage that?”

“I got lucky.” I shrug. “Someone mentioned I was looking for him…a little birdie, as he put it. He tracked me down, called my office line, and bam. Now we’re email pals.”

“Email pals?” He brings his glass to his lips as he steers me away from the bar and toward a vacant table tucked out of the way. For someone who needs to conduct business, he seems to be paying a great deal of attention to me.

“Yes.” The perfect gentleman, he helps me into a wood slat chair. “We’ve been exchanging emails the past few days.”

“Getting good material for your story?”

I bring the chilled martini glass to my lips, savoring that first sip of my drink. “He’s a bit…aloof. He doesn’t like to share much. But I’m working on it. I just need to establish a rapport with him. Then he’ll open up.”

“Good.”

“Good.” I watch as he shifts his attention away from me, searching the partygoers.

An unnerving silence settles between us as he rests his hand on my thigh like he did in the car. And just like in the car, I know it’s not real. There’s no emotion behind his fingers as they delicately brush my skin. No yearning building deep inside as he steals a glance at me. No unyielding desire as he leans toward me and nuzzles the crook of my neck. It’s all for show. That’s become my mantra these past few minutes. I have a feeling that will become my mantra these next few months, too, a constant reminder there’s absolutely no meaning behind anything he does or says, despite what my heart wants to believe.

“Julian!” a voice shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I follow his line of sight to see a man approach. He has short, shaggy, copper hair, fair skin, and a slight five o’clock shadow, although it’s not too noticeable due to the light hue. His nearly six-foot frame is dressed in a pair of swim trunks and an open, white button-down. That appears to be the unspoken uniform amongst the men, while the trend with women seems to be who can wear the smallest piece of fabric and still be able to call it a bathing suit. Despite all the females being dressed as if ready to go for a swim, not a single one of them is in the pool. In fact, no one is in the pool. I wonder if that’s customary at these things. Have a pool party, wear a bathing suit, but don’t think about getting into the water.

“Christopher! Good to see you.” Julian stands from the table, appearing genuinely happy to see him. Then again, it could be an act, too. I never know what to think with him.

“So this is her? The girl you haven’t been able to stop talking about?” He looks from Julian to me, then back again.

“Sure is. Christopher, this is Guinevere Fitzgerald. Guinevere, this is Christopher Albright.”

“Nice to meet you.” I stand up, holding out my hand.

He grasps it. “You, as well. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Guinevere. Please. Sit. Sit.” He gestures to my chair as he occupies the free one across from me.

“You can call me Evie,” I instruct as I return to my seat. “Everyone else does. Except this guy.” I jab Julian playfully in the stomach once he lowers himself back to his chair.