Wishing Well(38)

His fingers swept up to tickle the back of my knee and I felt heat bloom between my legs. Just as I thought he’d follow the curve to the back of my thigh, he changed direction, a whisper of touch dragging back down along my calf.

I struggled to speak intelligently, my eyes shut, the bench still softly swinging as birdsong crept within the silence of a clear spring day. Opening my eyes as his fingers kept brushing the skin, a touch but not really, I watched white cotton clouds dance along azure skies, the verdant green of fresh leaves rustling across the dainty branches of tall trees. “I’m just a housekeeper. I’m not sure that qualifies me as somebody.”

“My interest in you qualifies you as somebody,” he answered.

My breath was trapped in my lungs. “Isn’t that the mistake you were trying to avoid?”

“What is life without mistakes?”

How the fuck does a question become the perfect answer?

“I don’t have a dress.”

Silence, and then: “We keep extra gowns and masks for guests who are in the hotel but may not have known about the ball and would like to attend. I’ve set aside two gowns and two masks that will fit you.”

Applying pressure to my skin as he dragged his fingertips up, he said, “You can answer my question with your choice of which gown. If you wear the red, then I will know your answer is no.” His fingers swept under the curve of my knee, continuing down along the back of my thigh, so slowly. “And if you wear the green, my favorite color, I’ll know your answer is yes.”

My mouth went dry. Swallowing was impossible. Down, down, down his fingertips traveled. “What’s the question?”

“Will you take me to your bed?”

His fingers were between my legs driving a line down the center of my boy shorts, teasing all the places from top to bottom of what skin against skin would be like.

I opened my mouth to answer, but his hand pulled away, the bench swing shifting as he stood up. A shadow fell over me and I opened my eyes to see him standing tall, looking down, blocking my face from the sunlight. “Bonne journée , Penelope. I’ll expect your answer at the ball.” He stepped away, but then stopping, twisted back to look at me. “I think it’s only fair I warn you that in the bedroom I am a man with particular tastes. You should keep that in mind while making your decision.”

Tucking his hands inside his pockets, he strolled off, and I was left a quivering mess of damp need while lying on a bench swing in the brilliant afternoon sun.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Red or green?

Green or red?

Nope. Didn’t matter which way I asked it, the question had no clear answer. Was not showing up at all a way to avoid it?

The next week sped by fast, despite my wish for it to crawl. The monotony of my job did nothing to silence my thoughts, the glimpses of Vincent I caught here and there doing nothing to tell me which direction I was going.

Green!

Green!

Green!

No, wait. Red.

My heart, my body, my traitorous soul were warring against my logic. Vincent was my boss. Vincent was the man keeping me from being homeless. Vincent, I was sure, was a man-whore with a slick tongue and powerful swagger. Vincent was the man that had tossed émilie to Maurice. Yet, Vincent gripped my every thought.

As the hours passed, as the minutes now ticked quickly, I stood barefoot in my bedroom, staring down at my bed wondering which beautiful gown I would be wearing. My weight shifted from one foot to the other, my heart leapt and then dove, pounded and then stopped. I was going to pass out if the rhythm didn’t steady.

My hand reached for the red gown, the silky material sliding against my fingers, before I dropped it down to the white sheets and picked up the green instead. I must have repeated the act several times before having a anxiety attack and walking away entirely.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want Vincent. It was that I wanted him too much. And I was certain that like any drug that was oh so good, but oh so lethal, just one taste would make me an addict.

Red.

No, green.

Red, definitely red. I would be crushed if he took what he wanted and walked away. I would be homeless if he kicked me to the curb after getting what he was after.

I would be an idiot not to jump at the chance to learn what that man would be like in bed.

Walking back to the foot of my bed, I closed my eyes and spun quickly in place until I was dizzy. And like I was playing a children’s game, I reached out blindly, deciding I’d let fate decide what would happen to me with whatever gown my hand landed on.

Gripping the silk, I blew out a breath, and opened my eyes to see green.

It appeared fate had chosen to throw me to the wolves. I chose to ignore the way my breath caught at the thought of it.

In a ridiculous rush, I pulled on the slinky gown, taking note of how low the neckline rode, my cleavage on full display above a bodice jeweled with crystal. Sleeveless, the gown hugged my chest and abdomen, green silk cascading down from an empire waist to brush the ground as I walked.

If not for the matching heels that gave me four more inches of height, there would have been no way for me to walk in this. Carefully twisting my hair up into an elegant design, I pinned it all in place and hurried out to the bed to grab the mask and tie it on. Green like the dress, the jeweled mask only covered my nose and eyes, the ribbons long and trailing down my back.