Page 41 of Love and Loathing

Oh my God.

She tried to pull away. “Domnall, I—”

“I must cut in.” Aubrey’s voice. Aubrey there, gripping Domnall by the shoulder and taking her by the arm, pulling the man away like levering a leech from its victim.

Domnall was drunk enough he took no offence, just laughed and slapped Aubrey on the back. “All’s fair, my man, in love and war.” Then he was lurching across the room in pursuit of Liv.

Aubrey didn’t dance. He took Evie’s hand and led her out of the gallery, through the tall glass windows which had been opened to the mild night.

“Are you OK?” he asked, stopping just past the door, on the terrace outside.

The cool air felt like velvet on her skin, the perfect balm after Domnall’s sweaty grip. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Nothing bleach won’t cure. The physical and the mental kind.”

Aubrey gave her a long look, as grim and stern as Amy had described. Evie shivered.

“You’re cold.”

“No, I…”

But he was already leading her back into the house.

“Wait,” she said, stopping him just inside the doorway. “Dance for real? Wipe away the memory with a good one?”

“I haven’t a fucking clue how to waltz, Evie.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She pulled on the hand holding hers and put it around her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder and took hold of his other, stepping closer to him. He looked at her, saying nothing.

“I don’t really know either,” she said.

He smiled slightly, shaking his head, but let her step even closer still, until their fronts were almost touching, his hand sliding further round her waist, fingers warm on her goose-bumped skin. She took a deep breath, chest rising to brush his, and exhaled slowly, suddenly only able to look at his shoulders, her fingers white against the absolute black.

“Now I suppose we move,” he said—or murmured, because his mouth was by her ear, breath a ghost on her bare neck.

“That’s the idea.”

He gave a low chuckle, and they stepped to the side, back, forward, slowly, perhaps randomly, but together, his hips against hers, so close it was easy to predict his lead.

His arm tightened around her waist, brought her closer still, the friction of his waistcoat shifting the silk of her dress, everything warm and buzzing, mind and body. She heard him inhale sharply, felt the heat of his outbreath on her cheek, her temple. His jaw scraped against her, the faint rasp of stubble.

“That’s how it’s done.”

Evie looked up, found Liv clasped against Domnall, watching them.

“See, honey?”

The man just grunted, laughed. Aubrey turned, and Evie lost sight of them. She looked up at him, and the hand on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck. His step faltered, he paused.

“Kiss me,” she said. “Liv’s watching and—”

His face darkened, but she pulled him closer, and he came, until her mouth brushed his cheek. “Kiss me,” she whispered. His eyes closed, her mouth moved to the corner of his, their breaths mingling as her heart surged, pounding so hard she could feel it everywhere. “It’ll drive her crazy,” she breathed.

He drew back slightly, and she tried to follow him, lips warm, burning… But he stopped her with a hand on her jaw. His eyes were dark as he held her still.

“If I ever kiss you, Evie, it won’t be like this, childish and fake. And it won’t be because of Liv.”

EIGHTEEN

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