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“There you are!” Geordie holds a plastic glass of something amber in one hand but uses the other arm to hug me and Carmen in turn. His breath smells slightly boozy as his lips brush against my cheek. “Been wondering when the two most beautiful women in Austin would arrive. ”
Carmen laughs. “Let me know when they get here. ” Geordie shakes his head at her in disbelief, as if wondering how she could deny how gorgeous she is. I’ve got to hand it to the guy; he’s a world-class flirt.
“So what do we do?” I say. “Walk around, talk about how great it is when lawyers do pro bono work, drink the free wine?” After you pay fifty bucks for a benefit ticket, they don’t bother with a cash bar.
“That’s pretty much the idea,” Geordie says. “Mingle. Network. Definitely don’t neglect the free wine. And check out the silent auction! Your print’s the prize attraction, Vivienne. ”
I doubt this. As proud as I am of the etching with the dove, most bidders will be more excited by luxury spa packages, gift certificates to high-end stores, box seats for football games, the usual swag. Still, it’s nice of Geordie to say.
The free wine turns out to taste like it should be free, so I don’t bother after the first couple swallows. Instead I talk with a few of Geordie’s law school friends and browse through the various artworks and gift certificates laid out for the silent auction. My print is prominently displayed—Thanks, Geordie—and for a moment I try to see it as someone would for the first time. Would they pay attention to the stark lines or the soft curves? The shadows or the light? You’d have to stand very close to notice that the ink I used isn’t black, but a midnight blue.
I try not to be overly pleased with myself when I see that my print has already received a few bids. But I don’t let myself look at the clipboard in front of the art too closely, because there’s nothing like seeing someone bid five dollars for your work to drag you down. Better to enjoy the party. A smooth-jazz band plays at the far end of the room, so the murmuring of the crowd flows around the soft strains of piano and bass.
When I wash my hands in the restroom, a woman stands in front of the mirror, reapplying deep red lipstick. The red brightens her smile as she sees me. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all night,” she says. “That’s a fabulous dress. ”
“Thanks. So is yours. ” The white sequins are dazzling against her dark brown skin, and the high hem reveals her long, gorgeous legs. “And God, I wish I could carry off that haircut. You look amazing. ”
She laughs. Her natural curls are cut close to her scalp, making her come across as both feminine and bold. “Give short hair a try sometime. You might like it. ”
If I were ever going to be tempted by a pixie cut, it wouldn’t be tonight. My hair is behaving for once, pinned into a messy updo with some rhinestone clips. I tuck one stray curl back into place, then head back out through the long hallway that leads to the front of the theater. Maybe I’ll bid on that quilt I saw—
“Hey,” says this guy whose name I can’t quite recall. He’s one of Geordie’s friends . . . Albert? Alphonse? Fortunately, he isn’t trying to start a hallway chat. “Your friend was looking for you—they told me to tell you to meet up backstage. ”
He must mean Carmen. “Oh, okay. Thanks. ”
What could have come up? If Carmen needs a private moment in the middle of a big bash, she must be upset about something. I can’t imagine what, though. Surely this isn’t about Shay’s baby shower.
A side door seems likely to lead backstage. I go through it and see that I’m right—a few steps lead up to the wooden stage, where a couple of rehearsal items lie abandoned: a metal chair, a table, some water bottles people forgot to recycle. But I don’t see Carmen.
I go up the steps, wondering if she’s on the far side of the stage—
—and a hand closes over my elbow, hard.
In the first moment of shock, I try to pull away, staggering on my high heels. Then I realize who has me.
Jonah’s other hand closes around my mouth. He pulls me close, his gray eyes staring into mine, as he whispers, “Don’t scream. ”
The growl of his voice makes me shudder—deep and commanding. Even if I didn’t know I could stop this in an instant, I might be too astonished and intimidated to cry for help. His grasp tightens—and all that does is get me hotter. He’s brought me back to the line between fear and arousal.
And Jonah’s going to hold me there as long as he wants.