Beautiful Beings (11 page)

“Okay, then.” She pulled out another hanger.  “This David Meister is pure liquid silver.” She fluttered her hand in the bust of the draped halter front, displaying the ample space it had for my breasts.  “It may not look like much on the hanger, but it clings like you wouldn’t believe.  These jeweled high-heel sandals will work well with it.”

Once again, she left me alone and I pulled on the unimpressive gown.  But as promised, the gown came alive once it molded to my body.  The plunge of the neckline was daring, the slit up the thigh teasing and the low cut of the back downright irresistible.  A short train flowed behind me.  This was it.

The large crucifix at my neck seemed suddenly chunky and out of place.  I fingered it a moment before hiding it back under my hair. I would have to find a smaller, more delicate and elegant cross for the formal, although, I suddenly realized, I had not had a need for a crucifix in a while.  After the brief and effortless battle at Braxton’s theater, I’d only had one other encounter with a demon.

With a sense of optimism, I dared hope Lothario had been wrong about the enormity of work to be done at St. James. 

Smiling at the thought, I slipped into the sandals Shayne had suggested and admired the full effect.  I barely recognized the elegant woman staring back at me.  I turned my back to the reflection, gazing over my shoulder and questioning the wisdom of wearing something so revealing to a formal.

But my question was drowned out by a great sense of femininity and sensuality.  The dress felt right, from the clasp at my neck to the fluttering of the hem at my toes.  I winked at my reflection, gave myself an over the shoulder wave and blew a kiss to my invisible admirers.

The door creaked open and I turned to tell Shayne just how much I loved the dress, but standing there was Moore, his eyes riveted to my cleavage.

He swallowed loudly as a wicked grin made its way across his lips. 

I watched him approach me, my body tingling with heated anticipation. He made no attempt to rein in the passion in his gaze as he reached out to take me into his arms, his hand burning down my bare back.

“Just another reason to regret not being quick enough to invite you to the formal. As much as I like and respect Brax, it’s in my arms you belong, Lux.”  He pulled me to his chest, his fingers playing exciting games along my spine, while his lips parted.

It was so easy to lose myself in his gaze, to envision his lips over mine. I could almost taste him, he was so close.

“Do you always barge into Shayne’s closet?” I asked, trying to make light of the moment that had grown too hot too fast.  I pulled away from his hold and tried to regain control of the situation.

He chuckled, deep and raspy, and filled with the desire to continue his pursuit. I backed up to the wall of shoes and in an instant he loomed over me.

“Moore,” I whispered, shaking my head in a feeble attempt to deny the inevitable.

Leaning into me, he brushed his cheek along my temple, his lips murmuring tender encouragement. His hands once again found their way along my back, wrapping completely around me and easily sneaking into the halter top of the dress.  I gasped, in shock and excitement as his fingers brushed too close to my breasts.

“No doubt the designer had you in mind when he drew this gown; pleasing to the eye, but also incredibly titillating to the hand.”  His lips brushed along my cheek as he spoke, his tone mesmerizing, his touch sublime. “Forget Brax…forget all the other guys, Lux. Think only of me.”

It was as if my entire body was on fire, and all I wanted was for Moore to kiss me, and quench the incredible desire I felt for him. My lips moved with their own unintelligible murmurings, murmurings of forbidden desire.

When his mouth met mine, my mind begged me to turn away, to refuse him access, but his lips, luscious and soft, brought about sensations impossible to refute. He pressed further, his breath loud and ragged as he covered my mouth with his, delved in with his tongue in a way that left my head spinning, and brought my tongue into a game I’d never imagined could be so pleasurable.

“You're even more delicious than I’d expected,” he whispered between kisses that left me wanting more. “Softer and more passionate than you let on.”

Unwilling to lose contact with his lips, I leaned into him, initiating the next kiss, plunging my tongue in to taste more of him, my hands suddenly insatiable. I pushed him to the mirrored wall, the glow of lust leaving my skin glistening.

Moore pulled away, a victorious grin harmonizing with the lusty desire still in his eyes.

I sought the same sense of victory, even a hint of satisfaction, but our passionate interlude left me drained.

He looked back at me and cocked his brow as he walked out of the closet. “We’ll leave some for later.”

Confused by his ability to bring me to such passionate highs only to drop me into a cold abyss, I stared at him, my feet cemented to the floor.

I wanted to weep for the intensity of desire I felt for him and I wanted to recline to regain the energy he’d zapped from me. With difficulty, I finally left the closet, my hand fluttering over Shayne’s inviting bed.

“I wanted to show you what you’ll be missing, show you what it’ll cost you to go to the formal with Brax instead of me.” Moore stood at the window, his back turned to me.

My head spun as I struggled to stay standing and understand Moore’s actions. Was he that angry? That jealous? Was he toying with me? Playing with my naïve emotions and taking advantage of my lack of experience.

When he turned to face me, his jaw was clenched and his eyes flared with a momentary light of something akin to rage. He quickly softened his eyes with a soft smile and came to me, pressing his body against me until I was left with no other choice than to sit on Shayne’s bed.  He pressed further, leaning down, his hands set on either side of me and I lay back, my heart racing for his proximity, but alarmed for the increased sense of waning strength.

“When you dance with Brax at the formal,” he whispered into my ear, his fingers playing along the deep neckline of the dress. “I want you to remember this, remember our kiss, remember the passion we shared. When he holds you in his arms, it’ll be my arms you’ll long for, my lips you’ll want to kiss.”

My eyelids became incredibly weighted, and the bliss of darkness was suddenly more desirable than remaining with Moore. Vaguely aware of Moore, his lips close to mine, his breath heated against my skin, I drifted away, pulled into a deep slumber.

Chapter 11

T
he night of the formal was finally here, and my quick progress in virtually every class left me feeling free to truly enjoy the evening without the weight of more work to be done.  Added to that sense of freedom was the lack of demons, therefore lack of disturbances these past weeks.  For the first time since I could remember I was simply leading the normal, ordinary, yet sometimes complex life of a teenager.

“Honey,” Mom called from downstairs.  “You’ve received a package.”

And not a moment too soon, I thought as I raced down the steps.  Shayne had promised to have the dress and shoes delivered two days ago and a slight panic had begun to gnaw at me.

“Great,” I said as I took the large white box.  “I was beginning to think she had forgotten me.”

I ran back up stairs and tore the lid off.  My face turned to dismay.  Instead of the liquid silver halter dress, a purple mass of chiffon swelled out of the box.  Finding the thin straps, I pulled it out of the box, the endless flow of ruffles as light and ethereal as the air itself.

Beggars can’t be choosers, I reminded myself, though I couldn’t imagine why Shayne had switched dresses on me. The silver halter dress had been perfect, perhaps too perfect for Shayne’s liking. Then again, I remembered my heated encounter with Moore, the embrace that had bordered on erotic, the kisses that left me light- headed and the subsequent ride home that remained vague and distant.

Had she ruined the dress in any way?  If she had, Shayne had made no mention of it.

Pulling on the dress, it was quickly evident the dress would not have the same effect. It was pretty and fit perfectly, but was considerably more docile. Given the change in style, I opted to let my hair flow freely. Brax would no doubt be pleased to see me leave my hair down.

The final touch was a small silver cross, stylized and elegant.  Fixing my eyes on my reflection, I smiled.  My gown may have lost a bit of sex appeal, but the wanton flow of my hair, the smoky effect of make up about my eyes and the sultry gloss of my lips more than made up for the loss.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang and I knew Braxton had arrived.  I could hear my mother greeting him, bright and welcoming.  Father brought his stern paternal instincts to the mix, drilling Braxton with questions that had me laughing.

Grabbing the same little clutch I’d had at Kingsley’s, I made my way down to greet Brax.

“Wow.  What a vision you are,” he said.  “I must be the luckiest guy in the world.”

Mom and Dad were speechless, simply staring at their little tomboy gone girly.

“And look at you,” I said as I ran my hand over the breast pocket of his tuxedo. “All dapper.”

“You certainly make a handsome couple,” Mom gushed as she grabbed her little camera and gestured for us to cozy up.

After a series of photos, repeated goodbyes and wishes for a fun night, Brax and I drove off, arriving at the formal ten minutes later than anticipated.

Lively music wafted out to greet us and the excitement of the night took over me.  I wanted to let go, to have fun, to be wild and carefree.  The small reservations I’d had regarding my new gown quickly evaporated as one pair of admiring eyes after another held my gaze.

Proud and possessive, Brax grinned and clutched my hand in the crook of his arm.

In the distance, Shayne stood, watching our entry, her plastic smile unconvincing.  Her gaze dipped over the length of ruffled chiffon and a quick flash of disapproval blazed in her eyes.

I refused to allow her displeasure to affect my night.  I was with Brax, I looked and felt great, and I intended to make the night memorable.

“Care to dance,” Braxton asked with the gallantry of the highest knight.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Infused with the rhythm of the music and carried away on the melody, I took to the dance floor with abandon.  I ignored my lack of experience, erased the gaze of onlookers from my consciousness and enjoyed the moment.

“I love the way you move,” Braxton hushed into my ear, his hands shadowing my moves.  “And you pretend to be a social outcast…”

When the hyper beat gave way to a melodic ballad, he scooped me into his arms, pressed me tightly against his chest and brushed his smooth cheek along mine. Our bodies melded into one. In unison, we swayed to the music, disobeying the proper and predictable circular motion every other couple adhered to. 

“This was meant to be,” Braxton whispered.  His hands gently caressed my skin, slow, patient, almost reverent.  His every move lacked the impulsive and heated nature of guys his age.

I leaned into him, the sense of security and belonging complete.

When the song ended, we remained still, both reluctant to break our embrace.

“How ‘bout a drink and a stroll outside?” Brax offered.

“Lemonade would be nice.”

After a quick run to the bar, we headed out with our drinks. “You know, just about everyone here spikes their drink.”

I smiled as my teeth gripped the straw.

“I’ve never really understood the desperate need for a buzz.”

We sat on a low retaining wall overlooking the soccer field.

After a long and satisfying sip, I said, “Neither have I.  I kind of like having fun all while truly realizing that I’m having fun.”

He chuckled.  “Interesting way of putting it.”

I shrugged matter of factly. “Besides, just being with you is buzz enough.”

“Really?”  He seemed genuinely surprised.  Setting his glass down, he took my hand in his and gently played with my fingers.  “I’ve wondered how you’ve felt these past weeks, with the tutoring and all.  I have a good time with you, and I enjoy every minute, but I wondered if you simply liked being with me because of the help I give you, or if it’s me you enjoy being with.”

I turned to face him, my free hand drawn to the strong line of his jaw.  “I like being with you, very much.”

He leaned in to kiss me, a sweet and delicate kiss that held so many questions.  The questions mirrored in his eyes as he withdrew and I responded with a kiss of my own.  His lips parted, received my kiss with reluctance.

“For weeks I’ve thought of this moment,” he said before pressing his lips to mine with conviction. 

The sweetness of his initial kiss was drowned in a swell of sensuality and passion as he pressed his tongue hungrily in to meet mine.  My body molded to his, wanting to feel the entirety of the connection we shared.