Julian's Pursuit (6 page)

I bit back a laugh. “I was thinking more along the lines of a portly Saddam.”

“Mm. Do you think we’re being too kind?” Rochelle asked and then promptly answered her own question. “I think we’re being too kind. So I’ll go ahead and just say it. He looks like a fucking primate. I mean, we all sprang from apes, but clearly, Tim didn’t spring far enough.”

I let a smile curve my lips before raising my glass and sipping the sparkling liquid. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Rochelle.”

“And you know what I find absurd?” She went on. “Tim Pulaski. With his liver lips and a face that could use
a lot
of plastic surgery—like witness protection amounts of plastic surgery—he rates
us
, but he doesn’t seem to take into account his own attractiveness and personality.”

“
Girl, preach
.” I almost hugged Rochelle for giving voice to the thoughts in my head.

“Tim just needs to go play a nice game of hide and go fuck himself.” Rochelle flashed me a smile, clinking her glass against mine.

Toasting to that, I drained my glass in one gulp. “I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“True.” Rochelle nodded thoughtfully. “He just needs to go squat in a cactus patch.”

Meanwhile, things were getting even louder at Tim’s table, and the men were still rating women using the binary scale.

A chill danced down my spine when I heard my own name thrown into the mix. “Sadie’s a ten in that dress,” someone commented.

“In that dress?” Tim snorted. “That bitch is definitely asking for it.”

“Get the fuck outta here! Pulaski again?” Rochelle glared in his direction. “Who the fuck let him out of douche prison?”

Squaring my shoulder blades, I sent Tim a death stare. If looks could kill, he’d be in a body bag. I wasn’t going to apologize for having a female body and dressing to that.

A muscle ticked in Tim’s jaw and he kept his gaze averted from me.

Coward.

At some point, the DJ started playing
Shake It Off,
and Rochelle nudged me in the ribs, as if chiding me to quit standing around. “C’mon,” she said, catching my arm when she realized I wasn’t budging. “Let’s get it
turn’t up
in here.”

Clearly, Rochelle had teenage kids, and just hearing a grown-ass woman say
turn’t up
made my heart light up with humor. Laughing, I allowed myself to be led onto the floor where I proceeded to shake my ass off, dancing like nobody was watching.

Only someone
was
watching. The entire time, I was aware of Julian’s presence across the room, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame.

Whenever I snuck a glance at him, it seemed he was looking at me, his hot stare following me, as palpable as a warm caress.

“Who are you looking at?” Rochelle demanded. There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she stared at me.

“No one,” I said too quickly.

“Bullshit.” Rochelle did a quick scan of the ballroom. “Oh, I see him. That sexy Marlboro man in the corner, staring at you.” She winked at me. “He’s an American treasure.”

I just shook my head and forced myself to let go, losing myself in the catchy beats with my signature dance moves. They went sort of like this: Here’s my shoulder. Let me roll it forward as I twist my left hip. Oh, here’s my other shoulder. Let me roll it forward as I twist my right hip. And repeat.

Dorky, I know.
And even though Rochelle gave me a wide berth, I moved like I was dancing in a confined space. It was all part of my “routine,” so to speak.

By the time the song ended, I was out of breath and gasping for air, feeling like my lungs were on fire.

Good Lawdy Lawd
. I felt atrociously out of shape.

Then the DJ switched tempos and played a love song reserved for slow dancing, prompting the couples on the floor to put their arms around each other and shuffle their two left feet.

Rochelle said, “I’m outta here.” And then she was gone like the wind.

The relaxed acoustic guitar sounds of
Thinking Out Loud
filled the entire ballroom. It was a beautiful love song about a couple growing old together and loving each other as if it were the first day they met.

Not a song I was planning on dancing to all by myself. I started walking off the dance floor, when I felt a warm hand on my waist. “Dance with me.”

I whirled around and there was Julian, tall and broad shouldered in an exquisite suit that fit his frame perfectly. The shirt was crisp and the tie a mix of lilac and lavender.

To his credit, he managed to make a feminine tie look very masculine.

The man rocks paisley
, I thought.

There was a hint of laughter in his eyes as a sexy grin tilted his lips.

I found myself reluctantly smiling back. “What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” One of his arms slid around my back, the other held my hand out to the side, and he swept me up into the music before I could protest. When he spoke again, there was a thread of amusement in his voice. “By the way, I enjoyed watching you shake your ass off on the dance floor.”

I felt my temples flush hot and prayed he couldn’t see it in the dim light. “I guess I couldn’t help it.” I shrugged. “That song just makes me wanna dance. And I like Taylor Swift.”

He skewed me a glance that was both charming and cheeky. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” I insisted.

Expertly, he guided me across the dance floor, his grip strong and firm, his fingers burning through the fabric of my dress. “You look stunning tonight,” he said, looking at me with such intensity that I grew a little flustered again.

“Thank you.”

His steady gaze traveled down my face to rest on my dress. “Red is your color.”

“It is?” I said demurely. “Why, thank you again. This dress was dyed using the blood of the innocents.”

A rich, deep laugh escaped him. “You can’t fool me. You’re an angel.”

“Yep, that’s me.” I suppressed a snort. “An angel. I probably need to lose some demons first.”

He said nothing, only smiled. And as we continued to sway to the romantic ballad, it felt as if everyone else were far away and we were the only ones on the floor.

“Speaking of the innocents…” Julian twirled me out and then in again, grinning as a laugh escaped me. “How’s Evan doing?”

Interesting segue
. “He’s good,” I said.

“What do you have planned for his birthday?” He studied me with a thoughtful expression. “It’s in two weeks, right?”

“It is. Yes,” I said, surprised he recalled our conversation in such detail. “I’m planning a Lego-themed party for him.”

“Lego?” His face lit up. “Legos were the building blocks of my childhood.”

“Mine, too.”

“So…” He twirled me again and then dipped me. “Can I come to the party?”

“No.”

He pulled me out of the dip. “I’ll bring all the Legos.”

“Hmm.” I tilted my head to the side, considering. “Were you the kind of kid who built things according to the instructions?”

“Of course not.” He scoffed. “I built whatever the hell I wanted.”

“Wrong answer.”

“Aw, c’mon. I would’ve helped you clean up all the Lego bricks after the party. Now you’re gonna regret it when you step on a piece of Lego. Barefoot.”

“I’ll be wearing shoes,” I informed him. Then another laugh escaped me as he spun me out and then in again.

The conversations flowed smoothly and effortlessly, and the more we talked, the more I found myself enjoying my time with him.

Julian was an exceptional partner. Sexy. Certain of himself. Confident.

He knew how to lead, yet he allowed me to move freely.

Our arms were joined, forearm to elbow, resembling the bow of a ship.

And he was my anchor.

There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere
, I thought and allowed myself a tiny smile.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” I asked as we circled the dance floor.

“I’ve gone to many balls.”

I blinked at him, thinking he was joking, but he looked completely serious. “Balls? Like Cinderella balls?”

Julian drew me tight against his chest, and when he spoke again, his warm breath tickled my ear. “ROTC. Military.”

“Ah,” I murmured softly. “I see.” I tried to imagine Julian dressed in formal military attire, dancing the waltz with his sweetheart, and for some reason, that image didn’t sit too well with me.

“What was it like?” I asked. “Being in the army?”

His grip tightened around my waist and a new silence coalesced around us as we circled the floor. In time, he said, “It changed me.” His fingers pressed into my spine. “I used to be cold. Hardened by what I saw…”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s so concerned about being unaffected…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Unmoved by life.”

I realized with a jolt that he could also be talking about me.

“Life is moving, don’t you think?” He took a slow breath before continuing. “A moving thing to experience.”

His words surprised me in both substance and delivery. It was earnest. Heartfelt.

Before I could dwell on it any further, the song ended and we coasted reluctantly to a standstill.

A beat passed. Then another.

Julian remained perfectly content to silently stare at me.

For a moment, neither of us breathed as his gaze lingered on my lips.

It was pulsing between us, the sexual energy reaching for each other, seeking to entwine. Rivers of heat spread through my breasts, and I felt that pull, that deep desire, that almost palpable hunger behind his stare, but I wasn’t willing to look away.

Then Julian drew in an unsettled breath, as if I’d caught him off guard.

In the next moment, the DJ announced it was time for the dreaded and awkward Secret Santa gift exchange. All the colorfully wrapped presents were sitting under the tree, and people were starting to converge around it to retrieve their gifts.

I inhaled sharply, almost dizzily, as Julian’s gaze burned into me. “So…” I forced myself to smile. “I guess I’ll see you later.” Abruptly, I turned from him and strode away, putting some needed distance between us.

Even walking away from him, I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back.

Shit
, I thought.
There’s no question in my mind that he knows… He knows how I feel about him and what he does to me.

It took me a couple of minutes, but I eventually found my gift, which was haphazardly wrapped in newspaper with my name scribbled on the front in red marker.

By the time I joined Rochelle at her table, she’d already had her gift unwrapped.

As I pulled out a chair and sat down, Rochelle held up her gift and rolled her eyes at me. “Ho! Ho! No, they didn’t! Someone thought it’d be funny to get me barbeque-scented candles.”

I laughed. “Why would you want to smell flowers when you can smell barbeque ribs twenty-four-seven?”

“Re-gift pile,” she said. “Now what about you? What’d you get?”

“Well,” I said, “let’s find out.” As I tore into the wrapper, I could feel Tim and his pack of rowdy friends silently watching me, their daggered eyes boring into my back.

A cold rivulet of apprehension trickled across my shoulders and goose bumps unfurled along my arms.

But alas, it was too late.

I’d already unwrapped the gift to reveal a box of leather bondage cuffs—ankle and wrist restraints—along with a studded leash.

I turned in my seat, and Tim raised his glass at me, his mocking tone setting my teeth on edge. “A perfect gift for a woman who likes to be in complete control.”

The men at his table roared their approval at the show, and more than a few curious glances drifted in my direction. I suddenly felt like I was in one of those dreams where you show up to class naked.

My stomach lurched while I struggled to keep my poker face.

Rochelle laid a hand on my shoulder. “You all right?” Her voice barely penetrated the fog suddenly surrounding me.

Anger burned down my throat. I swallowed, striving hard for composure while managing a curt nod.

Rochelle’s expression turned stern. “You want me to take care of that pond scum? He’s just a pussy who hides behind his entourage of man-boys. He needs to grow some fucking hair on his balls.” When I remained silent, she hesitated. “Hey. You sure you’re okay?”

My heart was hammering in my chest, but I forced a slow, dismissive smile to my lips. “I’m fine.”

Meanwhile, the men at Tim’s table were still chuckling with glee.

“C’mon.” Rochelle’s voice was gentle, coaxing. “Let’s go outside. Get some fresh air.”

“No!” The force of my refusal surprised us both. I couldn’t bear to feel weak and frightened in front of Tim. “I’m all right,” I said. “Really, I am.”

While I’d become the immediate object of ridicule, Tim was enjoying every second of it. His perverse pleasure was tangible as he chewed on his puffy lip, watching me with unsuppressed mirth, like he expected me to crumble to pieces or bolt—likely both.

But if Tim thought he could throw me off balance, I wouldn’t let him. I refused him the satisfaction.

Whatever Tim expected me to do, I intended to do just the opposite.

Like all holiday parties from the previous years, cringe-worthy karaoke followed the Secret Santa gift exchange. Taking a steely breath, I marshaled every fiber of inner strength I possessed and forced myself into a state of calm.

Then I stood and weaved my way through the maze of tables, mounted the steps up to the stage, and asked the DJ to play
Somebody That I Used to Know
.

Gotye was a master of addicting hooks and melodies, and that song, with its psychedelic mixed harmonies and beats, was one of my all-time favorites.

I stepped up to the mic, and my gaze tracked over the tables and the people milling about the floor, landing at last on Julian, who was standing alone in a corner.

He pinned me with his stare, encouragement and warmth dancing in his eyes.

Then the DJ dimmed the lights and a sort of soporific mood descended upon the room. It did little to help my nerves, and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs like I hadn’t taken a full breath in weeks.