The Highest Price to Pay. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
noticed that while no one looked at her with disdain, they did stand at a distance. He wondered if the scars were to blame. Ella didn’t seem to care either way.
She was bubbly, confident. She was smiling, something he didn’t know if he’d ever seen her do, not in a genuine way. But then, she didn’t like him very much. Something he should be used to by now.
He set his drink on the bar and wove through the crowded club. Ella looked up from her friends and he saw her blue eyes widen, watched as her smile became forced.
“Mr. Chevalier, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said, her manner smooth, but he could feel the strain it was taking for her to remain composed.
“I was invited, but wasn’t sure if I could make it.” This wasn’t his usual scene. If he wanted to find quick and easy female company then he might bother with party attendance, otherwise, he had no reason to go to events like this.
Lately he hadn’t even felt compelled to find a temporary lover. He found the games tiresome. Sex had been a catharsis after Marie had left, a way to try to wash away the memory, but now the endless stream of one-night stands had become boring. More than that, it filled him with a vague sense of disgust. Not anything new, but he found no reason to add to his sins.
Even now, one of the women in Ella’s group was giving him a look that let him know all he had to do was ask and she would be his for the night. Knowing that a few months ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to take her up on it made him feel a tinge of discomfort.
It shocked him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared whether or not his actions were moral. That ship had sailed a long time ago. Every last shred of honor he’d possessed had been stripped from him and he had simply embraced the man the world thought him to be. Because it was easier to be that man, easier to simply follow the path he’d started down than to retrace his steps back to the point where he’d gone wrong.
“But you did make it. Yay.” She said it with about as much enthusiasm as a woman who’d just discovered she needed a root canal.
“Somehow, I knew you’d be happy to see me.”
Her lip curled slightly, her smile morphing into a near sneer. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, thrusting them into greater prominence, and a stab of lust assaulted him. It was unexpected in its intensity, especially after the clear invitation of the other woman had failed to arouse anything in him other than distaste.
“Well, I thought you felt these sorts of events were beneath you?”
“Not at all.” The small group of women was quiet now, watching their interplay with avid curiosity. “Come with me.”
“I’m fine here, thanks,” she said archly.
“We need to talk.”
The women looked from him to her, their eyes round with interest. One of them actually pulled out her cell phone and fired off a quick text, either to spread information or to try to garner some.
“Talk then,” Ella said.
“Privately.” He leaned in and took her hand in his. The action drew the attention of several more people in the crowded room, including guests that he guessed to be reporters.
He had noticed the last time he’d touched her hand, how shockingly smooth it had been, and the scar was even smoother, robbed of its texture by flames.
Her full pink lips parted slightly, her eyes round. She looked frozen, shocked by the touch. Didn’t her lovers touch her like that? Or did they avoid the parts of her body that were less than perfect?
The women he’d been with had always been examples of universal beauty, the occasional botched plastic surgery aside. It was impossible to know what he would do if presented with her naked body. His liaisons didn’t require that much thought. That was the plus side to one-night stands.
Of course, at the moment, the thought of Ella naked ruined his thought process anyway. It erased logic, left only that strong, elemental desire, desire that roared through his body with the force of a fire.
He tightened his hold on her and led her away from the group. Ella made sure he knew she was allowing it grudgingly, her body stiff as she walked behind him.
He drew her into an alcove away from the dance floor, the bass still throbbed, loud enough to make the walls vibrate. He leaned in, bracing his arm on the wall and Ella took a step away from him, her eyes widening a bit when her back came into contact with the wall.
She made him feel like an evil villain about to lure her onto the tracks. But then her mask came back down, her face serene, bight blue eyes glittering in challenge.
“So, what was it you needed?”
“A chance to talk. And we were drawing attention so I thought we might make the most of it.”
“Okay, talk then.”
“I must admit, I did not give you enough credit when we first met,” he said.
Her expression registered surprise that she wasn’t able to conceal. “What?”
“I didn’t realize how much money there was to be made in fashion if everything is executed properly.”
“Not an industry insider, huh?” she asked, dryly.
“Only if dating models counts.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Unless your pillow talk consists of discussing the going rate for hand spun wool, no, it doesn’t count.”
“Then no, I’m not an industry insider.”
She pressed her shoulders back against the wall, as if she were trying to melt into the surface, her eyes focused somewhere past his shoulder. She tilted her head slightly and he could see that the pink scarring extended to the curve of her neck. It looked painful. Unhealed. And yet, from what he knew, it had to be.
It wasn’t beautiful. It drew attention away from the creamy beauty of the skin around it. Uneven and discolored, it drew him, drew his focus. All of her did. He raised his hand and brushed his index finger lightly over the damaged skin. Surprisingly soft. Like the rest of her.
She pulled away from him, stepping back from the wall, mouth tight, the confidence she had displayed earlier, gone.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp. She started to walk away.
“Don’t?” He caught her hand and drew her back to him. She complied, but he imagined she only did so because every eye in the room was trained on them. His sex life was a constant fascination to the public, and any woman he was seen with was assumed to be a lover. He couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t been true.
His muscles tightened at the thought of a night with Ella, his blood flowing hotter, faster. He responded to her on an elemental level, one that didn’t seem concerned with the scars that marred her otherwise perfect flesh.
She leaned in so that he could hear her over the pulse of the music. “Don’t touch me like you have the right to. You bought my business loan, you didn’t buy me,” she said finally, her voice low, trembling.
“I had not forgotten.”
“So what was it then, morbid curiosity? It’s called a burn scar, I got in a house fire. I would have thought you’d have read that somewhere by now. The Courier did a particularly nice article on the subject, if you’re interested.”
Ella’s heart thundered heavily, her stomach churning. She hated that. Hated that the simple touch had done that to her. Every insecurity, every shortcoming felt like it had been thrown in her face, had been brought to glaring light.
She hated that the scars still made her feel that way. No matter how much she pretended to be fine with them, she still hated what she saw when she looked in the mirror. Hated the feel of them beneath her fingertips when she scrubbed herself in the shower.
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