Page 3 of Take Me Under

A cool breeze kissed my skin. The early May air was warmer than usual, but I still felt a chill on my naked arms. I rubbed them vigorously, hoping to warm a bit as I approached the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I strolled past the long line of trees and benches. When I got closer to the wide granite staircase, I hesitated. I’d walked up the famous steps plenty of times in the past, and normally would have enjoyed seeing people playing instruments, reading books, or simply lounging while contemplating life.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, I wanted to avoid the steps at all costs. The casual variety of people who usually occupied them would no longer be there, replaced by an electric atmosphere of cameras and flashbulbs. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for the possibilities ahead. Only the rich and famous would ascend the grand steps this evening—which was precisely why I needed to avoid them. I was far from being worthy of the elite.

The fact was, I had never been as financially strapped as I was at that moment. It was why imposter syndrome invaded my psyche. I knew I didn’t belong here, despite my cultured façade.

I recalled the care and attention I'd put into my appearance earlier that evening. The expense of having my hair styled and my face made up was worth it. My eyes were smoldering, almost seductive, and my dark locks coiffed into a sophisticated updo. I’d hardly recognized myself in the mirror at my hotel room. A luxury salon visit was a rarity, but I knew my limitations. I seldom required fancy hair and makeup in my line of work, making my experience with so much fuss practically non-existent. Calling in professional help for tonight had been a must if I wanted to make the best possible impression.

My hand drifted up to smooth a strand of hair, now curled and pinned elegantly with a few loose tendrils cascading downthe center of my neck and upper back. They ended just above the blood-red corset, intricately laced with a spill of scarlet chiffon that flowed dramatically over my legs to brush the ground. The lavish gown and heart-shaped ruby necklace were donations from the renowned French designer, Madeleine Toussaint.

Madeleine was my mother’s childhood friend who had worked tirelessly to make her way in the fashion industry. She’d had a deep appreciation for my father’s archaeological work before his passing, and it was by her invitation that I was here tonight. I had a need, and she had design skills to show off.

She understood the severity of my situation and what was at stake. The bedside promise I’d made to my father just days before his death required money—and lots of it. Archeological excavations didn’t come cheap, and Madeleine had assured me that the guest list for the Met Gala would open the doors to the funding I desperately needed to keep the Rome project going.

Still, I couldn't shake my nagging doubts. As beautiful as the hand-sewn dress was, I had half a mind to ball up the cumbersome train—which, for all intents and purposes, was ridiculous—hail a cab to the JFK airport and return to Italy. The red carpet and glare of the cameras were not for an introvert like me. Being in the company of celebrities, musicians, fashion designers, and models would never be my forte, but I had little choice but to endure it. Only the ultra-wealthy had the resources to support my father’s work, and bumping elbows with them was far more important than my discomfort or awkwardness. I had to pretend to fit in and act as if I knew what I was doing.

Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, I forced myself to continue toward the grand staircase. However, the closer I got, the more my heart began to race. Anxious jitters threatened to overwhelm me, and I began to sweat to the point of feeling feverish.

Maybe if I just take a minute to sit down and collect myself…

I glanced over my shoulder at the bench I’d just passed. Icould sit for a moment. But before I did, I paused, realizing the dress would make it quite a challenge. It wasn’t just the train that was an issue—the voluminous layers of chiffon were bulky and burdensome.

I pressed my lips together tightly and started the awkward attempt at gathering the skirt’s layers. I tried to move them to one side so I could sit, but the corset was so snug, I could barely bend to collect the chiffon. My stomach pitched, and I absently wondered if it was something I ate or because the dress was pulled too tight.

I released an impatient breath but suddenly stopped when I realized I was being watched. I glanced up to meet the observing eyes of a man in a bespoke tuxedo. He stood under the shade of a tree less than twenty feet away, staring with rapt curiosity.

Fabulous. Just what I need right now. An audience.

I tried to act indifferent to his attention, but something made me pause and take a second glance.

The man was anything but ordinary. He was striking in the most captivating way. I judged him to be close to my age or slightly older, perhaps around thirty-five. He was tall, standing well over six feet, impressive in his black tuxedo jacket, crisp white shirt, and solid black bowtie.

His dark brown hair was longer, but not too long, with natural waves curling at his collar. It was styled haphazardly, framing a tanned, chiseled face and sculpted square jawline. It gave him an air of refined elegance, yet there was something raw around the edges of all that masculine perfection. A hint of danger that made him even more alluring, reminding me of Henry Cavill circa 2012.

I’d encountered many attractive men throughout my life, but none had ever compared to the one standing before me. He was as intimidating as he was tempting, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like without all that expensive clothing. I envisioned what it would be like to unfasten the buttons of hisshirt and explore the span of his chest, over his shoulders, and...

I felt a sudden stirring deep in my belly, and my face flushed with heat.

What the hell was that?

The guy was gorgeous, but my physical reaction to him was a bit much—even if it had been a while since I’d last felt a man’s touch. Ten months to be exact. But who was counting? I scolded myself for being so ridiculous.

I changed focus, intent on maintaining a modicum of grace as I resumed my attempt at sitting on the city bench. However, the pretense at poise was wishful thinking. To my horror, when I lifted the train, the pointed heel of my shoe caught one of the many hems, and I lost my balance.

“Oh!” I gasped, suppressing a curse as my flailing arms searched for something to hold onto. My current dilemma should have been predictable. The idea that I could ever be graceful in high heels and a gown like this was laughable.

I braced myself for impact as the ground rushed to meet me.

But instead of falling onto hard concrete, I landed against the solid chest of my dark and mysterious observer. It was an embarrassing moment and incredibly cliché. Pretty woman falling into the arms of a handsome stranger. Only my life could resemble a Hollywood romcom.

However, my embarrassment was short lived, instantly replaced by the precipitous awareness of his firm grip—of one hand bracing my lower back and the other curling around my upper arm.

I inhaled sharply, the sudden intake of breath introducing me to his tantalizing scent. He smelled almost as good as he looked. It was an intoxicating, fresh combination of sexy male and decadent sin. A flush warmed my cheeks as our eyes met. His gaze was reserved and assessing, making me feel as if he could see through to my most intimate secrets.

I returned his stare, mesmerized by his incredible eyes. They were as dark as onyx with chocolate flecks that one could only discern if they were close enough—and boy, was I ever close. The intensity of his dark gaze sent a shiver down my spine, raising the hairs on the nape of my neck.

My pulse thrummed from his proximity. A perfect stranger should not arouse these feelings from me. I was oddly turned on in all the best ways, yet I couldn’t recall a time in my life when I’d felt more humiliated. I wasn’t sure how I was able to feel both at the same time.

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