Page 53 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
When the band began playing slower melodies, couples drifted toward the dance floor. I set down my champagne and extended my hand to Ivy.
"Dance with me."
She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in mine. I led her onto the polished hardwood floor and pulled her into my arms. Her body fit against mine perfectly, her hand resting on my shoulder while I held her waist.
We moved together in easy rhythm, and I caught the subtle scent of her perfume—vanilla and roses. The ballroom lights dimmed further, creating an intimate atmosphere despite the crowd around us.
"This is nice," she said softly, her breath warm against my ear.
I tightened my hold on her waist, drawing her closer. "Better than nice."
She looked up at me then, her eyes reflecting the candlelight, and I saw my own desire mirrored there. The professional mask we'd both worn for so long was slipping away, revealing the truth beneath.
Other couples swayed around us, but I was aware only of Ivy—the way she moved, the warmth of her skin through the silkdress, the soft sound of her breathing. My hand spread across her lower back, and I felt her shiver in response.
"Duncan," she whispered, my name a question and invitation combined.
The music continued, but we'd stopped moving, standing frozen in the middle of the dance floor while tension coiled between us. I wanted to kiss her right there, in front of everyone, but some rational part of my brain held me back.
"Come with me," I murmured against her ear. "There's a quiet place we can talk."
I took her hand and led her away from the crowd, down a hallway lined with oil paintings and crystal sconces. The sounds of the party faded behind us as we walked, replaced by the soft whisper of her dress and the clicking of her heels on marble.
I found what I was looking for—a coat closet tucked between conference rooms. I opened the door and guided her inside, closing it behind us. The space was small and dark, filled with the scent of cedar and expensive fabrics.
"Duncan, what are we?—"
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, cutting off her words. She melted into me immediately, her arms winding around my neck as I backed her against the wall. Her fingers tangled in my hair, disrupting the careful styling, and I didn't care. All I cared about was the way she tasted, the soft sounds she made against my mouth, the feeling that I'd been waiting my entire life for this moment.
My hands roamed her body, tracing the curves emphasized by her dress. She arched against me, and I groaned at the contact. Her lips moved to my neck, pressing kisses along my throat that made my pulse race.
The narrow space intensified everything—the heat between us, the sound of our breathing, the electric current that seemedto spark wherever we touched. I'd never wanted anyone the way I wanted Ivy in this moment.
But then her phone buzzed loudly in her small purse, the sound jarring in our intimate cocoon. She pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, her lips swollen from our kisses.
It buzzed again, like a gnat at a picnic, annoying me.
"I should—" she started, but I captured her mouth again.
The third buzz made her push gently against my chest. "Duncan, I need to check."
She fumbled for her phone, the screen's glow illuminating her flushed face. I watched her expression change from desire to worry to outright panic.
"It's my dad," she whispered, the color draining from her cheeks.
She was already moving toward the door, her hands shaking as she tried to answer the call. "I have to take this."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the darkness with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and a growing sense of unease.
I straightened my shirt and ran a hand through my disheveled hair, my mind racing. The terror in her eyes hadn't been about getting caught by her father at a work event. It had been something deeper, more personal.
Standing in that closet, staring at a stranger's coat hanging on the rod, I felt the familiar chill of suspicion creeping up my spine. There was more to Ivy's story than she'd shared, and if I was about to be made a fool again—if she was hiding another man or playing some game I couldn't see—I swore I'd find out before it destroyed me.
21
IVY
Istumbled out of the hotel ballroom, my heels clicking frantically against the marble floor as I pressed the phone to my ear. The elegant dress that had felt perfect hours earlier now seemed to mock me, its silk fabric too delicate for the crisis ahead.
