Page 67 of Howl You Doin?
“Go, go, go,” Maria whispers, and the men file in by twos.
Excited chatter can be heard from inside the ballroom, and my heart rushes.
I guess itispretty cool.
“Ready, Miss Whitt?” someone asks.
With anticipation flipping my stomach, I readjust the heavy tray in my hands and enter the room, pushing down the nervousness rolling through me. I curtsey in time with the rest of the ladies and the string quartet begins playing a light tune for the dinner round. Next, the men bow and flourish the trays above their heads, spinning as they do.
All the staff move as one, twirling and side-stepping, bending and looping around the room, serving all the guests as we go before picking up the empty platters and plates. We make the exchange neat and tidy, and we’re all probably secretly thankful no one has dropped a plate yet.
I meet Maria’s gaze from across the ballroom and her wide smile stretches some more.
A bell chimes twice, the cue for us to clear out, and we all bow, curtseying as one. The guests start clapping, and we back away as we all rehearsed toward the door.
I make the mistake of peeking through my lashes over at Connor, and my stomach dips with the perfect timing. While the guests are distracted and looking at us, he quickly checks his phone in his Dracula suit pocket. The look on his face is priceless as it hardens.
Oh, he’s seen it.
My smile spreads as I back out of the ballroom just as his eyes meet mine. His dark, narrowed, and lip-biting gaze immediately says I’m in trouble.
I can’t help but laugh as I make my way back to the kitchen.
I lift my phone to my face and click send for the second part of my plan just as the waiters are grabbing bottles to refill the guests’ drinks. I grin down at the even naughtier picture, onewhere my nipple is out and my lips are between my teeth, but I expect he won’t have time to look at it for a bit from the sounds of his voice booming over the loudspeakers.
Maria squeals, making me jolt, as Anton throws his arms around her and drags her away to prep the next course. I breathe out a light sigh and set about tidying the kitchen around the catering staff who helped me earlier now that they’re all gone. We’ll be needed again shortly, but I’m feeling too restless to sit still between knowing there’s work that needs to be done and the belly flutters because of my messages to Connor.
My skin tingles with excitement at what his reaction will be later. When it feels like too long has passed and I worry that he’s already seen the last raunchy picture without me knowing, I send off a third just to really drive the point home.
Shortly after, we all shuffle back inside the dining room just as Connor is going on about Dracula’s origins in his over-the-top vampire voice. He smiles and I’m happy to see the plastic fangs missing from his mouth.
“Do you know why Dracula doesn’t have any friends?” he asks the crowd, and murmurs pick up. “Because he’s such a pain in the neck.”
Everyone laughs a bit at his obvious dad joke, and I withhold a snicker as I move to place my entrée plates down, then back out of the room as soon as I’m able while calculating how much time until dessert is needed.
Our eyes meet, and I purposefully tip forward to show off my tits better despite how much the corset stabbing into my ribs threatens to break me. I deliberately lick at my gloss-covered lips and give him a wink.
In response, just as the door is about to close, he reaches into his coat again, but I don’t get to see his reaction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me a moment,” comes his cultured voice.
My brow furrows as I watch him practically run to the hallway exit. I wince. Where could he be going? Maybe he forgot his cane or something, since he shouldn’t be leaving the ballroom just yet.
I sigh when I enter the kitchen, remembering the hours of cooking, baking, and directing temporary staff I had to do in preparation for all this—which is where most of my work really took place. I’ve been on my feet for hours, and I’m excited for this to end.
My elbow is jostled from behind and I cry out as I’m spun around roughly.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Connor’s nostrils flare and his eyes are hard as stone, like they used to be back when he hated me.
Oh shit.What did I do?
Connor O’Doyle
One glimpseof an image of Whitley bent over, her gorgeous arse in the air with white garters framing exactly where I want to put my mouth, sent me into overdrive. And the other two photos she sent to tease me with? I could barely contain myself from leaping across the ballroom and attacking her. The need to rut her, to lay her down and fuck her senseless, has been grating on me for days.
Now that she’s within reach, I grab her by the wrist and pull her along, ignoring the stacked white dishes and folded linens.
“Hey, we still have dessert,” she protests as I drag her into the pantry.
