Page 28 of Ms. Fortune

We also discovered Victor had been paying protection money to another local family for protection against Louis Calnetta. He had marked those payments as alimony to his ex-wives, but every penny went to the protection of his business and, indirectly, to his daughters.

I'm debating whether or not to tell Normandy any of this. It won't change anything for her, and I don't want her to think poorly of her father. Victor did what he felt he had to do, and you can't blame a man for following his heart and trying to protect his livelihood. Especially against someone like Calnetta, who has zero respect for any of those things.

If I tell Normandy, it will only be to confirm something she asks of me. I won't be the one offering this information to her freely. I owe my friend Victor that much.

I have had Taylor increase the security around Normandy and Mischief Motors in light of the new information we've received. I can't get through an hour of the day without wondering about her safety, and I'm constantly checking in with the team to confirm that she is OK.

Taylor has half-heartedly suggested perhaps making an offer to Calnetta to pay him off and get him out of Normandy's life for good. But I am well aware people like him aren't bought off so easily. There will always be strings attached. There will always be a tail to that comet heading straight to Earth. Nothing is ever final with them. If I thought for a second it would work, I would hand the money over personally and with a smile. Snakes like Calnetta enjoy the game and lifestyle that comes with it too much. They bask in the power that they hold.

So, for now, I do nothing. I will wait and consider. And debate internally. And work myself up. And get nothing done because I seem to be stuck. I'm stuck in a crisis of conscience. Better angels would have me tell her everything, but I can't do it. I can't be the one to break Normandy's heart. Not now that I have the sense I'm getting close to it.

The night of the gala comes, and Normandy is beyond words. There are literally no adjectives strong enough to convey the beauty she possesses. Stunning is the closest I can get because I am genuinely stunned when I see her for the first time.

She is wearing a smokey grey evening gown that shows off every single delectable curve she has. And her hair is curled and loose and even looks a little wild but still elegant, classic, and totally Normandy.

Also in typical Normandy fashion, she had refused to allow me to buy anything for her for the evening. She can be too stubborn for her own good, but in this case, I don't mind because she is gorgeous.

It's near impossible for me to keep my hands off her on the way to the venue. I have to physically sit on my hands, so I don't accost her in the back of the limousine. I think she senses my distress and enjoys it a little too much because she makes a point to lean over provocatively as we talk on the way. Damn her. She knows what she's doing and what it's doing to me, and this is only the beginning of the evening. I will have to touch her repeatedly for the next few hours and simultaneously restrain myself. It's going to be an excruciatingly impossible mission.

When we get to the venue, we are directed along the red carpet while having questions thrown at us as our picture is taken. The questions range from benign to malignant. Innocently asking about Normandy's dress, to not so innocently asking about our sex life. If only we had a sex life. She handles the questions in stride, though she flushes a little at the more risqué ones, and that heat on her cheeks combined with her elegantly tousled hair makes me picture her blushing for so many other reasons. All of them pleasurable for her and caused by me. I am not going to make it through this night.

When we enter the ballroom, the event is in full swing. The band is playing, people are dancing, groups are congregating, and everyone seems to be having a good time.

Sophie finds us and gives Normandy and me big hugs, thanking us for attending the event, which is amusing since I'm the one throwing this shindig. Sophie gives Normandy a strange once over.

“What a lovely dress. Do you mind if I ask where you got it or who the designer is?”

Normandy appears surprised at the question but happily answers. “I don't know who the designer is as there was no label, but the dress belonged to my mother. I couldn't say where she got it either.”

Several emotions ripple through Sophie, but she smiles and says, “Well, it's lovely on you.”

I catch a hint of an emphasis on the word ‘you,’ and give Sophie a discrete questioning look, but she looks away without responding. I have no clue what that was all about.

While I know generalities about Sophie's history with the nightclub she owned, I don't know any details. I suspect there are a lot of details and perhaps a lot more I don't want to know. Her reaction makes me curious if I should find out those details now. For God’s sake, I’m suspecting everyone and their motives so readily anymore, it’s ridiculous. Sophie’s been with me for years, she doesn’t have an agenda.

I excuse us to Sophie and place a hand on Normandy's bare back to guide her to the dance floor. I don't really want to dance. What I want to do is feel her skin beneath my fingers. It's exactly as smooth as I imagined it to be, and the experience of touching it, touching her. Only makes me want more.

She effortlessly fits in my arms as we dance smoothly to the orchestra. It feels as though she's finally comfortable with me. That's something I didn't expect. She seems to be responding to me the same way I am to her, and the thought she might reciprocate my feelings, whatever they are, makes me bolder to explore more, so we dance on, oblivious to everyone around us.

I glide a hand down the bumps of her spine, feeling a tremor run through her as she shudders and melts into me a little more. Her breath catches as my fingers teasingly savor the softness of her exposed skin

Pulling her tighter against me, it has to be evident that I’m having a physical reaction to her, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she curves into me and wraps her arms tighter around my neck, pressing her chest into mine.

I lean down with my lips caressing her ear and whisper a statement mixed with a question. “Do you want me as much as I want you right now?” I let my breath linger, feeling her shiver in my hands.

She tilts her head up, placing her mouth near my ear, her warm breath tickling the fine hairs.

“And what if I do?”

She leans back slightly, her eyes meeting mine as if in a challenge. Is she daring me to do something about it? Because if she is, she does not know me very well.

I tilt in again; this time, my voice is thick with gravel. “Well, if you do, we need to do something about it. And you should know better than to dare me because I usually get what I want.”

This time I lean back with a devious grin, and I can tell by the return flush in her cheeks and neck it's working. And now I need to find a room with a lock on the fucking door as soon as humanly possible.

I grab Normandy's hand and pull her through the crowd of people, most of whom are vying for my attention. But I only wave politely, nod, smile, and keep my course steady for the exit to the main lobby. Once there, we practically run to a side room. The closest room. Any fucking room. And once inside, we only make it as far as the other side of the door. I make sure to engage the lock.

Our mouths crash together. Our hands are mad to find purchase on the other. Raking through each other's hair, lifting dresses, unbuckling pants. We're doing everything we can to get closer to the other person. All the while, our lips never falter from the other. My hands discover she's not wearing anything under the dress, and my fingers find she does, in fact, want me as much as I want her.

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