Alton Cox by Lynette Wilson

Author:Lynette Wilson [Wilson, Lynette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2019-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Amelia

After our playful, borderline dangerous (but all the more exciting) ride to the restaurant, my head feels light and spins. I take a moment to breathe before the valet opens the door for me to exit. I stand on solid ground and remind myself I’m not floating off into the atmosphere. Though the vantage point atop the hill the restaurant is perched on does little to convince me. Stretched out beyond the edge of the driveway is the entire city, glistening beneath the night sky. My mouth opens in awe before I feel Alton (first name basis now) press his hand against the small of my back, his thumb extended to gently caress the skin of my hip, at which I bite into my bottom lip. I feel like it will be swollen before this night is through.

I turn my face up to look at him. His handsome face, chiseled jawline dotted with dark stubble, angle down to look into my eyes and weaken my knees. “Ready, Amelia?”

The valet drives the car away and we pivot towards the entrance of the exclusive night club behind us. I’m so not ready. “Yes,” I lie.

A host leads us to the back of the club, past the dancefloors and darkened tables, lit by romantic candlelight, all the while Alton’s hand remains against my back. I don’t want him to remove it. I want to feel his touch against my skin for as long as I can, to have it guide me into his arms, and beyond. I’m wildly attracted to this man, and my body is, too, seemingly all on its own.

We arrive at a designated table in the back, a VIP section behind velvet ropes where only a few tables, populated by presumed business elites, rest. We find our booth, bottle of champagne already cooling in an ice bucket before a seated man who rises to greet us.

“Paul,” Alton says, shaking the man’s hand firmly. He’s older, likely sixties, with a reddened face (a tone that extends through his bare scalp), and a white beard. He seems jovial enough, and I’m put at ease, until he turns his attention to me with a raised brow and an up and down glance.

“I didn’t know you had a woman hanging off your arm these days,” he says. I smile politely, hoping the dark room hides my blushing cheeks. I offer my hand and he shakes it.

“This is Amelia,” Alton says to Paul.

Paul turns to face him, nodding satisfactorily. “Good job.”

I think for a moment Paul is a little old-fashioned with gender relations, in spite of his manners, which is off-putting. But then, as we shuffle into the booth, Alton’s hand on my skin, I realize he didn’t correct Paul. He’s letting Paul think we’re dating. Is that what this is? Am I his fake girlfriend for the night? My mind spins between responses, whether to be insulted or into the game, I can’t determine. When we settle, Alton’s hand slips between my knees with a familiarity I can’t help but question.

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