Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) (16 page)

“Is that right? Well now that we’re all acquainted, I was just telling Dorian the other day about how great of a beautician Morgan is.” Aurora gracefully slides next to Dorian, resting her petite hand on his forearm. They know each other better than I initially assumed. The image of me breaking each one of those pretty little fingers of hers flashes in my mind.

“Oh thank you, Aurora, you are too kind,” Morgan says stiffly. This situation has clearly made her uncomfortable and she’s put her business face on.

“Well, it’s true! And for you to be so young and already so talented; just imagine the clientele she could bring to Luxe. And she already has quite a following at the place she is at now.” Aurora is laying it on pretty thick, and while everything she is saying is true, I don’t like her talking about Morgan as if she really knows her. 

“Is that right? I do think a fresh, young perspective would be useful at this type of salon,” Dorian replies thoughtfully. I want to slink into the background, somehow blend in with the rest of the crowd, when Dorian turns his attention to me. “So what do you think, Gabriella? Do you think our more mature clientele would appreciate Morgan’s youthful appeal?” A smile plays at his lips.

I square my shoulders and look Dorian in his bright blue mesmerizing eyes. “I believe they would. Most women are in search of the Fountain of Youth, shelling out thousands on plastic surgery and temporary fixes to appear younger. Why not find out firsthand what fresh new styles are in? Morgan is a trendsetter; whatever is popular now, she was wearing it last season. I think she would be so much more than a beautician in your salon. She would be a style icon.” I look at Morgan proudly and she’s nearly gushing with gratitude. Dorian nods, letting my words sink in. 

“Exactly! Well put, Gabriella. You really know your stuff. What industry are you in?” Aurora questions, eyeing me slyly. She inches closer to Dorian, no doubt, to rouse me.

“Retail,” I state dryly.

“Oh?” Aurora says, amused. “A buyer at Macy’s?” I can see what she’s trying to do, and I will not be her fool.

“A sales clerk,” I proclaim as if I’ve just told her I own my own boutique showcasing lavish couture.

“Oh.” Aurora remarks, smugly. “Well if you ladies will excuse us, I need to introduce Dorian to some very important potential clients. Morgan, I’ll see you next week!” And again, she gives her double air kisses. “And it was good meeting you, Gabriella. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

I’m sure we will, bitch.
“You too, Aurora,” is all I can muster without sounding totally fake.
Just a slore in designer shoes
, I tell myself, secretly wishing she’d trip over her fiercely gorgeous heels.

Aurora tries to tug Dorian’s arm in a different direction but he is completely unmovable. “Later, Aurora. I need to have a word with Gabriella. In private.” His words are gentle yet commanding. Morgan motions to me that she’ll be towards the front, where she’s spotted some friends, and I nod. Aurora can’t hide the sour look on her face, and I swear she’s seething as Dorian ushers me into a back office. It’s simple: white walls, a desk and a black leather swivel chair. He shuts the door behind us and then sits on the edge of the desk.

“So this is your pleasure?” he asks with intense hooded eyes. He licks his lips, causing my blood to heat and pool deep between my legs.

“Well, it’s not really business, now is it?” I smile, hoping to mask my unease. Being alone with Dorian in such a confined space makes me hyperaware of how bad I want him. 

“I suppose not. For me it is, as you can see.” He rolls his eyes and waves his hand at the grandiose party on the other side of the door. “But with you here, dressed like that, all I can think of is pleasure.”

I blush and pretend to ignore his flattery. “I didn’t know you own a salon. I thought you said you were in law?” 

“I’m just an investor. The opportunity fell into my lap and I felt it could be lucrative. A good way to plant some roots here.”

“Is that what you want to do? Plant some roots?” I can’t help the excitement building inside of me.

“Thinking about it,” he says nonchalantly. He switches gears, his eyes becoming pools of Aquamarine, surging into mine. “You look incredible tonight. Your back… the sight of it does something to me.” 

“Does it?” I ask, innocently. I walk slowly towards him, eyeing him seductively. He’s not the only one who can play this game. Just as we are mere inches from each other, I stop, drinking in his aroused, eager expression. 

Dorian strokes my exposed back with the tips of his fingers, sending shockwaves up and down my spine. I gasp from the contact, resisting the urge to beg him for more. He brings his face down to my neck, letting his lips brush my earlobe. “Gabriella, I would love to bend you over this desk right now and pull your dress up past your thighs and over your ass,” he murmurs, sex dripping from his soft lips. 

“That sounds good to me,” I breathe, turning my head a fraction. “What’s stopping you?” Never in my life have I been this bold and eager with a man but Dorian has awakened the sleeping sex giant within me. If my days are numbered, I want to at least die happy.

“Oh, I would do it. But I know Aurora will come looking for me and I don’t want to be disturbed when I… ruin you.”
Ruin me?
It sounds so threatening and violent. I love it.

“Aurora.”
Ugh.
Even the sound of her name irritates me. “You two know each other well.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation.

“Yes,” is all he offers, looking me sternly in the eye. I don’t dare to ask him how well though the question is eating me alive.

“She says you might be the one.” Ok, spilling the beans from our brief girl chat is not my style but Aurora is no friend of mine. I have no loyalty to her.

Dorian shakes his head and chuckles. “That girl and her imagination.” I want to ask him at least how they know each other, but I’m not ready to show him that I actually care. Just ready to jump into his bed.
No big deal.

Dorian extends his hand to me and when I place mine in his grasp, he brings it up to his lips and leaves a lingering kiss on my knuckle. His eyes never leave mine, just like the first night we met. It feels like such a distant memory, considering all the twists my life has taken since then.

“Well, you better get back to your party,” I say, pulling away from his trance. Once again, I don’t want to give him the chance to dismiss me. Even though all I want to do is stay here with him all night. 

“No, I’m going home. They can party all they want to. I’ll get the bill in the morning,” he replies indifferently. 

Dorian escorts me back into the swarm of people, saying his polite farewells as I stand by his side meekly. I feel like I’m intruding so I bid him goodnight, for the second time today, and set off to find Morgan. Before I can put ten feet between us, I hear the familiar sound of Aurora’s soprano voice, greeting him back with enthusiasm. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to turn back around and slap her silly.

“There you are!” Morgan exclaims when she spots me. I try to replace my vexed expression with a friendly grin.

“Here I am,” I respond. 

She’s surrounded by a group of dramatically adorned men with outrageous hair styles. Bright, shimmery colors bathe their eyelids and their lips are perfectly pouty with various hues of lipstick. Ah yes, Morgan loves gay men, and gay men love Morgan. I smile brightly at all of them as they greet me with a chorus of ‘
Oooohs
’ and ‘
Ahhhhs
’ at my daring dress. A couple of them are new stylists at the salon and they are overjoyed at the prospect of Morgan joining their team. Their humor and goodhearted nature instantly perk me up from my Aurora-funk.

“Did you see Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome back there?” one of the men asks. His name is Carlos and he has brightly colored feathers embellishing his fire engine red faux hawk. “
Giiirl
, when I found out he owned this place, I said ‘
Hell yes! Where do I sign?
’ Papi had me wide open. I was ready to work for free just so I can look at that ass!” We all erupt with laughter, and I secretly sympathize with Carlos. Yes, Dorian definitely has that affect.

“But that one little chick can’t keep her damn hands off him. She was here all last week, while we’re trying to set up, chasing after him.
Oooh
, and she’s a mean little bitch too. Don’t let that pretty face fool you,” his friend, Jackson, chimes in. He’s tall and svelte and could easily be a male model with his long platinum blonde locks and tan skin. 

The guys engage in raucous banter about their run-ins with Aurora while Morgan and I listen intently, exchanging the occasional glance and nod. We’re taking it all in, trying to find out what’s really going on with Dorian and Aurora. 

“Well, I say we drink this free champagne, eat this free food and really get this party started!” their other buddy exclaims. His name is Xavier but he would rather people call him X. His hair is a bit more tamed- short, full and chocolate brown- being that he works in the governor’s office. But he makes up for it with vivid colored eye makeup that’s fashioned into a peacock. It looks like a true work of art and I’m in awe.

We all grab glasses of champagne and raise them in celebration. Soon after, the smooth sounds of jazz change to booming bass-lines and drumbeats and the real fun begins. We dance, eat, drink, and laugh until our sides hurt. Still, all I can think about is Dorian and if Aurora is occupying his bed tonight.

It’s nearly midnight and I am tipsy, feeling the fuzzy effects of champagne and Patron. Carlos and his friends know how to have a good time and we all promise to go out to Denver for a real night on the town soon. Morgan ushers me to her Mustang though I’m more than capable of making it there on my own. She’s worried about taking me home in fear that my parents may catch me stumbling in the house so I construct a text, informing them that I’m staying at her house. Her parents are more lenient with their little princess. 

We head North, passing nightclubs and bars, bustling with music and laughter. I roll down the window and let the frigid air sober me up while Jay-Z pumps through the sound system spinning an evocative tale of his past and present, dreams and realities, life and death. I urge the hypnotic drumbeats to carry me to another place devoid of all my trivial qualms about my hopeless love life but my intoxicated mind refuses to abandon the nagging questions. 

“Wait. Take me to the Broadmoor,” I command suddenly. Morgan is looking at me warily, probably thinking that I’ve had way too much to drink. “Seriously, Morg. I need to go to the Broadmoor.”

She gives me a pointed look, pursing her full, glossed lips. “What’s at the Broadmoor?” 

I look at my best friend, conviction in my eyes. “Dorian.” 

Without another word, Morgan makes a U-turn at the next light.

We pull up to the grand resort and simultaneously gasp at its splendor. It’s beyond gorgeous. And with spotlights illuminating the vast estate, it looks more like a modern-day castle than a hotel.

“So do you know what room he’s staying in?” Morgan asks.

“No,” I respond, sheepishly.

“Then how do you expect to get to his room? Hotels like these just don’t give away room information. People pay for discretion, Gabs.” Morgan obviously has had more experience with this stuff than I have.

I look in the back seat and grab the gift bags we received from the salon opening, emptying the swag into our purses. I open a nude lipgloss and give my pout a fresh, glimmering coat. Morgan grabs a comb and begins to work her magic, releasing my ringlets from the hair clip and letting them cascade down my back. She gives me a fresh sweep of blush and hands me her jacket. I shrug it on and after a second glance to ensure I’m presentable, I grab the empty gift bags, my purse and step out of the Mustang.

“Thanks, Morgan. You’re the best,” I smile sweetly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now go get your man.”

I stroll through the entrance and enter the majestic lobby, careful not to look too awestruck at its brilliance. I bound gracefully to the reception desk to be greeted by a young man with freckles and fiery red hair.

“Hello, I am Mrs. Skotos. I’ve just flown here to surprise my husband for his birthday and I can’t seem to remember his room number,” I say confidently, showing him the gift bags.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Skotos. Um, no luggage we can help you with?” He’s clearly testing me.

I eye him suggestively. “Well, it’s not the kind of visit that requires much clothing, dear.”

Freckles’ face turns as red as his hair as he looks down to tap on his computer. “Mr. Skotos is in the Lakeside building, ma’am.” He gives me the room number and begins to spout off directions and I thank him for his assistance. 

I begin the trek to the neighboring building, nervously aware that it is pitch black and deathly quiet out, though the path is sufficiently lit with lamp posts and garden lights. I jump at every creak and pull Morgan’s jacket tightly around me. Suddenly I’m freezing and begin to walk briskly despite my five inch heels to the Lakeside building to safety. A friendly doorman opens the glass doors, welcoming me into the warmth. I thank him before stuffing the empty gift bags into a nearby trashcan then saunter into the elevator.

Ok, this is it. I can’t leave now; I have to know. Either Dorian is up there alone or he’s with Aurora. Or maybe someone else? Oh God, what if he’s sound asleep and is upset that I’ve woken him? What if he isn’t even there and simply lied at the party to escape? He didn’t invite me over so he obviously didn’t want me here. I really didn’t think this through. Damn me and my impulsiveness! Damn that liquid courage! I can’t call Morgan to come back and I don’t have enough cash on me to call a cab.
Shit!

The
Ding!
from the elevator breaks me from my agonized reverie and the doors slide open, indicating that just a few steps and a set of double doors separate me from the truth about Dorian. I walk tentatively towards the doors that signify his suite, holding my breath every step of the way. I exhale noisily as I reach my destination, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen mixed with champagne. Time to face my fears. I will my shaky hand to make a fist and raise it to the door.
Here goes nothing
. I quickly rap three times and take a precautionary step back. Soft footsteps pad towards the door seconds later, and then a rustling sound follows. Maybe a belt buckle?
Oh no, this isn’t good.