Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2) Read online

  With the kiss coming to an end, he lets me go and walks toward the door. Lawrence turns to look at me one last time. He looks composed and so fucking aloof. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He pauses. “You look beautiful in that dress.”

  “You like it?” I smile sweetly at him, feeling so cheap. “But I guess you should. It’s something else your money bought.” When he walks out of the room, I reach for the lipstick and finish applying the rouge on my lips.

  Don’t feel.

  What did you expect? He’s just another man.

  The masquerade party is at the home of Alan Vanderhall, a family friend of Lawrence’s. Located in Greenwich, the majestic estate is something you only see in movies. The house manages to leave me open-mouthed, even though it is smaller than Lawrence’s mansion on Long Island. Where the hell are all these rich people coming from?

  The road is illuminated with Japanese paper lanterns and the trees are wrapped in twinkling lights. It’s a beautiful sight to behold.

  By the time we make it inside the house, I think that I must be dreaming a bright, colorful, and rich dream. As Lawrence removes my coat and hands it to the butler, I glance around the main hall, my eyes landing on crystal chandeliers shining like small constellations of stars, hundreds, no, thousands of flowers overflowing every nook and corner in the house, and an ocean of people hidden behind masks. There’s some sort of magic flowing through the halls of the house that makes my heart beat with excitement.

  Lawrence is wearing a full mask depicting a Chinese Dragon. It’s a work of art with its colorful and intricate design. It puts my half mask of a black swan to shame, but then again, I doubt the existence of a man or woman who could obscure Lawrence’s magnificence.

  The crowd seems to stop talking as they turn toward the entrance to take a better look at us. I can barely hear the orchestra playing its music above the mad beating of my heart. I half expect him to walk away from me like Walker did at the Met when he places his hand on my lower back, firmly and possessively.

  Looking up in surprise, I find Lawrence already staring at me with those deep green, inscrutable eyes of his. “Come,” he orders. But when I hesitate, he adds more gently, “You don’t have anything to be afraid of. You’re with me. I won’t let you go.”

  “I’m not scared,” I lie, lifting my chin. I can tell that he doesn’t believe me, and I hate the fact that he can see through my lies so easily.

  His hand curves around my hip. “Come on, then. Show them what you’re made of.”

  We stare at each other for a moment that seems to last an eternity. Giving in to his entreaty, I begin to walk with confidence. Regardless of his feelings toward me and what happened back at the townhouse, I’m sure of one thing: Lawrence means what he said. He won’t let me go, and the thought makes me feel safe.

  He introduces me to his lawyer, Ben Stanwood, a man with the loveliest honey-colored eyes I’ve ever seen and who’s wearing a half mask depicting a panther. After we exchange some pleasantries, I excuse myself and go in search of a restroom.

  On my way back, I see that Lawrence is occupied with a group of people. Giving him space, I go to the ballroom to watch couples dance to the music of the orchestra. There’s a pillar to the side, hidden behind some high-top cocktail tables covered in white linen, offering the perfect view of the dance floor. I walk toward it and recline my back and head on the marble stone. I’m lost in thought, watching a man and a woman dance to a slow song when someone comes to stand next to me. I feel his warmth before I hear his voice, and my treacherous pulse accelerates. He reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers tightly together. In this manner, we stand together in comfortable silence, enjoying the music. When the song comes to an end, there’s a full, pregnant pause before he speaks.

  “Dance with me?” he asks huskily. His question reminds me of another time when he uttered those same words, not so long ago. The memory makes my pulse spike.

  I turn to face him, unable to refuse him. Lawrence removes our masks and leaves them on a nearby table. “This is better.” He caresses my cheek so tenderly it makes my heart ache. “I can see you now.”

  He guides us to the middle of the dance floor, the crowd opening for us. My heart won’t stop drumming in my chest. He places my trembling left hand on his shoulder, clasps my right one in his left, and brings his free hand to circle my waist tightly, closing the gap between us. This close, I can feel the heat of his body against mine, smell the champagne on his breath, see the way his eyes devour my face, the ice slowly melting and making them shine warmly once again.

  When the orchestra starts to play the next piece, we begin to move and I’m lost to everything and every thought. It’s magical and lovely. We’re back in Coney Island. On the beach. In my bedroom. The week without him and what’s been happening between us since he came back becomes an ugly nightmare.

  Closing my eyes momentarily, I drift across the room in the arms of a man who’s holding me as though I am something precious and worthy. It’s a heady sensation. Opening my eyes, I find him looking at me. I feel like the most beautiful woman in the room, in the world. It’s him I see. It’s his hands, his body I feel. It’s his smell that swirls in my head, inebriating my senses so full of him. This isn’t the stranger from early in the evening. This is my Lawrence, the man who held me in his arms while I cried—my friend.

  He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my forehead, so different from before, so full of something that I’m afraid to understand. “I’m sorry.”

  The way he’s looking at me as his voice carries unsaid words spreads warmth in my chest, butterflies wildly ricocheting in my stomach. Maybe I’m a fool for believing him, but at this moment, I truly believe that he means it. Burying my face in his chest, I say, “I’m sorry, too.”

  He stops dancing. “Look at me, Blaire.”

  I lift my face as he cups my cheeks with both of his hands. Mesmerized by him, I raise my own and place them on top of his, asking softly, “What’s changed, Lawrence?”

  “There’s no use. I’ve tried in vain to stifle my lo—” He pauses, his touch turning more possessive, more intense, more everything. “Don’t you see—can’t you see?” he entreats, deep passion vibrating in his voice.

  Stunned, I shake my head. Lawrence smiles an achingly tender smile that makes me want to weep with its beauty. “I’m jealous of every man who looks at you. I’m jealous of every man who’s touched you before me. I want you to be mine and only mine.”

  He leans down and presses his lips against mine, and in that one magical and thrilling kiss, Lawrence makes all the incessant noise inside me go away. My mind tells me that this is just another kiss of a man who doesn’t have a heart, but my own tells me to listen to his silence, to feel and understand what his body is trying to say—but it cannot be …

  He pulls away. “My darling love,” he says hoarsely, “everything has changed.”

  In a daze, as though I am dreaming and the whole thing is happening to someone else, I manage to say, “Lawrence … I—”

  I stop when out of the corner of my eye I see a man removing his mask. Normally, I wouldn’t give him a second thought, but something about his air strikes me as familiar. Turning in his direction to get a better look, I see him talking to a blonde woman. After a moment that lasts forever, he smiles rakishly at her, lowers his face to the woman’s neck and kisses her there. My heart stops beating at the sight of him and I feel as though I’m going to be sick—jealousy and hurt punching me in the stomach.

  As his lips land on her pale skin, Ronan raises his gaze and looks directly into my eyes.

  “IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? You look very pale.”

  “No, I’m okay. Don’t worry … I just … excuse me.” I let go of Lawrence and leave him standing on the dance floor as I rush out of the ballroom. I run past angry guests and waiters trying not to drop trays full of champagne and other delicacies. I run and don’t stop until I’m outside the house and in the back garden away fro
m Ronan, Lawrence, and the pain I’m drowning in.

  Images of Ronan and that woman, his lips on her skin, kissing her intimately and knowingly, assault my mind. Dizzying jealousy hooks its sharp claws in my chest, making it close to impossible to see straight. I tell myself that I have no right to feel this way, that I chose to let him go, that it shouldn’t matter to me that he’s with her, but it doesn’t work. My brain tells me to forget him yet my heart, my stupid, treacherous heart won’t set me free of him.

  Once I’m able to catch my breath, I slow down my pace and continue to walk for a couple of minutes, focusing on my surroundings. My high heels sink into the soft ground, the sound of the crunching grass the only indication of my existence out here. After a rainy afternoon, the air carries a lingering earthy scent mixed with that of autumn.

  I stop when I reach a fountain concealed by a rose arbor, where the only light you can see is that of the silver moon. The music, a distant echo, tenderly strokes my senses like the autumn breeze strokes my skin. A gust of wind blows past me, making the leaves of the trees dance in the night, awakening me from my trance. I lift my face and stare at the sky, hoping the peace of my surroundings will quiet all the noise within me.

  But it’s pointless.

  Weary, I cross my arms on my stomach and let my guard down for the first time since I saw Ronan. I’m bone tired and all I want to do is crawl up in a ball and cry.

  I laugh bitterly. As much as I try to outrun that man, he won’t let me.

  I sigh and decide it’s time to get back to the party. The urge to walk straight into Lawrence’s arms seeking safety and affection takes over me. Guilt corrodes me, but all I can think of is being close to him, of being comforted by him and his spellbinding kisses.

  I’m straightening my dress when I hear someone’s footsteps. Thinking that it’s Lawrence who followed me, I paste a fake smile on my face and turn around. “Sorry about before. I didn’t mean to run out like that … I just—”

  “Hello, Blaire,” a man says, leaving me hot and cold all at once.

  I try to swallow but it feels as though my mouth is stuffed with cotton. “What are you doing here?”

  My night companion steps into the moonlight, allowing me to see his achingly beautiful features. He looks like a different man dressed in a very expensive tuxedo. Unreachable. His brown hair slicked back and perfectly shaven, he could pass as a stranger. And as he walks toward me, I notice that he seems more confident, too.

  “Enjoying your world, Blaire,” he says, smiling. I note that even his smile lacks the warmth that used to make my stomach flutter.

  “Really? And how do you like it?”

  He shrugs. “It’s all right.”

  I know I should leave it alone, but I can’t help myself. I must know. “I didn’t know you were into older women.” My eyes, starving for a sight of him, travel the length of his body. I see the expensive watch he’s wearing, one that he couldn’t have afforded on his own. “Are you fucking her for money?”

  He smiles cockily. “Like I said, I’m enjoying your world and everything it entails.”

  I laugh, trying to hide how much he’s hurting me. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Ronan grabs a packet of Marlboros from the inside of his black coat, ostensibly undisturbed by my gibe. He takes out a cigarette, places it in between his lips, letting it hang loosely, and lights it up. After taking a long drag, he tips his head back and blows the smoke in the air. As I watch him do that, I suddenly realize that it isn’t just his looks that have changed. He has changed. There’s a reckless and confident air about him that wasn’t there before. Something about him screams that he doesn’t give a fuck what you think about him, all the while looking like pure sex.

  “Don’t you know smoking can kill you?” I reach for his cigarette, grab it, and bring it to my mouth, taking a drag. “I didn’t know you smoked,” I say and hand it back to him as I blow out the smoke.

  His eyes meet mine as our fingers brush, the contact making me shiver. “There are worse ways to die.”

  Ronan takes me by surprise when he reaches for my necklace and caresses it, chuckling sarcastically. “Nice, Blaire.”

  I slap his hand away forcefully. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Funny. I seem to remember a time when you used to beg me to do exactly just that.”

  “Did I? I have no recollection of it,” I reply dismissively. Looking away from the hell burning in his eyes, I stare at the night. Wrapping my arms around me, I try to stop myself from reaching for him and touching him again, confessing to him that I do remember everything.

  “Do you ever think about me? About us?” I hear him ask.

  Every day and every night. You haunt me in my dreams and in every waking hour that I am without you. “No. What’s there to think about?”

  Ronan stands next to me, closing the space between us. Raising a hand, he rubs my lower lip with his thumb. The moment he touches me, I fight the instinct to close my eyes and get lost in his touch.

  “What is it about you that drives me so fucking insane?” As his brown gaze holds me captive, his touch turns painful. “That won’t set me free of you? Even when I’m fucking her and my cock is buried deep inside her cunt, you still manage to poison my thoughts.”

  “You’re a pig,” I say, pushing his hand away.

  I don’t want to be alone with him for another second, so I turn and begin to walk away. Before I take more than a few steps, Ronan grabs my left arm and twists it behind me as he pulls me flush against him, making me gasp. I struggle to break free but it’s no use. I’m at his mercy, and he knows it. I’m butter in his hands.

  Breathing hard, Ronan cups my tits. His touch is rough and meant to punish us both. “Does he fuck you as good as I did?”

  His hand snakes down, touching me there, burying his fingers between my legs, past the resistance of my dress. “Does he eat your pussy as good as I did?”

  “Stop it, Ronan,” I beg, breathless and aching with passion and pain.

  “I loved you, you know? But now I see you and I know that I wasted my time.”

  Battered by his words, I use the only defense that I have left—my body. Rubbing myself against him, I lower my free hand and rub his erection. “Then why is your cock so hard?” I purr.

  He lets my arm go, putting some space between us. He seems cool and in control of the situation, but I know that deep down he’s not as unaffected as he appears to be. “Because there’s no denying you’re a good fuck. Maybe that’s all you were.”

  I slap him as hard as I can, leaving a red mark on his skin. He touches his right cheek and smiles. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Blaire?”

  I’m trembling from head to toe. “Go to hell, Ronan.”

  I begin to walk away when he grabs me by the arm and pulls me close to him again. “What? I don’t get a good-bye kiss?” he hisses angrily in my ear, his warm breath sending chills down my spine.

  My heart is beating so fast, it feels as though it’s going to explode. This close to him, reality replaces my memories. His touch is once again real and it sears through me, making ashes of me. His familiar smell of man and Ronan fills my nostrils, inebriating my senses. He’s here, in front of me, but he has never been more out of my reach. For a moment, I think to myself, This is what living in hell must feel like.

  “What the—” I try to break free from his hold. “Let me go, Ronan.”

  “No.” He tightens his grip. “Did you ever love me, Blaire? Or was I just another fucking game to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re over, and I’m with Lawrence.”

  “Lies. Lies. Lies. Is that all you can come up with?”

  I tug harder. “Fuck off.”

  He smiles cockily. “Gladly, but only after I do this.”

  Ronan lets go of me, buries his hands in my hair, his fingers cradling the back of my skull, and pulls me toward him until our mouths clash aggressively. My body immediately reacts to him, to his touch, to his
tongue, as a sense of having lost something and finding it again washes through me.

  Yet it’s a kiss full of hate and yearning.

  It’s fire on my lips, burning them, burning me to the ground.

  It’s a beautiful war.

  And it feels like coming home.

  Stunned and under his spell, I melt in the haven of his arms and let emotion override logic. Our tongues tangle in a passionate battle that demands total surrender from both of us, and for a short moment I give in, drugged by his taste, his essence, by him. I push myself closer to him as though I am trying to fuse our bodies into one, feeling a surrendering shudder rake through me, or is it him? And what a glorious torture it is. But then reality comes crashing down on me and I realize what I’m doing. What I’m allowing to happen. I move my arms between us, gather all my strength, and push him away from me, ending the kiss abruptly.

  My chest rises and falls at rapid speed. I stare at a cool Ronan, who seems untouched by the kiss while I struggle to remain upright.

  “You feel that, Blaire? That’s the fucking truth. But keep lying to yourself, I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

  I rub my lips with the back of my hand, trying to soothe the sting of his kiss, or maybe, I’m trying to rub it in deeper until it’s engraved on my skin. In a moment of weakness, I crack. “You were supposed to be out of my life. You weren’t supposed to be back messing everything up.”

  “But I am.” He moves my hand away and rubs my lower lip. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing. I’m with Lawrence now.”

  At the mention of Lawrence, his expression darkens with hate. “I could’ve given you the world, Blaire. I fucking loved you.”

  Tears sting my eyes, pain settling deep within my chest. “No, you couldn’t have. But Lawrence can.”