"Let's get out of here," I decide aloud, easing her forward. "Terrace. Come on. We could both use some fresh air."
The walk to the terrace is a slow burning ache. We dodge through clusters of half-drunk people, suits and gowns and waiting staff alike. When the swing band bursts into an attention-seeking drum breakdown, we both wince in tandem. I find myself glaring at the men who stare through her dress, when I would normally proffer a smug smile; a part of me is angry that Montgomery and Finn were ignoring her—it reflects badly on my taste if she is discarded by others so easily.
Not that I could bring myself to discard her. Obsession alone is dangerous; obsession and desire? Give up and give in. Just for a moment, grasshoppers, ride that blissful wave.
When a waitress passes with a laden tray, I swipe two bottles of German beer. The huge terrace doors are swept open by two butlers, and we stride out of the hot bubble into cool, inky night. Beyond the melee of sweating, shouting ball guests, there's a quiet ledge off the staff entrance down several flights of stairs, and I steer us through the crowd toward it.
Leo shivers in the night air. Through the thin mesh of her sleeves, I feel her arm tense; she doesn't ask where we're going, but the thought strokes her nerves. Below us stretches the bruised New York City skyline, effervescent in shades of purple and deep blue. Tea lights shimmer in the wake of our footsteps. The beers grow warm in the grip of my free hand.
The ledge is off the side of a fire escape, affording us the same breath-taking view with a great deal more privacy. It's not large—barely six feet wide—but potted bay trees and a string of flickering fairy lights make it feel cosy. Romantic, even.
Jesus fuck. Pretend I didn't say that.
Leontine takes a beer from my hand and leans over the railing. The wind picks at her loosening hair, teasing black feathers and streaks of honey against the smooth nape of her neck. My eyes are drawn there, and then so am I, standing just an inch or so behind her, staring down. She's shorter than me by a good six inches; more, if she takes off her heels. I know she can feel my breath on her shoulder, yet she doesn't pull away.
We stand quietly for a moment, drinking in the pale wash of the moon. Every now and then, her hips sway slightly, and I'm tossed back to thoughts of the lingerie she probably isn't wearing. Her buttocks are high and full in this dress, and her waist dips above as if begging me to stroke the curve. I could drag so many things along the line of that heart shaped ass: my tongue. My cock. Or something sharper, something that would turn those soft breaths of hers into a burgeoning yelp.
"You were going to explain something to me," she says, still staring ahead at the sleepy city. "About your girlfriend."
Ah. She knows exactly why I brought her here, or thinks she does; now she wants assurance that I'm not a sleaze.
Oh, Leo. Of all the things you could doubt me for.
"She's not my girlfriend." I sound gruffer than I intend to, for which I blame the cold air and lukewarm beer. "It's complicated."
"So you're sleeping with her."
"You really don't waste any time, do you?" I'm baiting her, revelling in it. She's ridiculous fun to tease because she cares about my answers. Gives weight to my words.
Leontine puts her bottle to the metal floor and then turns slowly. Perhaps she hadn't realised quite how close I am; her eyes widen as I stare down at her, and she brings her arms to cross in defence. They push her breasts up in an invitation she can't possibly have intended, but one I enjoy all the same. I'm reminded of our first meeting, when she appeared to need more than a desk to hide behind.
"I'm not stupid." Her voice wavers in warning.
"I know, sweetheart. You've got your smarty pants degree to prove it."
She tips her chin, defiant. "I've got a lot of things."
"Oh, come on. That's too easy." I gesture to her breasts with a single finger. "Yes, you have a lot of things. I've noticed."
"Am I complicated, too?"
"I'm not sleeping with Tuija." I lean in a touch closer, close enough to place one hand on the railing behind her. "She's my assistant. I've known her a long time. People gossip."
"And do you want people to gossip about the two of us, as well?" She studies me acutely, as if she might hope to catch me out. "Because it sure as hell felt like it back on that red carpet."
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Leo."
She gives a short, sharp laugh. "Leo now, is it?"
"Isn't it?"
"You gave the impression that I'd already signed your contract. And I haven't. I don't even know if I will."
"Can't hurt to push your stock up a little." I cock my head, let my grin seep in. "Get people talking. Don't tell me you won't have a bunch of new interest by the time Monday rolls around."
"You think I'll sign if you seduce me."
"What I think," I say, "is that I brought you here to get away from those chauvinist sleazeballs."
"But you sent me an outfit with no underwear," she retorts.