He raises his chin, interested despite himself.
“Listen to what I say,” he tells me. “Stay away from my brother, everything he touches turns to shit, and you don’t want him to drag you down with him.”
That eloquent statement could describe either of the Bancroft sons, but is really more appropriate to Adrian. Cruise just took the fall for him.
The song changes. Adrian heads across the lobby to chat up a woman who looks old enough to be his mother—presumably taking my advice and looking for someone with extra cash.
The ballroom seems to be getting more crowded, and the dance floor is a mass of bodies. I’m about to step out for some fresh air, when I freeze. I see a form crossing the floor, heading straight for me.
He is wearing a tux, and a very nice one. The way he wears it indicates how gorgeously proportioned he is with his wide shoulders.
He’s gotten a hair cut. At some point he must have snuck off to get his hair trimmed, and to pick up the tux.
“May I claim this dance, Miss Bennett?” he asks.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. “Your father is going to go through the roof.”
“That’s true, but he can’t do it in front of this crowd, so if you’d like to dance, please join me.”
There is nothing in the world I want more, and despite my employers disapproval, I’ve been standing here dreaming of dancing with him. But I have to say no.
I shake my head. “You know I can’t.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.” Cruise wraps me in strong arms and pulls me to the dance floor. The dancers aren’t all that proficient, so Cruise and I are mostly in a corner, pressed together, swaying to the music.
“What are you doing here?” I ask a second time.
“I thought about what you said. It’s good for me to be seen. Everyone has been talking about me for years, but it’s better for me to make an appearance, to be totally normal. It will silence a lot of rumors, make Dad see that he doesn’t have to hide me away.”
I did say all of that, but it was before Richard Bancroft was insanely vocal about keeping his younger son away from the celebration. I have a bad feeling that everything is getting ready to fall apart. That Cruise, in his self destructive way, is going to destroy all I’ve worked for, and revel in it.
The premonition doesn’t keep me from admiring Cruise. With his hair trimmed and the tux he’s wearing, he could be any multi-millionaire in the room, except he’s far more handsome than any of them.
I look up into his eyes. They crinkle at the edges as he smiles down at me. Since I’m wearing heels, I could kiss him without much effort. This isn’t the time or the place, but I ache to pull even closer to him.
His arms are around me. I’m not even aware of the music, just of the feeling of his body against mine.
“Easy, Maya, we’re in public.” He’s laughing, but my need for him is nothing to laugh about. It’s all I can think about “I want you too,” he whispers in my ear, and I nearly melt in a puddle on the newly polished dance floor. “Damn.” He glances over my shoulder, and his brows lower. “Dad is approaching.”
My stomach drops.
Richard stops, a few feet away, forcing us to break apart and acknowledge him.
“Miss Bennett is needed in the kitchen, and I you—” he gives his son the coldest stare imaginable, “need to leave.”
“Look, Dad, I know you don’t want me—”
My heart beaks for Cruise. I’ve never heard him refer to Richard as Dad, and his need for approval is an open wound.
“I do want you,” Richard says. “I want you contained and hidden, not out among the guests. All anyone can talk about is my felon son in his rented tuxedo. Don’t make anymore of a scene that you’ve already caused. Now saunter over to the door and disappear.”
The expression on Cruise’s face says that he’s interpreting his father’s words as more than just at the party. Richard wants him to disappear. He’s an embarrassment to the family.
“You will not mess this up for me,” Richard Bancroft continues.
An hour ago, I would have said Richard Bancroft was a kind man. But where his younger son is concerned, his heart seems frozen.
Mine is not, and I long to reach out to Cruise, to wipe the pain from his eyes. He stays frozen in place, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“The kitchen, Miss Bennett,” Richard reminds me. “They have questions about the cake you ordered.”
So he isn’t sending me away on an invented diversion, just an inconvenient one.
My heels click against the tiles as I hurry to the kitchen, merely to answer a question about the placement of the cake.