4. Keats

4

KEATS

T he jazz music sets the mood. As much as I hate the idea of a party that entails dressing in character, I have to give Hailey credit. There is a long center table with high candlesticks and even gold glitter surrounding the place settings, complete with name cards.

"Nice touch with the tucked handkerchief," Oliver mentions as we stand in the corner with drinks in hand, watching guests arrive.

I smirk mid sip, and I must admit that I put in effort. The tux tonight will help fit the part, I guess. "Well, I am Mr. Kit Parker, the party's favorite gangster."

Oliver chuckles. "I heard there's been a murder, and it's a good thing that the detective is here." He tips his hat to me since that's his character.

I hit him with a wry smile. "Does that involve investigating the host?"

He likes that comment. "So be it if Hailey needs a thorough search that might involve no clo—" Oliver stops mid-sentence when he looks over my shoulder and an overdone smile appears. "Liam, my man." Ah, Oliver needs to cover the fact that he has dishonorable intentions for his friend's little sister.

"Hey, guys." Liam arrives and clinks our glasses with his. He's part of our friendship group, working in marketing for the team, but he spends most of his free time with his girlfriend, Ava. "My sister really took this a step too far, but you've got to love it." He grins. "She knows how much Ava loves this stuff. It will be perfect for later."

"Nervous for the big question?" Oliver asks.

Liam beams a smile. "I'm totally ready. The ring's already in my pocket."

I'm happy for him, and he's calm too which is a positive. "Who are you tonight?" I ask.

"Mr. Feathers, a businessman with mafia ties, and Ava is Mrs. Feathers."

We only take brief notice to the new group of people arriving. "What's your character?" he wonders.

Oliver sputters a laugh. "No need to inquire about Mr. Kit Parker; apparently the talk of the town is about his mistress." He clicks his fingers. "Who is playing that role again?" What an ass, which is why I roll my eyes. "Ah yes, none other than Esme. Your favorite human on earth."

The guys let out a deep hearty chuckle. "You know we were all hoping for that. Makes it all the more fun," Liam adds.

"Wonderful. Inflicting misery on me." I'm not enthused, but that's a lie I keep telling myself. And it's only confirmed when I do a double take at the woman entering the dining room.

A short, black sequined flapper dress, long string of pearls, and a feather on her head. Ah, fuck it, the neckline is plunging. I nearly fall back because Esme is both tantalizing and naturally beautiful. Her red lips deserve to be touched with admiration then destroyed by my dick, too.

But it's all the more reason I only let my body tighten for a second before I adjust my shoulders and grimace. Abandoning the guys, I vaguely hear them mumbling. Instead, I catch Esme's eyes in my approach to her, and I can't help but notice that she's eyeing me up and down, with her lashes fluttering in what I would assume is approval.

"Is this what my mistress looks like?" I greet her.

She puffs out a breath and grabs a champagne glass from a passing tray. "Yes. Forgive me if I didn't consult you on my costume choice. Avoiding you the past two weeks felt like the better option." Esme arrived with sass tonight.

"You know, we're in luck. According to the assigned seating, we are sitting at opposite sides of the table."

Her hand finds her heart. "Oh golly, what will I do?"

Stepping closer to her, she doesn't seem to mind. "Behave. I could be the murderer and keen on adding you to my list of victims."

Her brows rise at me. "Don't worry, you murder my soul every time we speak." She seems proud of her little quip.

My tongue darts to the corner of my mouth, and my eyes drift down. I can't help sneaking a small glimpse of her cleavage. But never mind. "Listen, doll, we both know that Liam is popping the question tonight, so shall we be on our best behavior?"

Esme studies me for a second before she juts her chin out. "Fine."

Testing her limits, I reach out to touch her hairband with a feather around her head, but she is quick to swat me away with her gloved hand. "Someone's cranky tonight."

"Cut the crap, Keats. I have no problem throwing this champagne on you if need be and ending this temporary truce."

I cluck my tongue once before I take a drink. "Nah, the only one wet here is you."

Her entire face flames in one second flat before she pouts. "Bees geez, aren't you something despicable tonight." She throws on the theatrics. I'll give her points for staying in character.

"Shall we both just find our seats at the opposite sides of the table?" I suggest.

"Let's." She pivots in one sharp move and shimmies away, and despite the dim lighting of the room, the outline of her toned legs is clear. Esme really should have thought about adding an inch or two to the hemline. Must everyone nearly see her thighs? One person's stupidity is another person's gain, right?

Everyone takes a few minutes to get settled in their seats. More champagne flows and appetizers are brought. General chitchat is fine, the few times I catch Esme sending me daggers is good, and Hailey hitting her glass with the side of a fork is better. We need to get this show on the road.

"Hello, everyone. This will be such a great night. We will be following our scripts that everyone will be given when we have our main course. But first…" Oh dear god, she has jazz hands. "We will be given some clues, and it will send us on a little scavenger hunt through the manor." She pulls up a letter that looks like it was written on a typewriter. The lady is really into the little details. "It seems our detective" —–she points to Oliver and hands him the note— "comes bearing news that he shall read out."

Oliver gently shakes his head, completely entertained, but since he is a good sport, he's ready to go all in. "It seems that nobody may leave this residence until we find our guilty party. This morning the maid found Mrs. Parker dead in the garden, clearly murdered. Everyone here is a suspect and must find evidence of their innocence. Mr. Porter, the butler, and the head of staff, Ms. Dingle, must search for possible weapons. Mr. Parker would be a prime suspect except it is believed he was with his mistress, Lola Jazz. Therefore, they too will need to search for something that will prove they are innocent."

Esme's eyes blaze open, and internally I'm not surprised by this change to the night's plans.

We're now stuck together.

"Is this for real? Where can we look to speed this up?" Esme trudges along behind me down the hallway.

I stop to turn my attention to her. "Everyone at the table, all twenty of us, have been sent on a scavenger hunt. Just so happens they all get their thrills out of forcing us on this little adventure." An adventure it is, as much as her tits perk up to test me, an hour of listening to her whine isn't ideal either.

"Then let's find a bedroom or something."

My eyes pop out from her bold statement. "Wow, eager. Getting right to business. Really get into character."

She seems to scold herself, and her nose wrinkles. "To find fucking clues. That's what I meant. They're probably in one of the bedrooms or maybe the study."

Between my two fingers I hold up the only clue we've been given that's written on a small card.

Forgotten spaces.

Esme throws her arms up in the air. "What the hell could that mean? Come on, let's go to the study."

She's already strolling past me before I even get a chance to answer. "My sister will lose it when I tell her about this night. Or rather her boyfriend will."

"I've seen them come over once or twice. I assume you're close," she observes.

"We are."

Esme opens the door to the study filled with dark wood and a leather sofa. "That's nice. I guess you have a piece of heart to spare for some people."

"Silly me for thinking you wanted to have a normal conversation."

She stops, and we face one another. "I'm sorry, okay? This just feels like a little much, you know? Like do we really need an hour to wander the manor before dinner is served promptly at eight with a butler?" It takes a few seconds, but then she realizes that maybe over the top can kind of be fun and a stretched line crosses along her face.

"What's that I see? Is… is that a smile?" I pretend shock.

"Har, har. Now come on, let's search."

Esme instantly heads across the room to fumble with the locked drawers of the grand oak desk, and I peruse the shelf of books, fondly reading the spines. "Quite a collection of law books here."

"That's the thing you notice?"

My eyes swing to her, and I notice the way her fingers softly trail along the smoothness of the desk. "Am I supposed to be noticing something else?"

Her head whips up in my direction with doe eyes; maybe she translates it to something underlying, and judging by the tug on her lips, she seems to enjoy that. "Uh… so law and your sister. The soft attributes of Keats."

I mosey to the desk and land myself on the opposite side then tower over her with my palms planted on the wood. " Don't worry. I'm anything but soft in other areas," I hiss playfully.

Esme takes a deep breath. "I… will not be imagining that."

Liar.

"How are you so familiar with this place?"

A coy smile breaks out on her face. "I once had a photoshoot here."

"Didn't think this was the place for those kinds of photos."

She lifts her shoulders. "Yeah, well, you can rent out the spaces here. And if you are wondering, it was there." Her finger wiggles, pointing behind me. "Where a woman laid down in nothing but lingerie," she husks.

My lips press together, and I nod slowly. Our eyes strike for a second in a dare. I'm too confident, and I'm the first to move my way to the couch and ceremonially sit down. Esme follows and flops down next to me.

"I don't intend to search this whole building, so let's just go back empty-handed. I doubt anyone would be surprised."

"Agreed," she replies.

"Ooh, look at us agreeing."

She tries to hide her grin but fails. "Champagne does silly things."

Resting my elbow on the back of the smooth maroon leather sofa, I get comfortable. Doesn't seem as though we will be leaving anytime soon, especially when she brings her knees to rest on the cushion, with clearly no plans to scoot away.

I gulp and send a quick memo to my dick to keep it down because Esme is wearing fucking stockings with a garter belt. I know because I get a dangerous glimpse of her upper thigh. " I'm a gentleman, therefore I shall point out that I can see a hell of a lot of your leg." Yet not enough.

Esme appears unfazed and completely satisfied that she's taunting me. "You shouldn't be concerned, since you want to throttle me."

"Fair." Except not adjusting her leg is playing against the rules.

She taps the armrest with the pads of her fingers, maybe trying to come up with a topic to discuss.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Her grin is sinful. "I'm just remembering how on the very place you're sitting a woman once splayed out her body wearing next to nothing, which I'm sure thrills you."

I ignore her attempts to goad me. "Why did you get into photography?"

Her fingers now play with her long costume pearls. "Easy. There is something heartwarming watching a couple getting engaged and in the bliss of wedding preparation, and boudoir is a celebration of confidence and self-love."

My jaw flexes side to side. "No sarcasm from my end. Those are actually good reasons, honest, too."

"And you? Why law?"

"Easy. I enjoy the fine print of legal proceedings, pushing back when needed, the thrill of closing a deal. Why sports? I grew up in Lake Spark, the Spinners are our pride. Nah, I played hockey in high school, varsity, too."

She snorts a laugh. "For some reason that doesn't surprise me. Were you valedictorian, too?"

I shake my head ruefully. "Actually, no. High school hockey isn't that popular in Illinois unless you go to a private prep school, and that was Lake Spark Academy. The hockey team kind of got away with a lot, including letting grades slip. My studious days were later in college. "

"Keats was once a jock. I do like hockey, I admit. Sometimes I even watch it. Growing up in Minnesota, it's a popular sport. You can never go wrong watching hot guys on the ice, either… unless it's you."

A laugh escapes me. "Ah, so is watching hockey like an ‘every once in a while, go to a game' kind of thing or ‘watch the highlights in the morning from last night's games' kind of thing?"

"Depends on my mood."

"Okay. Your family? I never see them visit."

Maybe a hint of sadness appears. "My parents now live abroad for my dad's work, and my brother is one of those tech people who live in the Silicon Valley bubble. As you know this house was a gift from my great-aunt who didn't have kids, and she chose me. I visited her often, and she always had a warm heart. But family? Yes, on one hand, I know everyone is just a flight away, but on the other, living in my own world is peaceful with no expectations. Just a shame about the neighbors." Esme leans over to nudge my knee. She's being playful, and I'm here for it.

"Sounds like we both are perfectly accepting of life, though."

She shrugs. "I mean, I can't complain. My job is fun, I have friends, like my house, it's not like I'm missing se?—"

Ooh, this is too good to pass up.

"Cat got your tongue, doll?"

Her face turns crimson. "Nope." She remains defiant.

Our eyes hold, a hint of ease and an undertone of a smile gracing our lips.

"You're annoying," she reminds me.

Her light facial features don't fade.

She shifts in her seat and a hand sneaks up her opposite leg, but when she leans slightly, she blocks my view as she does something to her dress. Sitting back up, she holds up a flask.

I'm taken aback, surprised yet completely on board with her costume props. "You've been holding out on me. What else are you hiding?"

She pops the top of the silver flask and takes a gulp before she offers it to me. "Age of prohibition and all. I needed to come prepared. Besides, you never know when you'll need a little liquid boost."

I don't hesitate, and I take a swig with no clue what the contents are but relieved when I taste the sting of whiskey.

"You're really unpredictable, huh?" I'm beginning to wonder.

She snatches the flask back. "And you are a little less uptight when you're in costume as a gangster. How does it feel to be on the other side of the law?"

The corners of my mouth twist. "There is nothing wrong with being career driven and damn good at your job."

She snickers. "See? You need to check your work-life balance. I've heard that line way too many times since I've moved to Everhope Road. It's kind of depressing."

I watch her take one more sip before she twists the cap closed and takes zero notice of me as she tucks the item back up under her dress. So be it, I try to peer over her arm for a glimpse.

"A truce, remember?" I remind her.

She grins over her shoulder at me. "Just stating facts. It's not a jab."

"Fine. You shouldn't flash your leg, it isn't proper." I kind of just said that to cause her to give me side-eye. It's fun.

"You've seen more. I'm supposed to be your mistress, remember?" she counters with her brows raised .

Just then the door bursts open with a giggly woman clinging to a man.

"Oh shit, sorry." Hailey stumbles back out, and my head tips to see that Oliver is draped around her.

The door shuts, and Esme looks at me with mutual interest. "They are totally tipsy," she comments.

I interject, "Or intent on destroying this couch for other activities."

We both laugh because we're on the same page for that.

A warm silence forms around us, except this time it's calming.

"Should we actually search for this clue?" she suggests almost reluctantly.

I blow out a breath. "Probably. What in the world is a forgotten place that isn't a sexual reference? Is there a hidden closet or something?"

Her finger pops up. "A hidden bookcase?"

We both make our way to examine the books, even pull out a few, but nothing. I scratch my jaw, no longer in the mood for the game.

"Isn't the whole point of being a lawyer searching for clues and solving them? Discovery or something like that?"

I look at her, impressed. "Wow, someone is throwing out legal terms."

She flashes her eyes at me. "I'm full of surprises."

My eyes narrow as I watch her read the spines of the books. Her fingers crawl along the titles, and her half smile floats. She's an image of Alice in Wonderland with more skin showing.

"Got it." She snaps her fingers, breaking me from her spell. Before I can process, she rushes back to the sofa and her hand dives between the cushions. "Voila. Everyone forgets about the cracks in the sofa." Esme pulls up a white handkerchief with a lipstick stain and a small notecard.

This is your clue to bring back to dinner. Evidence left behind from your morning endeavors.

"Really?" My voice squeaks. "Kit Parker and Lola Jazz decided to use the study? Classy." A suave grin hits me.

"Ugh, now we can move on. I'm hungry," Esme whines.

I reach for the handkerchief, but she keeps her grip tight. "What? I'll put it in my inner pocket with my cigars."

"Cigars? You really went all in for this."

"Really? I'm not the one carrying around a flask between her thighs."

Her face remains steady. "I can hold the evidence just fine."

"Just give it to me." I manage to clasp the end of the cloth.

But she yanks it away. "No." She wins, and she's already tucking it near her tits under a strap.

"Aren't we a little jezebel tonight."

"I am, because I might not have mentioned yet that by accident, I hit your mailbox earlier when I returned home," she casually throws out.

My face falls. "What?"

Esme shrugs and holds her hands up in defense. "I just wasn't paying attention when I got home earlier from a shoot. I was hoping to inform you tomorrow when we are probably all hungover."

I gripe and begin to lead us out. "You really have zero respect for my property. So inconsiderate." Now I'm getting boiled again.

"I'm not sorry. You deserve it."

My nose tips up. "Did you just say that you're not sorry? "

"Yes, Mr. Respect for Property. The man who for sure destroys some of my boxes just to piss me off."

Well, that several minutes of peace just went out the door.

We walk down the hall bickering again. "Then don't fucking have the boxes delivered to my house."

"Message has been clear from the get-go. Geesh, I don't even get this cranky when your stupid newspaper ends up on my lawn. And who the hell still has newspapers delivered?"

I hold my finger up, ready to school the hell out of this woman. "First, the former owner had a lifetime subscription and forgot to end it. Secondly, it's the Sunday paper, including financial news, and that accompanies my morning coffee perfectly."

Esme snorts a sound and bites her inner cheek. "Stealing and boring. Sounds about right."

We continue to pace down the hall in our frenzy of arguing. "Excuse me for staying up to date on world events, and darling, boring is the one thing I am not. Besides, even if I was, it's the boring ones who normally harbor a wild side in other areas."

Her hands form fists by her sides. "Can you not just let me have one enjoyable night where I don't need to think about the way you probably chain someone to your bed?"

"No! You're my mistress." My voice rises an octave while I rile her.

She glimpses sidelong at me as we continue to walk. "Only in a fictional world, because in reality, I would have to be insane."

"I'm so relieved you're sitting on the other side of the table, because I swear you don't want me with a fork near you right now."

"Uh, actually, the seating arrangements changed," Hailey interjects awkwardly .

Apparently, in our fury, we didn't realize we made it back to the dining room, making a scene.

"No. Nope. Not a good idea," Esme reiterates my own thoughts.

Hailey gives us a pointed look and tilts her head in her brother's direction. Shit. The proposal. That's why musical chairs happened.

I'm going to have to suck this up.

"I knew it was you. What better way to ask you to be my wife than with candles all around and your favorite theme." Liam and Ava are at the head of the table. She's already crying, and Liam could use improvement on his proposal. The ring box appears and opens, and the woman is in shock, except I know she's been calculating this for months, but I'll give her points for her acting skills. "Will you be my Mrs. Feathers?"

The immediate titter causes my head to turn to Esme sitting to my right. She's desperately trying to keep her chortle in with her hand over her mouth. Rightfully so, because what in the world is my man Liam doing with this cheesy proposal?

"Yes, I'll be your Mrs. Feathers. You're my favorite man with mafia ties," Ava responds spiritedly.

Esme sputters again, and her face flushes; she is about to burst.

Feral instinct kicks in. I scoop my hand under the table and find her naked thigh between the straps of her stockings, then I claw into her flesh in an attempt to settle her down. Leaning in close to her ear, my nose scraping the edge of her face with silky skin, I open my mouth. "Get. It. Together," I grit out in a low voice.

She instantly stalls, and her breath hitches. My guess is it's due to the fact that I press harder into her skin, not so accidentally sliding up half a finger in length. It's either the alcohol or the heat from the thousands of candles, but this woman is warm and soft between her legs. I'm nowhere near her core, but I sense I've done something to her. My sixth sense.

Fingers on her thigh seems to do the trick because her hysterics disperse into oblivion, or maybe she just has a nocturnal enjoyment to respond to my touch. She gulps a breath and attempts to smile like the rest of the room at the newly engaged couple.

Why the hell isn't she reaching under the table to push my hand away?

We don't look at one another, not even when my hand abandons her leg when we all begin to clap. In fact, I casually pick up my wine glass for a sip, as though I didn't just touch her in a way that can still her into quiet.

She smiles tightly as everyone has elation written on their faces, and in the process of celebration, she accidentally knocks her fork to the ground. Her shoulder bumps against mine as she leans down to pick it up. Just as I'm enjoying the view of her long back, a sharp sting hits near my ankle and slowly slides up.

The little vixen is using the fork on me, causing me to clear my throat and my body to tense and equally enjoy her little game.

Esme continues to look forward, not giving me a single glance as the fork rakes up my leg with just enough pressure to be gentle yet firm. "Oh, phonus balonus, I'm such a klutz, dropping things, but I think… I found the fork. "

No. This is bad.

That fork can absolutely not go any higher.

…and it does.

She stops mid-thigh, my blood burning through my entire body.

"Must be all dirty now. I better stick to sipping champagne and sucking olives." My eyes pop out when she glances over her shoulder with a sly smile.

The guy across from us looks at us strangely but then turns to the guest at his side.

"Well, don't forget to swallow," I mutter out.

Her eyes gawk at my boldness. I get the upper hand when I discreetly rip her hand away from my leg, dropping her wrist to the side as she claws the utensil.

I should stand, leave, and get some air. Cool down.

But I'm a damn professional at playing it neutral.

So, I remain seated and watch as the murder mystery continues. Luckily there is some story audio on an app, as our script drags forever. It's a true amateur play happening, a throwback to my sixth-grade drama club. Between food and bad gangster accents, it wasn't until the end when it turned out my fictional wife was having an affair with the driver, and he'd killed her with poison.

What a shocker.

Time to wrap this up and get home. Apparently, I have a mailbox to fix in the morning.

"You're okay to drive? Otherwise, I can order you two a cab," Hailey checks in like the super organizer she is, as we're all standing at the bottom of the grand staircase.

"I'm fine. I stopped drinking by the third course. Or did I just zone out? I'm not sure. Anyhow, I only had a drink earlier and wine with dinner. "

She smiles in agreement. "Perfect. You can take Esme home too. She arrived with a friend of mine because they needed to pick up extra supplies at the store."

Esme looks between us. "Or not."

Hailey has a crooked grin. "You live next door to one another."

"And? Oliver lives down the street," Esme highlights.

I smile tightly. "Let me guess. He's helping you clean up?" I ask Hailey.

"Well, I… maybe." Her voice is uneven.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I accept the cards we've been dealt. "Fine."

"No," Esme shoots out.

I must appear annoyed with everyone, and I'm happy to get the message across. "Don't be ridiculous or I'll throw you over my shoulder. So be a doll and get in the damn car."

Esme's jaw hangs low, and Hailey just leaves us with a giggle under her breath.

"I'm only doing this because I care about the planet, so carpooling it is," she justifies her willingness to appease.

"Touching. Now come on."

A long silence hits us when we get into my car. Even when I rev up the engine which causes her to huff, she refrains from speaking. Only two minutes later with her perfume now sticking to my car interior does she dip her toes into conversation.

"That was a well-planned evening."

I focus on the road. There have been foxes spotted along the road at night recently. "A shame one guest decided to be wildly rude during the marriage proposal."

"Oh, come on. Did you not hear that? You must have been laughing inside too. "

"But I didn't let the world know it."

Esme shakes her head and stares out the window. The damn dashboard light glows on her silky thighs, and her dress's black sequins glint a sparkle.

"I still hate this car, even if the seat has heating and the leather is smooth and nice against the skin," she comments as she slides her hand along the side panel.

"Speaking of skin, way to go with the costume, by the way. Plan on joining a strip club?"

She sneers at my sentence. "Rude as always," she points out. "Why wasn't there bootleg alcohol or moonshine tonight? It's the age of prohibition, right? I mean, it would help my agitation right now."

I keep my hands on the steering wheel; whatever I do, safety first.

"Having my fingers on your thigh seemed to calm you." Okay, so I can't help myself.

Why has she grown quiet? And why are her fingertips now twirling her necklace near her cleavage.

Is she actually trying to toy with me?

"Cat got your tongue, doll?"

"Call me doll one more time and I swear I'll use a fork differently next time…"

She can't finish her sentence, which is fine, as I'm now pulling up my driveway.

"Your chariot has brought you to your destination."

Her lips pop. "Okay."

Neither one of us moves when I turn the engine off.

I tap the wheel, patiently waiting for either one of us to end this boiling pot otherwise known as my car.

Another second goes by.

And another.

My head against the headrest rolls to the side to look at the woman of my contempt, and Esme seems to mirror my move until our eyes pin one another.

"Want to come inside for a nightcap?" I coolly offer as adrenaline seems to be kicking in.

Instantly she gasps. "Yes."