20. Thomas

CHAPTER 20

Thomas

Derrick Lindman's banquet is being held in the reception hall on the third floor of LUX, a Michelin-starred restaurant financed by my father back in the day. It's a bit outside of the new sheriff's price range, but I can only assume he's making good use of the money he's gotten from me over the years. I doubt Derrick knows I own the building, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. I might be negotiating at his party, but he's negotiating under my roof- a place he wouldn't have even seen the inside of without my help.

Clara and I pull up to the restaurant at half past eight, fashionably late. I want to make the most of our impression when we walk in, especially since most of the women here will be in conservative suit dresses, and Clara is wearing an evening gown fit for the red carpet.

This party is not about Derrick Lindman, our newly elected sheriff. It's about the wealth and prosperity of the Warwick family, and what allying with us can offer those with the right amount of ambition.

Clara is quiet as I take her arm and tuck it under my elbow. I feel the slight tremor in her and rest my hand over hers.

"You don't need to do any of the talking," I reassure her as I lead her inside. "Just smile and shake the hand of whoever I introduce you to."

"I thought I was helping you make alliances," she whispers.

"You are."

We take a lift up to the third floor, where one of the event organizers greets us with a flabbergasted expression. "We're here for Derrick Lindman's banquet," I say, when it seems like he'll give us directions to another private event.

"Oh- um- right through here then," he says, gesturing to an open door at the end of a short hall.

Inside, we find a decent crowd milling around a room lit by golden chandeliers. Round tables fill one end of the tiled floor, while the other is left open for dancing and easy mingling. Sure enough, there are men in cheap suits and women in tea dresses. Their heads start turning as Clara and I walk into their midst.

"I'm really overdressed," Clara murmurs. I hand her a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter, and she clutches it in both hands like a lifeline.

"That's the idea," I say, a blandly polite smile on my face for anyone looking our way.

It takes a moment to sift through the crowd, but eventually I find Mr. Lindman himself, not by sight, but by his warm laugh ringing out over the others in the room. He's standing with a group of guests over by the refreshment tables. I steer Clara toward him.

At thirty-nine, Derrick Lindman is still young to be a sheriff. To his credit, he's managed to strike the perfect balance between idealistic young cop and savvy politician. When he flashes his crowd-winning smile, he always lets the dimple in his left cheek show. When he shakes hands, his grip is firm and confident. If it were physically possible to control when and where his eyes would twinkle, I'm sure he'd use that to his advantage too.

Whereas I don't let anything I think or feel show on my face, Lindman has made an art out of emoting to hide his true purposes. So it's no surprise that when he spots me in the crowd, I see no hint of fear or uncertainty.

"Mr. Warwick!" he greets me warmly, "so glad you could make it."

I release my grip on Clara and shake his hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Lindman. Congratulations again on your election. You've earned it."

The corner of Derrick's mouth turns just the slightest bit wry at that pointed phrase. "Well, I couldn't have done it without everyone in this room standing behind me," he demures. "That's why we have to celebrate! I only wish this suite didn't have a ‘no pets' policy, or I'd have brought my boys to join the party."

One of the women near us sighs dreamily- and quite audibly. Derrick flashes her his megawatt smile, then turns back to me. "But I'm being rude, talking all business and no pleasure," he says, his eyes moving to Clara. "Who is your beautiful date, Warwick?"

I put a hand possessively around Clara's waist, making it clear to everyone in view that we are together and together . "This is Clara Speare," I say. "The niece of Morgan Speare." Derrick's eyebrows go up, and his smile becomes bemused at the well known name of my rival. Clara stiffens under my hand. "And Clara, this is the man of the hour himself, Sheriff Derrick Lindman."

"Nice to meet you, Sheriff," Clara says, holding out a hand, which Derrick makes a show of kissing instead of shaking .

"A modern day princess. Please, ma'am, call me Derrick," he says, ever the charmer.

It takes more concentration than it should to keep my expression polite when he raises his head. I meant to pull him into a corner so we can talk business, but I decide to switch tracks. It's too early in the night to monopolize his time. Better to wait until he's drunk a little more sparkling wine, made some speeches, and generally worn himself out.

"We won't keep you," I say, more shortly than I mean to. "Let's catch up some more later."

"I look forward to it," Derrick replies smoothly, and turns back to his other guests.

I take Clara on a slow lap of the room, seeking out local politicians and businessmen I have dealings with and making a list of who to introduce her to first. We start with the District Attorney. He's here with his wife, dressed in a vanilla suit dress that makes her look like a plebian beside Clara. Clara's spine hasn't relaxed yet. She doesn't like that I connected her to her uncle, but that's why she's here.

That's the source of her value, in this room.

Every time I introduce her, I tell my audience that this is Morgan Speare's niece . And that she's here with me.

Clara smiles and shakes hands when it is required of her, but her mood is souring by the minute, and she's struggling to hide it.

Finally, when I point out one of the women on the city council, she places a hand on my arm.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks tightly.

I dip my head in a nod and lead her to one corner. There are two hallways leading off the main ballroom that branch off into small alcoves. These are usually furnished with a table and two chairs, meant for more private talks. For now, they're empty and closed with heavy velvet curtains. I'll bring Lindman to one of them later tonight to discuss my plans, but I'm quickly deciding they're going to serve a dual purpose. I pull back the curtain of the one at the end of the hall and flick on the light, then motion for Clara to enter.

As soon as the curtain swings shut behind me, she whirls on me.

"What is going on?" she bursts out. "Why are you telling everyone in the government that I'm related to Morgan Speare? Is this-" She chokes a little, her face flushing angrily. Her hands fist in her dress. "Was this a set-up?"

"It is," I admit, and Clara reels back, eyes widening. I step after her. "But you're the bait, not the mark."

"What-"

I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her tight against me. "Why else would I dress you in silk and pearls, and then do this?"

From a hidden pocket in my slacks, I snatch a small knife. With a swipe of the sharp blade, I cut a slit down the side of Clara's gown. She squeaks and tries to stumble back, but I've already returned the knife to its place and thrust both hands under her skirt. Clara has to fling her arms around my neck to keep from falling backward as I lift her off the floor, her legs hiked up around my waist, and she gives a satisfying little oof when I crush her up against the wall.

"Thomas, what are you-?!" She chokes off the second my lips touch her neck, and the tightness that was building in her body all night finally releases. Maybe it flows into me, because I'm already hard between her legs. I roll our hips together, and she groans her encouragement. I run rough kisses up her neck, and shudders go through her in waves. I squeeze her bare thigh in my hand, and her foot kicks out like I shocked her.

She's so responsive . There's something dangerous about the knowledge that I can change her mood with a touch. How am I supposed to keep from using this power every time I see that she's not smiling ?

" Thomas ," Clara whimpers, and I suck hard on the crook of her neck and shoulder to let her know I'm listening. "You- You ruined my dress…"

I'll buy you five more if you want. "I'll make it up to you," I growl against her skin. "Loosen your grip."

Her arms unwind a little from my neck. I hoist her a little higher in my arms, and, using my body to keep her pinned, shift my hands on her legs so I can kneel. She slides a little down the wall, but when she comes to rest, she's sitting on my shoulders- with my face between her legs.

"Hold still," I order, and pull out my knife again. Clara jumps, not from the sight of the blade, but from the brush of my fingers on the bare skin of her inner thigh. I wait until she falls still again, then hook my finger in the waistband of her underwear and slice it to pieces.

"Oh my god," Clara breathes, her voice breaking. "I can't believe this is happening to me-"

I slide my tongue over the full length of her clit, and she has to clamp her own hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. The other she fists in my hair.

Slowly, meticulously, I work her with sucking kisses until I taste her wetness on my tongue. When I slip two fingers inside her pussy and press against her G-spot, she bucks against my face. Her breaths are shaky and muffled behind her hand. I wish I could be inside her when she hits the peak of her frenzy, but knowing that I can unravel her with just my fingers and tongue is too heady to give up.

Clara's legs spasm on either side of my head. She starts thrusting onto my fingers, desperate for release, and I match her rhythm. When her whole body coils and goes suddenly boneless, her breath catches, and I half expect her to scream for the whole building to hear.

I half want her to.

Just in time, Clara sinks her teeth into the side of her own hand. Her howl is muffled, but the sound still carves itself into my bones. I slow the pace of my fingers inside her, easing her through the first wave of pleasure, then into a second. Clara's breath is nothing but hiccups, her body completely boneless against the wall.

There was a point to this, but I've lost track of it now. All I know is the taste of Clara on my tongue and the sound of her sobs of pleasure in my ears. I know that I can make her come a third time, and a fourth, if I bury my cock inside her. Next time she won't have to stifle her cries behind her hand, because I'll swallow them with a kiss. I'll reward her sweet mews and sweeter taste by filling her up and up and up .

Fuck the party down the hall and everyone in it. Clara is the only thing I care about right now.