Her unexpected mate

Her reason

*Aaron*

“A car”.

I chuckle low at her quick response, her deliberate failure to properly address my question. This one is full of secrets. I would wager the entirety of tonight’s take on it. I can’t figure out what it is about her that draws my attention, that keeps me at her side.

Normally, I do not linger with the ladies, having no desire to make any of them jealous. Jealousy is bad for business. But for some odd reason, I can’t seem to tear myself away from her. Perhaps it is the sadness in her eyes, or her discomfort. Most women have excitement thrumming through them when they come here, but with her, it is as though she has no interest in the place but feels compelled to be within these walls. She is searching for something, and believes she can find it here, but I could have told her no treasures reside within these rooms. We provided only momentary escapes. There is value in that, but it is always fleeting. Which is the reason people return. Because the joy they

find here can not be taken with them. It always dissipates once they exit.

Which is good for business. Ensure they will return.

A server comes by, refilling her wine glass, and goes on his way. She doesn’t object, and I suspect she is beginning to feel a bit more relaxed. Reaching for her free hand, I begin rolling her glove down past her elbow. Why does ranked she-wolves wear dresses that expose their arms and then add an accessory to hide them ?

“What are you doing ?” She asks, and I hear a measure of alarm in her voice.

“Gloves are a nuisance”.

She closes her fingers into an ineffectual fist. “Please don’t remove them”.

I think of the ring that might be recognizable to those who know her. “We could

place your ring inside one of the gloves. It would be safe there. We have no thieves here. Or I could tuck it into one of my pockets”.

She shakes her head, and I wonder about the man who has placed it on her finger, and how she wants it to remain there. If she loves him, would she be here ? Hell, Anna visits on occasion and she adores my brother. Sometimes a she-wolf just needs to escape for a while.

I roll the glove back into place, trailing my finger along the soft flesh of the inside of her arm where the glove does not reach. “I’m waiting, sweetheart, for your story”.

She brings the glass to her lips, delaying the telling, and I rather regret not deigning to join her, but I do have a rule about not becoming overly familiar with my guests because fraternizing too much isn’t good for business. Like my siblings, I am very much aware that my fortunes rest on taking care of my enterprises. Those in my family are born of scandal, and are still digging their heels, and while I sometimes skirt the edge of impropriety, I don’t do it here, never here. Yet she tempts me in ways no other woman ever has.

After licking her lips, she turns her attention to the shadows. “I told you of the clover”.

“You have more interesting tales than that”.

Her gaze swings back around to me. “Not really. It’s the reason I’m here”.

Not for a single minute do I believe she is as boring as all that, but I also know

when not to push. “Finish off your wine. I will show you another room of entertainment”.

I like watching the way her delicate throat muscles work as she swallows. There

is not a solitary aspect to her that does not draw me in. I wonder if I take her to a

room cloaked in blackness if she will remove the mask and allow me to outline her features with my fingertips. I have always had a knack for drawing things and feel that if I trace her features, I can transfer them to paper.

She has barely gathered the last drop on her tongue when a handsome man … they are all handsome; Summer had convinced me the ladies would appreciate fine scenery wandering through the establishment … of barely twenty is taking her empty glass and offering her a full one.

“We’re done here”. I tell the servant, surprised by the gruffness of my tone, the curtness of it.

The server must have been surprised as well because his eyes widen considerably before he gives a quick bob of his head and makes a hasty retreat.

I feel her speculating gaze on me, more than I see it. I have an urge to apologize to her, and to the young man, but I am not in the habit of apologizing, and an apology might lead to me having to confess I don’t much like the idea of any of my lads fawning over her, even though that’s what I pay them to do. Make the ladies feel special so they will return in order to feel special again.

“I will need my shoes”. She surprises me by her absence of a comment on my earlier reaction.

“No, you won’t. As I said, the floor is clean. Why close those lovely feet in leather when there is no need ?” I say softly.

Standing, I take her hand and help her rise to her feet. Without her shoes, the top of her head comes to my shoulder, and I do not want to consider how much I might like tucking her check into the curve there, an odd thought for a man who never tucks women in close. I like them well enough, enjoy their company immensely, but isn’t one for offering hugs when they are in need of them. Tears usually have me searching for the nearest escape. I do not simply hold and comfort for the sake of simply holding and comforting. I like having a jolly good time.

Tonight I am not acting myself: lounging about with a woman, giving her attention, excluding all others. Perhaps it is merely the mystery of her. But others wear masks and I am not slavering to know details about them. I should hand her off to one of the attention-givers but I fear I would then find fault with how much attention the gent is giving her. If it isn’t enough, I would be angry because she is doing without. If too much is lavished upon her, I would be furious because I am not the one doing the lavishing.

If she is aware of my rioting thoughts, she gives no indication, merely tucks her hand into the crook of my elbow as though it belongs there. The wine has done the trick. She is more relaxed, more at ease. Strange how I am suddenly more tense.

Taking my time, I guide her into the next room, one that Summer had insisted would appeal to the ladies, one I refer to in private as the Wallflower Parlor, although to my guests it is merely a ballroom, like any other they have visited before, but within these walls they are guaranteed a waltz with a charming gent. Although I would have preferred to provide employment for the poorer among them, I had needed fellows of a certain caliber to entertain my ladies, men who speak with a bit of polish and know how to dress to please in jackets, waistcoats, and ties. Most of my visible male staff has been trained to take a

position in some posh pack house as a servant. Here they earn double what they would have elsewhere.

“I had not expected dancing”. She murmurs.

A few ladies line the edge of the dance floor, awaiting their turn, knowing they will soon circle over the floor. No female here is ever neglected.

“Perhaps you would care for a waltz ?” I never dance with my patrons, but I want to hold her in my arms, sweep her over the polished parquetry. The fact that I have never waltzed in my life would hardly serve as a deterrent to something I desire. Summer has taught him the basics, thinking it might come in useful at some point, that I might wish to dance with one of my guests. I hate to give her credit for being correct. While she is now my sister-by-marriage, I am still struggling to forgive her completely for the horrid past she had brought upon my brother.

Senya shakes her head. “I am not here to dance”.

“You have no interest in gaming, in feasting, in dancing. Why are you here then, darling ?”

With a bit of obstinance and daring, she meets and holds my gaze. “I am here to be bedded”.