Her unexpected mate

Aaron’s story

*Senya*

As he begin guiding me toward an immense ottoman in a back corner, I consider objecting, but my plans are dependent on retaining his interest. Besides, it would no doubt behoove me to become more comfortable with him. The velveteen-covered piece of furniture is larger than any ottoman I have ever seen, designed to allow room for sprawling. He lowers me to its edge, and when I would have sat there primly and properly, he lifts my feet onto it, gently twisting them in such a way that I find myself lounging against a mound of pillows. I have never been in a prone position with anyone other than my husband. “I will get it dirty”.

“It can be cleaned. Or we can remove your shoes”. Unlike mine, his words come easily, as though he has murmured them a thousand times.

I notice then that several of the women have done exactly that, bare toes peeking out from beneath skirts, stockinged feet clasped in attentive hands. “I will leave them on”. We won't be here for long, surely.

He speaks to a server before sitting so his hip buttresses mine. I hate that I give a little start at his nearness, isn’t acting nearly as sophisticated as I had hoped I would.

“You’re tense. Would you like me to rub your shoulders ?”

My gaze darts nervously to those large hands and strong fingers. “Not at the moment”.

“Why are you tense, sweetheart ?”

A different endearment, and I wonder how many he possesses, if he will use them all on me, if he uses them on all the ladies, and I find myself wishing he would reserve one for me and me alone. Silly to expect to mean anything to him other than business. “The truth ?”

“It’s always easier to recall than a lie, should the subject come up again”. He leans back on his elbow, and with his free hand, he skims a finger along my calf. Only then do I realize my skirt had not fallen properly to cover my ankles as it should. My first instinctis to shoo his hand away and tuck my toes up beneath the hem, effectively hiding what he should not be touching. But he will hopefully be touching a good deal more before the night is done.

Through my stocking I can feel the gentle and remarkably intimate swipe of his skin over mine. Swallowing, I strive not to become lost in the lovely sensations. I have to keep my head about me and not do anything improper in front of witnesses, no matter that I am disguised. “I have never done anything remotely naughty”.

His gaze shifts from the exposed calf to my eyes. “Why tonight ?”

Shaking my head, I am grateful the server interrupts the conversation by returning with a tray bearing a glass of red wine. Aaron Tempest straightens, takes the glass, and offers it to me. While I had stated my lack of interest in it earlier, I decide a sip or two might go a long way toward calming my nerves. “Aren’t you going to join me ?”

“It wouldn’t do for the owner to get foxed”.

“I won’t be getting foxed either”. Still I sip the wine, smiling at how smoothly it goes down, how it warms and gives me a sense of familiarity. “A fine vintage”.

“My sister Gina owns a bar. She would have my head if I didn’t serve the best”.

“She married the alpha of Thornback”.

“Another detail with which you are familiar”.

“As I say, you are all the talk”.

He stretches back on his elbow. “Which puts me at a disadvantage as I know so little about you”.

“You know nothing at all about me”.

“I know you are someone’s wife”.

I tense, but his finger again trails along my calf, distracting me, easing me back

toward a more comfortable place. “You’re guessing”.

“Although you are wearing gloves, I can see the outline of a ring on your left hand. You would have been wise to remove it before you came”.

I should have, but I have worn it for nearly seven years now, and hadn't even thought about it. Unsettled to realize I hadn’t taken the simplest of precautions to protect my identity, I take another sip, striving to remain calm.

“An alpha l would wager”.

And I nearly choke on the wine. With a cough, I cover my mouth, barely aware of him taking the glass from me as I try to regain control, to prevent the burgundy from killing me. Gently, he pats my back. When I am more myself, I take the glass from him, cautiously swallowing the rich wine to regain my equilibrium. “Why would you think that ?”

“The manner in which you hold yourself as though everything is your due, the

impression you give that you are in a place beneath you, a place in which you really have no interest, walking with a man who isn’t good enough to polish your shoes”.

“You are wrong there, Mr. Tempest. I suspect you are applying your own prejudices to me. Not that I blame you, not if the rumors I have heard are true. They say your father is an Alpha”.

On my calf, his fingers flex as though I have struck him a blow. “I don’t talk of my sire. Ever”.

So it is true. Alpha blood run through his veins, which works well with my plans.

“And I will not discuss my place in or out of pack Society,” I say tartly. “So it seems regarding that aspect of our lives, we are of a like mind”.

As he once more leans back, his fingers return to their trailing, going a tad higher with each stroke, growing dangerously close to my knee. So inappropriate and yet I sense perhaps he is testing me, daring me to object. Or maybe he simply likes the feel of a woman’s leg.

“lf I were to extinguish the candles on either side of you, enshrouded you in darkness, you could remove your mask”.

“Darkness is never absolute. Within this room, the mask remains. Besides, you would be amazed by how observant some ladies are”.

He studied me for the longest and then began working on the buttons of my shoes.

“I said they were to remain on”. I would have kicked free if he hadn’t closed one hand around my leg, just above my ankle, the moment I began to speak.

“You will be more comfortable with them off. My floors are clean”.

He glance at me through half-lowered lids, just as he had looked at the gathering in the church, and I have an unreasonable desire for him not to find me lacking, not to think me a coward.

“When was the last time you went barefoot ?”

Strange that I should recall it. “I was nine, and there was a field of clover that I simply couldn’t resist”. It felt like running over velvet. I shake my head. “My governess had a time of it, keeping shoes on my feet”.

But that day my mother had given me a blistering scolding, convincing me that I was too old for such nonsense. I have kept my shoes on ever since. Disappointing my parents, disappointing anyone actually, has always made me feel rotten.

I sip the last of the wine, finishing off the glass, and there is a server offering me another. I take it, peering over at the man who seems comfortable in spite of his awkward position, his feet remaining on the floor, and I wonder how he might

react if I ordered him to place them on the ottoman, so I could remove his boots.

Obviously the wine is having an effect on me, bolstering my courage. Although not completely. I give a slight nod, and his fingers immediately returns to their endeavor.

When he has removed my shoes, he hands them off to another servant who suddenly appears. I assume he has somehow alerted the servant that he is needed although I have seen no signal. “Give them to Angie, to be placed under my name”.

“Yes, sir”.

As the servant dash off, Aaron Tempest says. “You can pick them up in the foyer on your way out”.

I had left my cloak there on the way in, at a counter in front of a room teeming with wraps. The girl guarding things hadn’t asked for my name but had merely given me a number. I wonder if they have a special place where they keep ladies’ things that come to them in his name, wondering what items ladies might leave with him.

Suddenly I am not wondering anything at all as he strokes the side of his thumb along one instep before encasing my foot in both his hands, squeezing and kneading. So much better than clover against my soles. I rather wish I wasn't wearing stockings. Then immediately feel guilty for enjoying his ministrations so much.

“Where were you educated ?” I ask, seeking to distract myself from the wicked way his fingers move over me.

“The streets”.

I shake my head. “You’ve had some schooling. I hear it in your speech”.

“That’s Gina’s doing. She is of the belief that speaking properly is the first step to moving up in the world. When we were younger, she worked for a woman who taught her how to rid herself of the low accent. Gina shared what she learned with all of us”.

“If not for your reputation, one wouldn’t know you came from the streets”. I had sought to compliment him, but he merely shrugs as though it is of no consequence to him what people think. I wish I could say the same of myself But my position in pack Society require that I care and never cause any embarrassment to my family.

“How is it that you chose to own a gambling hell ?” I am truly curious about this man, who works to make my feet feel lovely while never seeking to take his heavy-lidded gaze from my face.

“This evening is about you, darling, not me”.

Those words melt me nearly as much as the press of his thumbs along the center of my sole. I can’t remember the last time I was anyone’s main focus, that my wants, needs, and pleasure had taken precedence over another’s. “If that is truly the case, it would please me to know your tale so surely you should share it”.

He grins such a masculine, sensual grin that I fear I will find myself swimming in

unchartered waters with this man. “That reasoning is a bit convoluted”. With another shrug, he dips his head to the side, holding my gaze. “Ever played the shell game ?”

“I don’t believe so”.

“The patterer …that's what you call the person who manages it because he talks the entire time … has three cups. He lets you see him put a pea or a ball or some other small object beneath one of the cups, then he starts moving them around quickly, talking, talking, and when he stops, he wagers an amount that you can’t correctly identify where the pea is. You guess correctly, he pays you. You guess wrong, you pay him. Not a lot, usually. Threepence, sixpence. Depends on the crowd, what it looks like they can afford”.

“And you always guessed correctly where the pea was”.

That grin again that does funny things to my chest, makes it tighten until it is difficult to breathe. “I was the patterer and always knew exactly where the pea was. Right in the palm of my hand. So no matter which cup they picked, they were wrong. As I was lifting the cup under which the pea is supposedly hidden, I would slip it into place. ‘Sorry, mate, here it is,’ I would say and collect the winnings”.

“You cheated”. I am horrified at the thought, even more horrified that I am

impressed with his strategy and quick sleight of hand.

He chuckles darkly. “Of course I did”.

“That’s how you made enough money to finance your business ? On ill-gotten gains ?”

I seem to be amusing him because his smile gets even broader. “No. I had this

rickety little table with one leg in its center that I carried around with me, so I was always on the move, going from one place to another. Had my three cups, had my pea. One day a crowd had gathered. This bloke comes up, dressed all fancy. Red brocade waistcoat. I remember that the most, being impressed by the waistcoat and judging him on it. I was eleven. Had been doing my trick quite successfully for a while, and was full of myself. Decided this fancy guy had money. I was going to take him for a guinea. I laid out my terms, and he agreed to them.

“So I went through my little routine. Showed him the pea going under the cup, palmed the pea, shuffled the cups fast, egging him on, ‘Where’s the pea ? Where’s the pea ?’ I stopped. ‘Where do you think it is, guv ?’ l fairly crowed. He lifted a cup, and damned if there wasn’t a pea beneath it”.

I release a quick burst of laughter, taken off guard by the profanity he voiced so

casually in my presence, no one ever used foul language in my vicinity and the self mocking look he gives me, as though he understands he deserved getting caught in his arrogance. “He was a swindler as well ?”

He nods. “He grew up on the streets, knew the game. Brought his own pea and slipped it into place as he was lifting his cup. I couldn’t very well call him out for a cheat without exposing my own trick”.

“So you had to pay him an entire guinea ?”

He shakes his head. “He told me, ‘Never let the mark lift the cup himself’ He had been watching me for some time apparently. He introduced himself. Jim Diamond he was”.

My eyes widen. “Not the Jim Diamond ?” One of the wealthiest men in Black rock city, in all of the country for that matter.

He nods. “Indeed. I went to work at his gaming hell, Diamond’s gaming Room,

learning my way around proper gaming. Eventually I became a dealer, the youngest they had ever had. But I wanted to be the one standing in the balcony looking down on my domain, not standing on the floor being watched. So when l was nineteen I struck out on my own. I didn’t think it was right to go into direct competition against a man to whom I owed so much, so I opened the rogue Alpha Club in the poor part of town, more for the dregs than the posh, but dregs have coins, too. And not all the ranked wolves are welcomed in the finer circles”.

“And from there you decided women needed a place as well”.

“I can’t take credit for that. It was my brother’s idea, but his heart was never truly in it, so he gave the place to me”.

“Gave it to you ? Without recompense ? Just like that ?”

“He felt he owed me”.

“Why ?”

“Ah, darling, that’s another story entirely”. Abandoning my feet, he straightens and leans toward me. “Now you need to tell me a tale. What brought you here tonight ?”