His Command: (Billionaire Bound: Part 1) A Dark New Adult Romance (4 page)

One of them was even more bleach-blonde than Kylie was. And even thinner, in a fringe-covered white dress that barely covered her butt. Her eyes were criticizing, as she looked up and down Beth’s much more ample frame, but her sneer was practically the same as that of the brunette next to her, wearing a dress that looked more like bandages than actual clothing—and yet she still looked better than Beth did.

“Go and get that bouncer out front, tell him someone’s trying to sneak in—just what do you think you’re doing?” The brunette was the one who spoke, her voice cruel. Mean girl in high school cruel, which was just what Beth needed tonight. The blonde obeyed, though, turning around and heading back out front.

“I… I’m not trying to sneak in,” she tried to say firmly. “I was invited—I’m a baker, I made the desserts that Mr. Cavanaugh ordered, and he invited me.”

“The desserts?” Her gaze traveled along Beth’s body, making her cheeks heat up. “Well, at least that’s a lie I could actually believe. Original. But like hell I’m supposed to believe that Ciaran actually invited
you
, even if you are just a baker.”

The blonde was coming back around with the bouncer in tow, and Beth’s heart sank. “See, I told you. This girl is trying to sneak in!” Now the bouncer was scrutinizing her. Wonderful.

“She says she’s the baker for the party,” the brunette sneered.

“I am!” Beth protested. “Bethany Monroe, from Bethany’s Brownie Bakery. Look, I’m probably not on your list or anything, but I am—”

The bouncer interrupted her. “Bethany Monroe? Yeah, Mr. Cavanaugh did actually tell me that you’d be here.” The two girls spun on him in disbelief, while Beth blinked.

“He did?”

“Yeah, said it was important you were upstairs… Go ahead, I’m guessing you’re still setting up.”

She wasn’t, but she also wasn’t going to stay around here with these girls who had no qualms at all with insulting her. “Excuse me?” the brunette growled, jutting one hip out and putting her hand on it. “This baker gets to go up now but we have to wait here for another half an hour?”

“Yes,” the bouncer replied, unaffected by her attitude. “And if you have a problem with that, you’ll have to take it up with Mr. Cavanaugh, not me.” Beth took the opportunity and bolted toward the door inside before another snide comment could be made at her expense. The two girls were still making insulted complaints as she escaped, and it wasn’t until she’d made it back to the elevator that she realized she had left the trolley in the alleyway. Well… that was going to stay there. Maybe a homeless person would find it useful.

Her thoughts drifted to the fact that Ciaran had told the bouncer that she was supposed to be here. That she was even… expected. Maybe there was something to Kylie’s theory about him being into her… Or he was just a way nicer guy than his strict suit and fancily tied tie led one to believe; who knew? There was a little relief when the elevator opened on the top floor again, though, letting her step out. The DJ had apparently brushed off Kylie’s interest in favor of getting ready, and so Beth’s blonde friend was looking around, and blinked to see her getting off the elevator, still flustered from her run-in with those girls outside.

“Beth? Where’d you go?”

“To throw out all those boxes.”

“Oh.” That was the only response she gave, though, before sauntering off again. Beth pursed her lips and then moved to sit down so she could put her shoes back on. She made one last check of the dessert trays—noticing that two cupcakes had already been snatched—before she selected a corner of the room and went to post herself in it. Tonight, she was very much okay with being a wallflower.

It wasn’t long before the DJ’s music starting blasting over the speakers. The lights were dimmed and party lights were flipped on, flickering and pulsing with the music; from the main elevator, the party guests Beth had seen outside started flooding in, gushing over the preparations that had been made. She hadn’t seen any sign of Ciaran, but being fashionably late to your own party was probably a thing in his world. She shrunk further into her corner and watched as people began dancing or grabbing plates and eating. Fancily dressed staff walked around with trays of alcohol and hors d’oeuvres, handing them out to guests. As she stood there, she rather gladly snagged a glass of champagne from one, even as she hoped her black lace dress would make it easier to blend into the wallpaper.

Kylie was nothing like Beth. She blended into the crowd easily, with a huge smile on her face and two different guys grinding on her at once as she danced. She also didn’t notice how Beth was hiding in a corner—but Beth didn’t necessarily mind that. If Kylie did notice, she would probably try to drag her out onto the dance floor or something. She would completely embarrass herself if she tried to dance in these heels. If she tried to dance at all. And everyone would stare at her for how little she fit in.

After a while, though, her heartbeat in time with the pounding bass, her corner began to get a little crowded—people were
still
arriving, when she was pretty sure they had hit the two hundred mark already—and Beth hunkered down. Clinging to the wall for comfort, she tried to make her way elsewhere. She had seen other people go into other rooms in the penthouse. Maybe she would try that, where hopefully the room would be quieter and there wouldn’t be so many people getting so close. Of course, that meant darting across the main room to get to the other side and the doorway. She took a deep breath and did her best to make herself as small as possible—that didn’t save her from being run into by a dancing stick, and she gasped as her champagne was knocked from her hand and shattered on the floor. It was quickly crushed beneath shifting heels, but no one seemed to notice.

“Ugh, watch where you’re going!” Of course it was the brunette from before, Beth decided in dismay, her throat constricting as the bandage-wearing girl turned around—and glared at her, recognizing her. “You? You stupid baker, you ran right into me!”

No, she hadn’t, Beth chanted silently. “S-sorry about that. Excuse me.” She pushed her way through the crowd, hoping that would be the extent of her engagement with that girl. Beth escaped into a hallway, then ducked into the first room that obviously wasn’t a bedroom; she blinked to see a gorgeous grand piano inside, along with a few very fine sculptures. Wow, he had good taste.

“Hey, I did
not
say you were excused.” Oh, damn. Beth turned back around, looking up at the brunette—and the blonde that had joined her—who seemed to tower over her in her huge heels. “I cannot believe Ciaran hired an inconsiderate girl like
you
to be one of the caterers. I mean, really, it’s so not like him to have such bad taste.”

“No kidding,” the other girl agreed. “His party last year had the best cake I’ve ever had, anyway. Your stuff was like eating cardboard.”

Beth swallowed. “Look, I’m sorry about… running into you before. It was an accident. I was just trying to find someplace quieter. The bass in the other room was killing me.” She tried to smile, tried to diffuse the tension, but a sneering eyebrow was lifted at her.

“Then why don’t you just leave? Obviously, someone like you doesn’t belong here. You know, I think I know what it was, why you were invited. Ciaran felt sorry for you. Sad little baker, probably begged for the chance to come to a big fancy party like this one,” the brunette mocked.

“He
invited
me,” Beth insisted, but her voice had grown pathetically small and she knew it.

“Yeah, right. Ciaran is a gentleman, he wouldn’t—”

“Make the mistake of inviting such rude young ladies to his party again. You’re certainly right about that, Miss Duncan.” The Irish accent was unmistakable, and both of the girls spun around to stare at Ciaran, who stood utterly composed in the entryway to the room, his hands folded behind his back. He was dressed perfectly, with a black shirt and white tux, and a matching white tie in that familiar braided knot. Both of the girls’ faces were utterly ashen, called out by their host that way. “I trust I needn’t involve security, and that you can see yourselves out without further incident.”

“B-but, Ciaran—” Miss Duncan started, but he ignored her, brushing past the two of them and moving to Beth. She stared at him with wide eyes, unable to believe he had come to her rescue that way. Again.

“My most sincere apologies, Miss Monroe. I had assumed that you would be treated well, and would enjoy yourself this evening. I regret that I was not able to provide that experience.” The pointed nature of the words had the other two scrambling to leave as quickly as they could, mortified. Ciaran sniffed, glancing back at them. “I don’t even think they were drunk yet. And they certainly haven’t the excuse of being teenage boys. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, thank you,” she gasped, recovering herself. “I’m alright, I just… I’m not used to coming to things like this.”

“I admit I am not surprised, although it seems a shame. I had tried to locate you earlier.”

Beth flushed. She had been hiding in a corner. “There are a lot of people here.”

“But none of them are like you,” Ciaran replied without hesitation—and for once tonight, Beth could swear that the difference didn’t come from the fact that she wasn’t stick thin and wearing a short skirt.

She wasn’t really sure what to stay, and he was still staring at her, so she cleared her throat anxiously and turned away from him. “So, uhm, your home is amazing—the party’s amazing, too.”

“This isn’t home,” he corrected idly, following after her as she inspected one of the statues in the room. It looked like an extremely well-made replica of the
Venus de Milo
. Or at least she assumed it was a replica. “But thank you regardless. I am glad you have at least enjoyed yourself in that respect.” His shoulder brushed against hers, and Beth caught a whiff of heady, masculine cologne that nearly made her dizzy. She swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on the statue.

“Where is home, then? If you don’t… mind me asking…”

“Ireland.”

Beth turned and looked at him, startled. “Really? I mean, of course, you’re Irish, I’m just… surprised.”

He chuckled, one of his hands lifting to brush away a loose curl that rested on her forehead; his fingers lingered there, and Beth’s breath caught in her throat. “I have dual citizenship in the US and Ireland, so that I am able to work here, but when I have the time, I live in Ireland. This is just a more convenient place for when I require being on this side of the country.”

“O-oh… I see…” She wasn’t sure what she saw, except maybe dots as they swam in her vision. Beth had never met someone as handsome as Ciaran—and certainly not as well mannered. The intensity of his gray eyes as he stood over her was entirely distracting, and he seemed perfectly aware of that. His hand was still on her face, smooth fingertips drifting down onto her cheek and caressing her there. Her brown eyes shifted nervously, and fell on the elaborately tied white tie he wore. “You know,” Beth blurted, “I’ve never seen anyone tie their tie that way before. It’s really unique.”

A brow lifted at her observation, and his other hand lifted to brush across the braided silk. “Thank you. It is a family tradition—it’s called an Eldredge knot.” Ciaran didn’t allow her to say anything else, though; instead, he was leaning down, and his lips were pressing fiercely against her own. Beth gasped into his mouth, her eyes widening, only to squeak when his arm went around her waist, and she was tugged into the broad strength of his chest. Her hands lifted automatically, fingers splaying across his chest; his own moved from her cheek, instead lacing tightly into her curls.

His mouth was almost burning against hers. It was insistent and demanding as it pressed against her shy, fragile kiss, and it took barely seconds for his tongue to slip out from between his lips to tease against her own, pressing at her. Beth blushed darkly, and yet she found herself obeying as her mouth opened, allowing him entrance. His tongue surged between her lips, wrestling with her tongue for a long moment, making her moan…

She was breathless when he drew back almost a minute later, but Ciaran was unfazed, except for a satisfied smirk smudged with her lipstick. His lips brushed against the corner of her mouth before he was working his kisses upward, along her cheek, her jaw, only stopping when he was at her ear. He nipped at the lobe, making her squeak faintly, and Beth bit her lip, her eyes shutting tightly. She was almost certain it was a dream—that it had to be a dream, because this couldn’t be happening. Not to her, not with
him
…

“If you want me to stop,” he murmured, his accented voice dripping into her ear like molten chocolate, “say ‘Eldredge.’”

Beth blinked, startled by the words—not certain what they meant. “O-okay…?” she stammered questioningly, rather hoping for more of an explanation than that.

That, however, didn’t come. “Take off your dress.”

The order startled her, and she drew back from him, confused, even for the way her heart was pounding. “I’m sorry?”

Ciaran’s eyes flashed at her, and she felt her throat tightening again. “Take. Off. Your. Dress,” he repeated, a low, dangerous growl in the back of his throat that made her flutter.

For an instant, remembering the confusing words he had spoken just a moment before, she considered speaking the name of that knot. Would this stop? All of this was confusing, and moving so damn quickly. But his kiss burned against her lips, and she cried out silently at the idea of him stopping any of it. She swallowed hard, and then Bethany was reaching back, finding the zipper of her dress with trembling fingers and tugging it downward. It stuck on the curve of her breasts briefly, but then it was falling free, not being held up by anything. She was suddenly intensely glad that Kylie had talked her into the ivory-and-black lace bra-and-panty set that lay beneath her dress, as it pooled around her ankles.