I examine the women closely, eyeing them carefully. I jump from face to face.

Waitress.

Hotel staff.

Waitress.

Waitress—Oh, wait, she’s kinda cute…

There. I hear a loud voice booming near the bar. A woman’s. I don’t think; I just move.

Finally gonna get to meet the woman behind the voice, the screen. My heart starts pumping—fast, beating with a toxic mixture of excitement and dread.

But when I make it to the woman’s side, it slams, giving a final dull thud before quieting completely.

She’s a large, redheaded woman in a button-down white top. Her face is round. Her scowl is fierce. She’s grabbing people left and right, stopping trays, touching platters.

I close my eyes, bemoaning every single sexual thought I had about her.  I didn’t know anything about Elena, and still, I had fantasized about fucking her six different ways from Sunday.

I’m sick. I’m a sick man. And now look at what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

I stop right in front of her, sighing heavily.

She notices me out of the corner of her eye before turning to me, giving me her full attention. She assesses me carefully, from the top of my tux to the soles of my shoes.

She raises an eyebrow. “May I help you with something?”

Her voice is gravelly—rough.

“Uh, yeah, actually. It’s me—Lukas.”

She shrugs a hefty shoulder. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

I balk—confused. Wait…

“Elena?”

The redhead laughs heartily.

“You’ve got the wrong woman, sweet-face. I’m the head caterer. You looking for the organizer of the party?” I nod once.

“That’s Elena over there.” She points unabashedly over my shoulder… and in the direction of one of the sexiest women I have ever seen.

This new woman is facing towards me, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks. Unlike the caterer, she is neither loud nor boisterous but she is commanding the attention of everyone around her.

Her blonde hair is full, reaching to her naked collarbone. Her shoulders and back are bare and seemingly silky smooth.

Her clothes are red—a dress? I’m not sure. All I see is her face… and skin… and legs…

Fuck—this is Elena?

I have the sudden urge for a cigarette… and I don’t even smoke anymore.

I start walking.

I pay no attention to the audience at her helm; I don’t even see them. I cut through the crowd like the parting of the Red Sea, stopping right in front of her. Right in front of her.

I am close. Too close. I could reach out and touch her. The thought is tempting.

The man talking to her notices me before she does and when he sees the look in my eyes, he backs away. Smart man.

Finally, she sees me.

She turns on me, regarding me curiously.

“Yes?”

I rock back on my heels, placing my hands in my pockets.

“Mm. An answer before prompting… That’s funny. I couldn’t seem to get an answer for the last six days.”

Her expression drops. “Lukas,” she says simply.

My sardonic smile is my reply.

For several seconds after, we stand still, staring at one another, piercing each other with hot-tempered gazes that blaze a line of fire.

Her blue eyes are a liquid flame, and the heat behind them is indescribable. They glow with some sort of subtle passion—a form of anger or desire… maybe both…

I’m almost sure what I see in her eyes is reflected in my own, but suddenly, a voice cuts in.

“Elena,” a staffer says, close-by. “Where should I put the roses?”

Elena breaks the stare, shifting her attention to the waiting woman.

“Over there,” she points. “On the dining tables. I need a bouquet in each centerpiece.”

I pull her eyes back to mine, ignoring the interrupting staffer.

“We need to talk.”

Her eyes flash. “Maybe we do… but definitely not right now.” She starts to turn on her heel.

My hand shoots out, grabbing her securely by the wrist. Touching her skin gives me a jolt, electrifying me down to my toes.

I know she feels it, too. She shudders.

My voice lowers. “You know damned well we do. Right now.”

“Or what?” she challenges. Her head swivels, her eyes roaming the restaurant’s span. “You going to make a scene? You wouldn’t dare.”

My stare hardens. I pull her closer. “Try me.”

She snatches her wrist back, shrugging noncommittally with her next step.

“I think I just did.”

She takes another step and then she doesn’t stop. Before I can blink, she is halfway across the floor, sashaying her way back to the fully stocked bar.

I almost call after her until a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Chris. Jesus, man. What the hell are you are doing here this early?”

Chris’s face is red as usual, his breathing short—his expression pained. He looks as if he’s just finished sprinting. I suspect that he has.

“I wanted to get a good look at things before the festivities began. Plus, I needed to talk to you. I need you to look at this Voyager article before it goes to print.”

I glance at Elena’s retreating back. The skin there is bare, and I’m doing all I can to not follow it.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” he exhales. “This article’s rolling out soon. Just take a look for me, ok?” He unloads a briefcase at the nearest table, sitting down beside it.

I take a deep breath. Typical Chris.

All he can think about is work—and all I can think about right now is play. It’s a game, really, and I’ve been sucked into it against my will.

A round of “Catch the beautiful blonde,” and I’m already losing by a mile. I’m two seconds from bailing on Chris.

I can tell that he sees the urgency written all over my face. He pulls out another chair, looking up at me.

“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Boy, if he only knew. If he only really knew.

In Times of Stalemate

A draw can be obtained not only by repeating moves, but also by one weak move.  -  Savielly Tartakower

 

ELENA

The surprise entrance of Foxx and Kat goes off without a hitch, thanks to Lukas. Kat hadn’t the slightest clue that I was coming, and when she sees me, she nearly squeezes me to death with a hug.

The band kicks in. The streamers go flying. Even our little sister, Ana, is here for the night.

But I can’t stop looking at Lukas. I can’t stop remembering what we did.

For the few times that we’ve been forced to interact with each other at this party, all we’ve done is throw barbs at each other—slyly insulting, stealthily jabbing.

Foxx and Kat have already given up the fight—the will to force us to “play nice,” and as soon as we are relieved of our conjoined duties, we spring apart like magnets, making our way to opposite ends of the room to avoid further contact.

But it is useless. Like the magnet that I’ve suddenly become, I still feel his field—still feel the effects of the invisible energy that emanates off of his beautiful body in palpable waves.

Good God, he looks great in that tux.

He’s in and out of the room, moving here, talking there. A flock of women are surreptitiously following him around the restaurant, but he doesn’t seem to notice… or care.

In fact, I think his mind is fully focused on something else entirely—me.

Now, either my mind has been playing tricks on me, or Lukas Griffin is casually stalking me around the entire expanse.

If I grab a drink, he’s at the bar. If I stop by a table, he strolls by.

My arm has permanently attached itself to my younger sibling, Anastasia, and I am unashamedly using her as my protection—a sort of secretive shield against a green-eyed glare.