“Oh, Dommie, you needn’t be so awkward.”

Everyone except Stephanie is stiffening, and she’s playing up the image of her and Ian in case I missed it.

Yes, honey, I’m jealous.

And annoyed that Dominic is not-so-subtly suggesting I dance with Ian. A man I haven’t touched since we last fucked.

I see him out of the corner of my eye, weaving in and out of people, servers, and reporters. He stops to kiss an elderly woman’s hand and to compliment her husband. He pulls aside a server and informs her that there’s a run in her tights. He steals multiple glances in my direction, probably shitting himself over me talking to Dominic and Stephanie.

Time to make my escape.

My salvation is in the form of Eva, who is here because I begged her to be, and because her family is here, checking out their investments. She’s talking to her brother Henry when I appear, offering her a glass of champagne I stole off a tray and asking if she would like to sample some hors-d'oeuvres.

“I’d like to sample the clams around here, if you know what I mean.” She’s eyeballing a woman in a green dress as we stand next to a wall. The orchestra finishes a piece and begins another, creating a scuffle of people in the middle of the ballroom as they leave, find new partners, or decide to have “just one more.” In a way, it reminds me of the gala I went to twelve years ago, where Ian Mathers and Kathryn Alison first charged into a relationship from hell.

A dozen years in the making, folks!

“Try to contain yourself. This is a family affair,” I joke, wishing I got more champagne. What this party needs is harder booze.

“Oh, whatever. Like you’re faring much better than me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I see all your favorite people here. In fact…” She tips her drink up, motioning beyond my body. “Here comes your ultimate favorite.”

“Evangeline.” Ian stands a mere few inches behind me, nodding to the both of us, acting like he’s all business. “You look nice.”

She glances down at her suit. “This old thing? Clearance rack at Kohl’s.”

“Cute.”

Eva downs the rest of her champagne. “That’s my middle name. Evangeline Cute Warren. Anyway… what the hell do you want?”

“Not you, surely.” Ian turns to me, and I can smell that cologne he was wearing the last time we made love. The time before that. Before that. “I came by to ask Kathryn to dance.”

I pretend that we have no romantic history. It’s the only way I can look him in the eye and channel the old Kathryn who would be tempted to rip his balls off and present them on one of the champagne trays running around.

“Your father was telling me that you need to dance with someone. I guess it’s because you’re young and single.”

Boom. Right in the fucking gut. Yeah, I can play dirty.

Yet his expression only flinches. Not the change I was hoping for. “I heard the same thing from your father. Funny, that.”

Either Ian is lying or my father has some explaining to do.

Regardless, some man landed on my shit-list yet again.

“And why would I dance with you?” I keep my champagne glass to my lips, letting it act as a buffer between us. Get any closer, Ian, and I might touch you.

It’s not like… I don’t want to touch you…

It’s a terrible idea.

“You would dance with me because it’s not something you get to do every day. Meanwhile…” he jerks his thumb in Eva’s direction. “You can talk to her anytime you want.”

“Not true. I’m in grad school.”

“All right, whenever she feels like fucking off from class. Which is every day, I’m guessing.”

“Speaking of fucking off, Mathers, isn’t that what you should be doing?”

God, listen to us. A bunch of high school children standing in front of the lockers and acting like this is the most important moments of our lives. I’d blame these two immature imbeciles, but I’m not helping the situation any. In fact, my indecision is making things worse.

“All right.” I hand Eva my half-empty glass. I’m sure she’ll finish it off for me. “One dance, with enough room for Jesus, as Mrs. Caruthers in high school would have said.”

“History?”

“Biology,” Ian corrects my friend. “Mrs. Caruthers was an odd choice for a biology teacher, let’s say.”

“You two need Jesus, that’s for sure.” Eva stalks off with two glasses in her hands. “I want the full report of how many times you called God tonight. And five Hail Marys for every time you feel bad about it.”

Once she’s gone, I snort.

“How about it, Ms. Alison?” Ian extends an open hand to me. “Dance? The good news is that the song is probably half over by now. Though it’s hard to tell with orchestras. Ever hear a five-minute cello solo?”

“Yes.” I take his hand. It’s warm. A warm reminder of what he can do to me with that hand. “There was one during that night at the symphony, remember?”

Ian leads me away, my hand still in his. “No. I was distracted by other things.”

Yes, like my mouth on your cock. You know what I remember the most from that night, Ian?

Surrendering myself to you for the first time. The first time without screaming, anyway.

His lips touch my knuckles when we reach the center of the ballroom. Couples are spinning, dipping, and laughing all around us. Under any other circumstance, this could be a whimsical time.

Naturally, he leads. Because he’s a man. Because he’s a Dom, and even as a Domme, I must defer to his lead.

It’s a petty thing to cling to. I’ve been feeling pretty petty lately.

“We haven’t had much chance to talk since you’ve been back.” Ian keeps a respectful distance between us as we turn on the dance floor. Other couples who are dancing closer than we are. “Tell me all about Europe.”

My hand squeezes in his, and I chock it up to the movements of the dance as opposed to him trying to be forward. Or is it me initiating this contact? Sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Europe was fine. Rainy in London, but when isn’t it?”

“London? I thought you went to Germany to see your mother.”

“I did… for as long as I could bear it.” I briefly tell him about my mother waking up “hating everything” and throwing her bedspread from her second floor balcony and onto the street for “the urchins to pick up.”

“Yikes.”

“Yes, that was the day I decided to fly to Stockholm.”

“Private?”

“Commercial.”

“Yikes, again.”

I shrug. As long as I fly First Class, commercial airlines don’t bother me all that much. I only spring for private when I really feel like it or are taking people with me. Since this was a solo trip, even sans Anita, I opted for some headphones and my tablet to keep me preoccupied as I went from Berlin to Stockholm and then Stockholm to London.

“What was in Sweden? Ah, let me guess.” His hand detaches from my shoulder and brushes against my hair. “Family?”

“You’re assuming that because I’m pale and blond that I’m Scandinavian.”

“Would I be wrong?”

“Not too far off.” We are, in fact, Swedish on my paternal grandmother’s side. That’s why I first had an interest in Sweden, but not why I went this time. When I was in college I studied abroad for a semester and wanted to see the old sights again. Talk to some friends. See what was going on in that part of the world. “You know what they say about assumptions, Mr. Mathers.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, They make an ass out of you.”

“I’m not sure that’s quite how it goes.”

My foot doesn’t turn fast enough, my heel catching and threatening to take me down. Ian clenches me closer to him, hand pressing against the small of my back. My chest is pressed against his. Some people are staring.

“I missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

Jolts of electricity explode within me, reaching my extremities, filling my loins with desire for him. You think I don’t remember what it’s like to feel him in my grasp, breathing hard, resisting the urge to kiss me. I don’t doubt for a second that he’s sincere. I bet he did miss me, like I missed him.