“Some of the most powerful people in the world are here. Do you see that gorgeous lady over there--the one wearing the red dress.”
Bo noticed the woman. His father said...
“She’s someone I’d like you to meet. She holds a very important position working for Governor Wilcox.”
Morpheus noticed Bo’s subtle nod, then he added...
“Eliza Pendleton is a classy woman. She’s smart, but not in a stodgy way. She’s damn attractive but a little too young for my taste...of course, I’m not currently looking for a woman. But you on the other hand; you might find her interesting.”
“Dad...” Bo felt a rush of embarrassment causing Morpheus to quickly say...
“She’s a few years older than you--but if her age is a problem....”
Her age wasn’t the problem and Bo corrected his father.
“Dad...I appreciate your interest in my personal life--but I’ve decided not to date until I’ve figured out my life. For now...I just want to focus on me...and work.”
Morpheus smiled, then he said...
“I get it son. I just want you to understand that I can open doors for you. I know people son; important powerful people. Just say the word and you can have whatever you want--and I can help you get it. This is the legacy that I have to offer. You have so much promise--and it pains me to think that you might sell yourself short all due to disagreements that occurred in our past.” He stared at his son when he said...
“Bo--the world isn’t what it seems to be--and it’s about time that you realized this. I’m in the position to make your life have real meaning. Will you at least talk to Eliza?”
Bolden stared into the crowd, and when he spotted the beauty in the red dress, he felt a quickening in his pants. Even from this distance, it was obvious to him, that she possessed an unusual lure that attracted men. Her irresistible nature explained the men circling her like honeybees yearning for their next sugar fix. Fool that he was, he wanted to join the swarm. He wasn’t sure why his father had suggested that he meet her, because as far as he was concerned, he was sticking to his guns, as it concerned Denver. That much, he was sure of...on the other hand...there was something about this woman that defied reason and when it came to her, he disregarded suspicions that typically clanged like warning bells. He had tested his limits, attempting to avert his gaze, but ignoring Eliza Pendleton was beyond him. Dammit all to hell; now he knew that he couldn’t leave until they’d been formally introduced.
Without warning, like a flip of a switch, Bo witnessed the abrupt change. His father’s entire demeanor morphed into something other than what he’d been only seconds earlier. His father said...
“Bo--I’m glad that you’re here son. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on everything. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to talk about Fawn or her antics--not now--maybe later. For now, let’s go join your mother. I’m in the mood to dance.”
When Morpheus slid his cigar between moistened lips, it was at that moment Mikita noticed him. They shared a friendly exchange, and she held his gaze. He grinned, flashing her with one of his roguish smiles, and his length stiffened when she didn’t turn away. He was shameless--wicked even; an unprincipled man. And the beauty in this situation was that Mikita knew this about him--she knew, yet once upon a time, she’d passionately, and unflinchingly loved him. He felt the pull of her eyes as well as the abrupt disconnect. Her attention broke, latching hold to someone else. Jealousy overtook him, and in that instant he’d been slain. Morpheus wanted her back--and he was determined to do whatever it took to make that happen. Even if it meant killing the man standing beside her--the man pawing the woman he wanted and loved. The woman he would reclaim for himself and just maybe, take as his first wife.
**********
Chapter 3
11:58 AM
The Delors New Year’s Day
White Ball
“It’s not good for a man to be alone.”
Marisela stood in the archway holding a flute half filled with sparkling wine. She lifted the glass, seductively positioning the rim against her lower lip. Lucien had stepped away from the houseguest in search of a particular vintage of champagne, when he’d been startled.
Marisela was a friend to his sister--and hopelessly infatuated with him. He smiled, masking his desire to be anywhere except alone in the wine cellar with Marisela.
“I’m not alone.” He said cleverly. “The spirit of my family is here--this wine cellar contains a part of my lineage because every one of these bottles came from one of my families vineyards in France.”
Marisela giggled, then she wobbled, before gracefully regaining her balance. She’d obviously had too much to drink. The cellar had been built specifically to store wine, and not to entertain guest. Each room was lined with wooden shelfs, and the space in between these shelfs was limited. Marisela strolled over to where Lucien stood, crowding his personal space.
She lifted up on tiptoes whispering in his ear...
“That’s not what I meant--and you know it.”
Lucien lifted a bottle, then blew dust off the label to read it. Marisela sneezed. She shook her head wildly, rubbing her nose free of the dust. When she gathered herself, she closed the distance, pressing firmly against his side. She gave his arm a feel of her breast. Lucien was a patient man but he didn’t come down here for this. If he wanted to steal away, finding a cozy place to cuddle--it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be with Marisela.
He remained focused on the task at hand, while she slurred saying...
“So...what’s so special about this champagne that you’d much rather be in this dusty old dark cellar--instead of partying upstairs with me--and your other guest?”
Lucien placed the bottle back in its slot. He didn’t waste time looking at her. He wasn’t interested in her, or how she looked. Plus...the space had gotten overly cramped, so he abandoned his task. He placed one hand at the base of Marisela’s back, keeping his eyes on the passageway. While guiding her with gentle nudges, Lucien would urge her to move whenever she slowed and he feared she might stop.
When they were at the tasting table and the stairs were within sight, Lucien said...
“I was looking for a special champagne--a vintage bottled by my grand-poppa. It’s a New Year’s Day tradition. My family--we have reason to celebrate.”
“Yes--I can see how that would be a special reason to be down here. Family...”
She said and he heard a sadness in her voice. Unexpectedly, she twirled unsteadily on high heels to face him. Lifting up to his height, she slanted her head at an angle, attempting to line up their mouths. She aimed her lips to kiss him but her body swayed, giving Lucien time to bob, then dodge her efforts. She said...
“I wish I was one of you--a Delors. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
Her breath smelled like a bouquet of all the wine and mixed cocktails she’d drank--and the combination didn’t smell like flowers.
They were out in the open, but her stare cornered him; and this feeling was worst than being trapped. He had to get out of this cellar. More to the point, Lucien needed to get away from this woman.
“We’d better get back upstairs.” He suggested. “They’ll be looking for us--and we wouldn’t want to make them worry.”
“No...we wouldn’t want that” she said, as if the notion was an afterthought.
Marisela followed his lead, staggering when they got to the stairs. She blurted out...
“I love you Lucien--I always have.”
Oh God--Lucien thought to himself; what in the world had he done to deserve this. He ignored her drunken remark, directing her focus on her feet and moving up the narrow staircase.
“Maris...” he used the shortened version of her name. “...lift your head and keep your hand on the railing.”
With each step, Lucien had to encourage her to lift her leg, then to plant her foot on the next step. He guided her every step of the way. Considering her unsteadiness, Lucien surmised that he’d underestimated her drunkenness. His sister, Chantel had told him about Marisela’s brother and that no one had heard from him since yesterday--and he supposed, this explained her overindulgence in wine and alcohol. Lucien had not seen Tollin in months, and last he’d heard, due to his hair-trigger temper, most of his friends had written him off. But not everyone had thrown in the towel and he wasn’t sure how long their devotion would last. This morning when his guest arrived at his penthouse, according to the rumors, the doorman had rang his bell, and when there’d been no answer, the doorman had told them that Tollin Pettier more than likely wasn’t at home. Since then, speculations of every sort churned the gossip wheels. He’d heard a few hushed comments in passing but the careless remarks weren’t worth sharing with Marisela. By her current state, he imagined that she’d heard an earful and by the look of her the whispers and scandalous hearsay had been discouraging. Since arriving at the Delors’ New Year’s Day White Ball, his sister’s friend had been liberally drinking.