Chapter Eight

Jasmine’s POV

I was brushing my hair when Blake knocked on the door. After the incident in the kitchen, I avoided him like a plague and refused to talk to him. There was nothing to say to him anyway, I was stuck in the house with a devil who wants my blood. I had called my secretary asking for painkillers I could use and had gone on full swing motion searching for one damned pain kill in the whole cupboard. After an hour of a rampage, and Blake watching me from the corner of his eyes waiting for me to approach him, I found it in the bathroom first aid kit. 

He didn’t wait for me to say, “come in.” He just pushed it open and walked inside like he owned the place.

“Learn to knock, honey, you would rather not see me nude.” I hissed. 

He just smirked and checked me out slowly in the towel wrapped around my body.

“We have a gala tonight,” he said, not sparing me a glance again. “And I need to remind you that people are expecting us. It’s our first appearance since the wedding.”

I didn’t turn around. I kept brushing my hair slowly.

“So?” I dragged slowly. 

“So you need to get ready,” he tutted back.

I looked at him through the mirror. “I’m not a child. I know how to get dressed, Blake.”

I paused thoughtfully. “Or are you scared I am going to put on a show and dress manically. You know we can't afford that, right?" 

He walked closer, fixing the cuff on his sleeve. “I won’t be driving you. I’m heading there early. I have some business talk.”

I turned around this time. “Business talk?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Very important people. Influential ones and I need to talk to them before the glass takes a full swing.”

“Good for you,” I deadpanned. “I wasn’t expecting you to play chauffeur anyway.” I waved him a hand in a way of dismissing him, but instead he caught my hands, and caressed the ring on it. I tried wafting my hands off his grip, but he held on tightly.

He looked at me and raised a brow, still caressing my hands and sending delicious shivers down my spine. “Careful, Jasmine. Countless girls would kill to have me as their driver.”

I loved the way my name sounded on his lips. He already made it known to me, he won't be calling me by my name. He knows what he's doing — denying me the pleasure of my name on his lips.

I snorted. “Plenty of girls need higher standards then.”

He smirked and leaned forward. My eyes widened and I leaned backward. Be released a low mocking laugh, but there was a hint of mischievousness in his eyes. He kissed me on my forehead forcefully while I glared at him. “Driver will pick you up at seven, little monster. Don't spend a hell lot of time painting your face and come looking like a masquerade.”

“Fine,” I snapped.

He left the room without another word. I rolled my eyes, such a dickhead. And an asshole.

….

At seven, I stepped into the car. Red silk hugged my body like a second skin. The slit on the dress climbed high up my thigh, displaying my beautiful pale skin. The upper part was pushed downwards in a wrapping style, displaying my cleavage. I wore it on purpose. I wanted to see his face.

When I stepped out at the gala, I spotted him right away. He was standing under the lights, talking to some man in a suit, looking rich and important. He turned and saw me.

Not only that, but he froze.

His mouth actually opened a little. He coughed. I looked away. Then I looked again.

Exactly what I wanted.

He was fully dressed in a black tuxedo jacket and tie, his hair was styled carelessly sending curling strands falling all over his face, his shoes were graced with a shoe unlike when he walked in a pair of flip-flops back in the bedroom. I walked slowly, my heels clicking on the pavement. I didn’t smile. I didn’t wave. I just walked straight to him.

He took my hand, placed it on his arm, and grabbed my waist with his other hand. His grip was a little too tight.

“Is this part of the deal, little monster? Looking ravishing and edible?” he asked, voice low near my ear.

“Every second I stand beside you deserves a raise,” I said, smiling like I was happy.

Cameras flashed. People called our names. Everyone wanted a picture of the perfect couple. We gave them one.

Inside the hall, lights sparkled everywhere. Gold and white. There were many flowers, glasses filled with wine, laughter that rang at every corner of the room, people in gowns and tuxedos.

Blake leaned close. “Smile, little monster. People are watching.”

I gave a sweet fake laugh. “You smile too. Or they’ll think we hate each other.”

He offered his arm, and we walked through the crowd. We greeted people. He talked business while listening, without making it known. I laughed when I needed to. He touched the small of my back, caressing it in small circles. I touched his arm, offering him the same feeling. It was fake. But something else moved under it. A heat. A pull. Something that felt too real.

At one point, he left to speak with an older man in a gray suit. I watched him from a distance. Then I saw something. 

A woman in a tight black dress. She walked right up to him. She was smiling as she put her hand on his chest. Not only that, but she leaned in, whispered something. She laughed and touched his arm again.

I didn’t think so.

I didn’t plan.

I walked straight over.

“Blake,” I said sweetly, wafting the hands of the woman off his chest and placing my hands on it. I pried into his personal space and pushed my butt out, kicking the woman out while I stared up at him. “Honey.”

He turned his eyes at me. They widened a little.

I grabbed his tie in a savage, seducing way and pulled him down into a kiss. His lips kissed mine in a delicious way that made me moan. It was a deep and hot one. I bit his lips and he sucked on my lower lips.

When I pulled back, the woman was gone. I saw her at the corner glaring hard at me while I returned it with a smile. The room was quieter.

I leaned toward his ear.

“Just making sure they know who owns this circus act,” I whispered.

He gave a small laugh. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

I didn’t answer. I walked away.

…..

The gala went on. We danced once. People clapped. We posed for pictures. We smiled. I had two glasses of champagne. Blake had one. We stayed by each other’s side the whole time. People watched. People whispered.

When it ended, we got back in the car. The door closed. Silence filled the space.

Blake turned his head toward me.

“Did you enjoy the gala?” he asked.

I looked out the window. “It was full of flirty men and fake women.”

He smiled. “So you were jealous.”

I turned to him slowly. “What?”

“You were jealous,” he said again. “That’s why you kissed me. You thought someone might steal me.”

I stared at him for three seconds. Then I laughed out loud.

“Stop dreaming, Mr. King,” I said. “You’re not that special.”

He smirked. “I saw how fast you came running. And how angry you looked at the woman.”

I shook my head. “You’re a narcissist.”

“And you’re a manipulative brat.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” I snapped. “Mr. Control Freak himself.”

“At least I’m not fake sweet in front of cameras and a snake behind them.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“Good,” he said. “Because the little I do know is already too much. It is killing and suffocating the life out of me.”

“I kissed you to save your ego from being stepped on in public,” I snapped.

He laughed. “My ego? Please. You wanted that kiss.”

“I wanted silence.”

“Then why did you moan?”

“I didn’t moan!” I shouted.

“You kind of did,” he said, grinning.

“You’re unbelievable,” I snapped.

“You started it.”

“You enjoyed it.”

“You bit me,” he said, pointing to his lip. “You actually bit me.”

“I was trying to stop myself from throwing up.”

He leaned closer. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep.”

His breath was warm. His face was too close. His eyes locked on mine. And I hated it. Because I wanted to kiss him again. I didn’t move. He didn’t either. Then we both moved at once.

The kiss was fast. Hard. Messy. His hands grabbed my waist. My fingers pulled at his collar. His mouth crushed mine. Mine pushed back. Our breaths were loud. And the car felt too small. Then I pulled back, so fast, but I bit his lip on purpose. He hissed. I wiped my mouth.

“Next time,” I said, fixing my hair, “try not to taste like ego.”

I opened the door before he could say anything else. I stepped out.

He growled behind me. Loud. Like a man ready to scream.

I smiled to myself as I walked into the house.