Chapter Twenty Estera Roberts’ POV (Present Time)

“Hey,” he said, with his eyes pinning me to the spot. I swallowed and my chest quivered. “I’m sorry I missed your dance, and would very much like a private one with you… if you don’t mind,” he said, still holding my gaze as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. I shook my head without speaking and then he added, “If it’s about payment, trust me, I can afford it.”
“I’m sorry, sir, she doesn’t give private dances,” Ameera responded. I guessed my friends must have noticed how stunned I was by this new stranger. He spared her a glance and flashed that arresting but rear smile of his at her before returning his intense gaze to meet mine.
“Thank you, but, I would love her to say that to me herself,” he said. My heart skipped a bit with the conviction that he may already know it was me. And with lack of what to say I said, “I’m sorry,” in an almost inaudible tone.
I saw his eyes flickered with emotions and I couldn't bear to stay there, pretending any longer.
I gave Ameera and Ashley a telling gaze and turned to leave, thinking to go hide in the dressing room or something.
“Would a million dollars do? Or Two? Name it… Name your price. I can transfer the money into your account at this very minute. All I need is a few minutes alone with you,” he said, making me halt my strides.
Ameera and Ashley gasped. I had no choice but to turn around to face him. It didn't look as if he was going to give up. I watched as he brought out his wallet. The coffee-colored wallet was pure leather and I would know because I had gifted it to him. I released a shaky breath.
He started counting 100 dollar bills, with practiced expertise while his eyes stayed glued to me. I could see from the corner of my eye that we were beginning to attract attention. Which was the last thing I needed. I strolled back to him.
“Stop…” I said in a low tone, snatching the wallet from him with the cash and putting it back neatly in the wallet. My eyes caught a worn-out picture of the two of us in Paris tucked behind a transparent plastic by the side. My hands shook as I returned the wallet to him.
“This way… sir,” I said, walking back towards the dressing room, acutely aware of him behind me. I took him to a room after the dressing room and pushed it open. I was glad to discover it empty.
“What song would you like, sir?” I said, having the intention to keep in character, but it was damn hard.
“You pick, you are the one to dance to it,” he retorted, sounding a tad angry. While I tried to figure out how to turn the damn sound on, he went to pour himself some brandy from a minibar by the side of the room.
I let out a soundless sigh of relief when the remote control suddenly cooperated, and a relaxing instrumental filled the room.
I awkwardly started to sway my hips, moving as best as I could, considering the circumstances, noting how he watched and drank heavily as a man possessed.
“I may be wrong, but seductresses are supposed to be way closer than you are right now,” he said in almost a drawl.
He sat down on the only couch in the room and I had to move closer with the hope to throw him off. I thought perhaps if I didn’t show fear or hesitate he would let me be. Then he reached for me, snaking an arm around my waist to make me sit on his lap – an act that made me shiver all over at the body contact.
“Please, do not touch—” I said in a shaky panic. And he went still like an ostler trying to tame a wild horse, then he brushed his thumb on an old scar on my kneecap. I knew for certain then he knew it was me.
“Remember when you got this? I was terrified you were going to hit your head. I wanted to hold you in my arms and keep you safe for all time,” he said and chuckled. “So, are you going to take the damn mask off, baby? Or should we still continue this charade? Estera?” he added then kissed me. And that was my undoing.
I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't pretend I didn't want to kiss him back and cry out his name for the first time in six damn miserable years. I couldn't pretend I didn't want to run my fingers through his hair and buried my nose in the nook of his neck to draw into my nostrils his intoxicating scent. So I did the only thing I had done six years ago, I ran!
Bolting out of his arms, I exited the room and took the right, running as if my life depended on it. I was mighty glad to see that there was an escape door in the direction I took.
“Estera!” I heard him call loudly but I paid him no mind, I was hell-bent on putting enough distance between us.
I just thought to get away from him. A few minutes later I busted out to the back of the building and sighted two security men to the left, heading around the building in another direction.
I could hear him getting closer and knew I wouldn't be able to outrun him in my heels. I found a shadowy corner and blended into the darkness. A moment after I saw him rush out and stood there looking around frantically for me.
“Christ, s - she left…” I heard him say with feelings that pulled hard at my heartstrings.
"ESTERA!" he called loudly in desperation, making my heart shudder in my chest. I shut my eyes and tears pulled at the back of my eyelids, spilling down my face.
“Oh, God, my chest,” he groaned, lowering to the asphalt floor, breathing hard.
“Evan—” I called out and he stood up, wheeling around to face me. I took a step forward and stopped, overwhelmed with concern and my feelings for him, but still afraid to close the distance between us. “Are you okay, baby? What's wrong with your chest?” I asked. My concern and love are evident in my tone.
“Estie—you are still here…” he said in a deep, low voice ridden with feelings.
“Yes…” I replied in almost a whisper.
“Small world, huh?” he said, then chuckled -- the humorless and hollow kind.
“Evan…” I called wanting to apologize for leaving the way I did and then remembered I had no choice. My treacherous mind reminded me he never came after me anyways. Perhaps it didn't matter, perhaps I never mattered. But then his stance and tortured beautiful eyes were telling me otherwise.
“Were you really going to run off without as much as a word to me, baby?”
“I don’t know. You scared me!” I replied in intense agitation. I truly didn't know why I had to run, but I know I can not be seen with him.
“Please… please tell me you went ahead and went to med school.”
“I'm in my intern year!”
“Then why the hell, Estera, are you in that getup, acting like a fucking stripper? What is that about? Do you need money?”
“No, I don't need money. I’m doing this for a friend.”
“How much?”
“No, Evan. No. Just leave it be—” I said, still maintaining the distance between us.
“Come to me, Estera,” he ordered in that familiar choice of tone that he uses when he gets intensely emotional but still trying to maintain his air of manliness.
“I shouldn’t… Evan—” I said. Knowing exactly what would happen if I closed the gap between us.
“Don’t make me beg,” he said pleadingly and my heart swelled with love for him.
“Don’t do this to me, Evan!” I cried. If I crossed that line, close that distance, he was going to turn my life upside down again. And I knew knowing he was taken and that his very presence was a threat to my life would not stop a damn thing.
“Don’t make me beg, baby—” he repeated, sounding broken and in pain. I ran to him then and watched as he rushed forward to meet me halfway.
He drew me against his front and held me tight. I lost myself in his scent and the familiar feel of him against my body with his heart beating below my ears. I let out a shaky breath and my shoulders shook.
He framed my masked face with his hands, and I could feel him quivering hard. The last time I witnessed him get this intense was after Brian's party when he lost control and told me I was his.
“Please, take the mask off,” he whispered with chest heaving, and I raised my hands to unclip the latch at the back of my head, and the leather mask peeled off of my face.
His eyes darted hurriedly as he took me in, the lovely pair glistened in the dark as he continued to hold my gaze.
“Stay with me, please,” he said and I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling. I knew what he was asking of me, and even though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't pull back and say goodbye to him just yet -- no not yet. So I nodded in submission, and then he kissed me.
The touch of his lips against mine after all these years and the drugging taste of him made me moan loudly, uninhibited. His lips skimmed over my lips, the tip of my nose, and lastly my closed eyelids before he took my lips again. I was literally on fire, burning for him as I wrapped my arms around his middle, straining against him as he continued to taste me hungrily as if he couldn't have enough.
“Estera,” he whispered repeatedly with longing against my lips as if he couldn't quite believe I was real. I felt the same way. Only I knew this wasn't a dream. I would know because my dream of him always makes me feel like I was withering inside. But this one, this particular one, made me feel whole like I was exactly where I belong -- in his arms.
He carried me and I in turn wrapped my legs around him, burying my face in the nook of his neck as he walked away from the alley behind the building to the streets, and kept walking down the block before flagging down a cab.
"55th Street," he told the driver and managed to enter the car still holding me. He didn't let me out of his arms nor did he speak. I wasn’t feeling chatty myself. I just rubbed my face against his neck enjoying the feel of his skin.