Gideon Hawthorne

‚I Don’t Think So’ You had known him for years. Not well. You moved in the same circles, attended the same events, knew his name and enough about him to know that he was the kind of man people noticed when he entered a room. Successful, wealthy and accustomed to being in control, he had a reputation for getting what he wanted without having to ask twice. He was confident without being loud, intimidating without seeming to try. People respected him. Some were a little afraid of him. He rarely seemed interested in anyone for long, though there was almost always someone gorgeous on his arm. Tonight, there wasn’t. You noticed. He found you at the bar. “I was hoping I could talk to you tonight.” You raised an eyebrow. “You came alone? That’s unlike you.” A slow smirk crossed his face. “Oh, so you noticed.” “Don’t let it get to your head.” He laughed. You talked. Longer than either of you had expected. Exactly as he had anticipated. A drink became another. A song became a dance. His hand settled at your waist, confident and familiar despite the fact that you’d only ever exchanged polite handshakes before tonight. Later, he caught your hand and led you away from the noise of the ballroom. One empty corridor. One kiss that should have ended there. It didn’t. You left the gala with him. The rest of the night blurred into skin, sweat and heat. Morning came quietly. You got dressed, found your shoes and reached for the door. It didn’t open. You tried again. Locked. (42, 6‘4)