Chapter 17: The Netherfield Ball

"Would you mind removing your pants?"

Cora struggled to keep a straight face. Her cheeks ached from the effort.

Meanwhile Jamie, continuing his unbroken streak of being the most impossible person she'd ever met, chose this moment to cease all advances and revert once again to languid indifference.

He did not remove his pants. "Sorry," he replied instead, as he lowered his foot to the floor. "You'll have to buy me dinner first."

Never mind the fact that they'd require a sea-going vessel to reach the nearest restaurant. Cora scowled. Was this his way of shutting her down?

Clearly, nothing was going to happen between them tonight. He was all talk, no action. Maybe he'd never had any intention of sleeping with her. Or, maybe she'd blown it during their little spat just now. Moments ago, she'd been throwing every insult in the book at him. Now she was throwing herself.

Talk about a mood shift. Cora didn't consider herself a fickle person by nature—more like stubborn to a fault—but Jamie's abrupt course corrections had her reeling in response.

She held back a sigh. Let it go, she told herself. Say goodnight and go to bed. What was she thinking anyway, attempting a one night stand with this life-sized Men's Health photo-spread sprawled before her? Things like that didn't happen in real life. Not to normal people. She needed to stop dreaming and get a grip.

She hadn't been dreaming last night though. There was no mistaking Jamie's interest then. Cora clung to that memory for balance as her thoughts pitched and rolled inside her head. No, she wasn't imagining things. Jamie might not consider her the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, but he found her attractive enough for a one-nighter.

Why wouldn't he? It was an ideal situation for both of them. Two ships passing in the night, as he had said. No need to get too personal. And no messy emotional consequences to be dealt with in the morning.

Tomorrow, they would never see each other again.

But tonight...

Tonight, she had one goal. Physical contact. Skin on skin. With zero emotional involvement.

Jamie sat on his bed before her, supporting his weight on his elbows. In this position, she had the advantage of height. She used it to look down the bridge of her nose. "I'd buy you a drink," she said airily, "but some neanderthal stuck his bare foot in our ice bucket."

"That's a pity." He curled forward and stood in a smooth motion, encroaching on her space. Cora inched backward to make room, but he stopped her. He reached for the dangling ends of the belt from her bathrobe, but not to loosen it. He made a loop and began tying it, slowly and deliberately, into a bow.

Cora's fingers twitched. See? She wasn't dreaming now. He was standing too close for her to mistake his intentions. She fought the urge to grab his t-shirt and pull it up over his head.

Instead, she kept still. The picture of composure. Perfectly at ease. Entirely unbothered by the fact that he could give her belt one good yank, and she'd be standing naked before him.

She was starting to discern the pattern in Jamie's mood shifts. It was almost like a dance. When one partner pushed forward, the other stepped back. When he stepped back, he wanted her to push forward. Like the salsa class she'd taken with Steven once upon a time, back when they were first engaged. When she was still hoping the relationship could somehow be salvaged...

Cora stiffened at the memory. She shrugged away the involuntary shudder and pushed the thought out of her head.

Jamie didn't seem to have noticed, luckily. He had his head tilted sideways, considering his handiwork as he tied and re-loosened the bow. "The real pity," he said, as if reading her thoughts, "Is that we never had our Netherfield Ball. I was looking forward to it."

Cora blinked. "Are we back to Pride & Prejudice now? What happened to Jane Eyre?"

He untied the bow and started over again. The way he held her belt caused her hips to tilt forward, closer to his own. Cora stared at the gap remaining between them, little more than the width of his hands.

Jamie's voice grew soft. "I don't recall Mr. Rochester having any balls," he murmured.

Cora bit her lip, staring at the spot where his t-shirt met his jeans. Was she confused, or was he really talking about... "Just to clarify," she said slowly, "are we discussing Netherfield or... other nether regions?"

Jamie grinned. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, eliminating the gap between them. "If I have to tell you that, then we're not discussing anything at all."

Cora rested her hands against his chest. A slow heat welled from the place where their bodies pressed together. The bow he'd tied was trapped between them now. She wondered if the two of them could untie it with just the movement of their hips. Maybe, if they worked together.

But she was getting ahead of herself. It was all a dance. If she pushed forward now, he would step back again. She had to follow his lead, even if she found his tempo maddeningly slow.

Cora kept her hips still and wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He smelled clean and fresh from the shower. She pulled in a deep lungful, savoring the scent. "How do you know all the names of the characters and everything?" she murmured in his ear, hypnotized by the way he folded both arms around her, swaying gently. "Is Robbie feeding you the Cliff Notes?"

Jamie cupped the back of her head and tilted it up to make her look at him. "You doubt me."

"Even if you were an English major, there's no way you remember the name of Mr. Darcy's house. Not off the top of your head."

He held her face between his hands, looking deep into her eyes. For a panicked moment, she thought he might try to kiss her.

"No kissing," she reminded him, sounding high and breathy. She pulled her face away and took a step back, out of reach.

Jamie made no comment. He kept his words on the topic of books, as if nothing physical were passing between them while they had this conversation. "It was Mr. Bingley's house. But never mind Netherfield. All those courtship novels had a ballroom scene, didn't they?" He held out his hand toward her, palm up, in the gesture of some 19th century gentlemen asking his lady love to dance. Cora laid her hand in his. "It's like a formula," he went on. "There's always a scene somewhere in the middle, when the two characters stop dancing around their feelings and get on with things."

Cora met his eyes. "If only real life followed formulas."

"If only." He echoed her, as if it answered any of her questions.

Which it didn't.

Not at all.

Cora was out of patience. Clearly, they would never get anywhere if she let him lead. "So," she said, "Are we going to get on with things, or would you rather spend the night on literary analysis?"

He raised her hand toward his lips. "Am I allowed to kiss you here?"

"No."

"Not even on the hand?"

"Not anywhere. But you can see me naked if you like."

The barest hint of a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. "You know, there's a reason for those ballroom scenes."

"Literary analysis it is, then." She pursed her lips.

Jamie ignored the frustration in her voice. He dropped her hand and lifted his fingers to her face. He let his thumb brush across her lower lip to smooth away her tart expression. "If I can't kiss you," he whispered, "then we have to find some other way to dance around first. Otherwise it wouldn't be satisfying."

With these words, he seemed to reach a decision. He stood up straight and nodded in the direction of her room. "Go on, then. Get dressed. Put on your prettiest frock."

Cora blinked at him, bewildered. "Why?"

"Because it's time for us to have our ball."

Cora didn't move. He wasn't serious, was he? If skin-to-skin was her goal, getting dressed seemed like a step in the wrong direction.

The moment stretched on in silence, only broken when the clock ticked loudly over his bed. Jamie looked over at it meaningfully. "Better hurry. Most balls end at the stroke of midnight, I believe."

"You want me to put on a ball gown?"

"The nicest dress you brought. That will have to do."

"Should I wear my glass slippers too?"

"If you like. I'm not particular about the footwear.".

"Fine." She spun away and headed for her room, making a beeline for her suitcase.

She knew exactly which dress she would wear. She fished it from her suitcase and unrolled it, smoothing out a crease with her hands. Periwinkle silk. It skimmed her hips and hit her at mid-calf. The dress was backless and dipped below her natural waist in the back, held up only by a pair of straps that tied in a bow around her neck. Not a ballgown. Closer to a nightgown if anything, but it would pass for evening wear in a pinch. She'd packed it on a whim, knowing she most likely wouldn't have any occasion to wear such a dress on her trip to Bora Bora.

"But you're not in Bora Bora," Cora said out loud as she slipped the dress over her head.

Cora tied the ribbon-like straps in a bow behind her neck, recalling the way Jamie's hands had tied her belt. The memory sent up a flare of sudden heat that made her inhale sharply. She left the bow loose with long ribbons dangling suggestively. If he pulled one end, the whole dress would slide down her hips in a silken waterfall and end in a puddle on the floor.

Cora closed her eyes a moment, and ran her hands up and down the slippery fabric. Her skin ached to be touched. How long had it been since anyone had seen her undressed? Nobody. Not since Steven...

She didn't want to think about Steven. What happened with him had nothing whatsoever to do with the current circumstances. Tonight was about one thing, and one thing only. Love, or the loss of it, were nowhere in the conversation.

Cora plugged her hairdryer into the bathroom socket with a decisive shove. She would blow her hair dry after all. She just needed to curl the ends with her round brush the way her fairy god-stylist had shown her. With her honey-colored highlights, she almost didn't recognize the woman standing in the mirror when she was done.

She could be whoever she wanted tonight. Her Netherfield Ball wasn't in the middle of the story, but the end. Tomorrow would mark the conclusion of her excursion from from reality. Mr. Darcy would not be proposing marriage afterward. Prince Charming would not be using her footwear, glass or otherwise, as an excuse to hunt her down.

Just a one night stand, she told herself. The ball would end at midnight. Then Jamie would untie her little bow and unwrap her like a present.

She turned and looked over her shoulder in the mirror at the expanse of skin the dress revealed. Perfect.

There was only one item on her agenda for tonight, she told herself firmly, as she turned for the door to Jamie's room. One goal. Skin on skin.

And Cora Glass was nothing if not goal oriented.

***

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