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I’m not nervous. I refuse to be nervous.
Skylar tightly clutched her fiancé’s hand as she struggled to climb the stone steps leading to the mansion. Rex was lucky—his silk mask covered only part of his face, making it easier to see. Plus, he was wearing a tuxedo. Skylar’s intricate black silk and lace mask narrowed her field of view, and her long satin evening gown threatened to trip her unless she held the skirt up at just the right angle.
Under her elbow, she gripped her jeweled clutch; it held the blood-red invitation with swooping silver script that would gain them entrance to the evening’s exclusive event. The three-story mansion with the mullioned windows stood tall on a lush hill just outside the city. Golden light glittered through the windows, casting shadows from the tall spiral topiaries on either side of the entryway.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Rex murmured under his breath. Footsteps came from some distance behind them—the click, click, click of a woman’s high heels on the granite steps, along with the softer shuffle of a man’s leather-soled dress shoes. Another couple was slowly gaining on them. “I want to get inside and find what we came for before anyone else selects someone you’d be interested in,” he added.
Panic swept over her, a wave of darkness sucking oxygen from her lungs. Skyler stifled the sudden urge to pull the invitation out, rip it in half, and watch the pieces get carried away by the wind that slipped down from the angry, purple clouds in the dark dusk sky. Why had she agreed to tonight? Why had she agreed with Rex that this, of all things, was necessary?
Breathe, Skylar, breathe.
She’d made her bed— now she’d have to lie in it, quite literally.
Rex turned to her as they stopped outside the massive iron doors with the gold knocker held in a carved lion’s mouth. “Three quick, two slow, three quick,” he murmured. “That was it, right?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest they turn around and drive back to Manhattan. And yet that wouldn’t be prudent. Because even if they did leave, Rex would simply want to try again another night.
Better to get this over with.
“I thought it was three quick, two slow, two slow,” she said, moving to open her clutch to double-check the invitation. Before she could reach inside her bag, Rex banged the knocker—three quick knocks, followed by two slow knocks, a long pause, then another two slow knocks. She held her breath.
The door creaked open, and a slim butler in a red mask moved to block their view inside. “Invitation, please,” the man said in a bored tone.
Skylar handed the invitation to Rex, who in turn placed it in the waiting hand of the butler. Silently, the red-masked man moved aside, sweeping his hand to gesture them inside the mansion. She shivered as Rex’s cold hand slid up the exposed skin of her lower back. He pressed her forward, and the doors clanged heavily behind them. The shiver turned into quaking, but Rex didn’t seem to notice.
Casting a quick glance about, Skyler took in the marbled floors, the intricately carved paneling on the walls, and an ornate gold chandelier above that illuminated the grand foyer. A sweeping staircase led to the next level. Large oil paintings of still lifes, landscapes, and portraits lined the walls. The place was elegant and ornate, with clear neoclassical elements indicating it was built during the Georgian era. The house would have equally belonged on the lush green fields of England just as much as it did in the far reaches of Long Island.
“Up the stairs and into the ballroom, if you will, sir and madam.”
She glanced back at the butler and shivered again as he shoved the iron bar lock back into place; apparently, the couple who had been following them up the steps hadn’t been quick enough, or perhaps they just needed to provide the secret knock, regardless. The complaining shriek of heavy metal against heavy metal echoed across the marble steps leading upward . . . leading to her destiny, perhaps, depending on how tonight went.
There was no turning back now.
Rex, overly eager, almost started up the stairway without her, but at the last minute, he turned around and offered Skylar his arm. When they reached the elaborately woven carpet at the top of the curved staircase, a server in a white suit and a red mask offered a tray of champagne glasses. Rex took two, handing one to Skylar. By the time they made it to the ballroom doors, the liquid was long gone from both their glasses.
At the double doors, two more white-suited workers in red masks pulled open the doors, allowing Skylar and Rex to enter. Inside, red and blue up-lighting cast the space in a haze of intrigue. Silk, gauze, and chiffon hung from the tiled ceiling, creating the vague illusion of a maze in which deep-seated velvet couches were scattered. Thicker, heavier velvet drapes were strategically placed throughout the space, offering private enclaves. Through the nearly transparent gauze, Skylar caught glimpses of men and women standing in hidden corners or lounging in twos and threes on couches. All were in evening wear. All were masked.
Rex dropped his arm, allowing hers to slip from the crook of his elbow. He took a step away, his gaze darting about. She looked questioningly up at him. She didn’t want to admit she missed the comfort of his
closeness.
“There’s no bar. I’d assumed there’d be a bar,” he complained.
She swallowed. Rex was as nervous as she and in search of liquid courage. When they first started dating, she’d been oddly reassured by his insecurities that subtly showed on occasion. Somehow, those brief moments made him more real, more human. Her days at work were filled with men exuding confidence and self-stroking their egos, dominating and taking control of every meeting, every conversation. Par for the course in the high-powered finance industry but wearying to experience daily.
Rex, with his momentary flashes of vulnerability, had been a refreshing and welcomed change— except when he used bravado to cover up and hide those vulnerabilities, something that seemed to be happening as of late.
Noticing various servants carrying trays of drinks, she leaned into Rex and spoke in a low voice. “I think it’s a bit like a casino. Where they bring you drinks.”
“Got it,” he said brusquely. “Shall we find a place to sit? I think we’re supposed to sit and peruse.”
She swallowed and nodded. This time, Rex remembered to offer her his arm, and with her fingers clutched tight to the crook of his elbow, they went deeper into the ballroom. Hanging silk brushed against her bare shoulder, and she sucked in a sudden breath. The sensation felt like the caress of a stranger. The touch was unnerving, but she knew she needed to get used to it. A brush against her shoulder by a stranger would be the least of what happened this evening.
If all went according to plan.
I’m not nervous.
Rex pointed to a tufted couch. “We’ll station ourselves here.”
Skylar took her place next to him, taking her time to surreptitiously look at those around them. The men were in a variety of tuxedos, some in classic black and others in the newest stylish trends with thin lapels and a hint of pattern to the fabric. The women all wore full-length gowns, most in black like Skylar’s gown or in dark jewel tones. The servants were all in white livery and with red masks. The men and women, however . . .
Most wore black masks. Some, though, wore gold.
Next to her, Rex twisted his head to the right, then left, leaving no question he was
scanning the room. “Do you see anyone who catches your eye?”
People seemed to move about the ballroom like ghosts. Their eyes in their masks flickered toward Rex and Skylar as their elegant ball gowns floated across the floor or their coattails swayed behind them . . . and then they were gone behind the hanging fabric.
Skylar sat with her spine firmly set, hands clasped lightly in her lap. She knew what he was really asking—if anyone wearing a gold mask had caught her eye. Because that was the way this event worked.
She was supposed to make her choice and seal the deal she’d made with Rex.
But she felt uncharacteristically scattered like a branch adrift in a raging river. She understood business proposals. She’d attended the best business schools in the country, both to get her undergraduate degree and her MBA. She’d studied the art of persuasion and fully understood how to manipulate, entice, and lure in the investor. She’d made her company millions with her business acumen, with her strategies. But this? This made her feel weak. Helpless. Powerless.
She hated it.
But most of all, she hated herself.
Rex’s gaze seared into Skylar’s as he waited for her to answer his question— had anyone caught her eye? She glanced around the room, trying to find even more than an attractive appearance, someone interesting. Unique. Someone who stood out. When she came up empty, she sighed.
“It isn’t as if I can see very much,” she said.
“Maybe that’s deliberate. A brilliant business decision that gives our hosts the edge. Someone ugly as sin with a good body can still be a good fuck. But you’d think for the amount of money we paid, they’d give us pictures to peruse beforehand,” Rex complained.
In a way, he was right—the entrance fee to this event had been a staggering five figures, so one would think there should be a more obvious presentation of what their host was offering. But then again, the masks, the location . . . it all served to create a sense of mystery, of fantasy. The man with the unseen face but a stellar body could be the beast in your bed, while the man or woman with fewer muscles could have the face of a God or Goddess. It all depended on what one was looking for.
Skylar, however, felt lost in a sea of hair and bodies—how was she going to make her selection? But then again, did it really matter? The one thing all gold mask wearers had in common, they were reassured, is that they were all experts when it came to sex. So—
“Skylar, it’s not going to happen if you don’t relax,” Rex said before stopping one of the servers. “Two gin martinis; one with lime, one with olives.”
She bit her lower lip, biting back the irritation. She’d wanted champagne tonight.
He turned back to her. “Maybe the booze will take some of your tension away. Remember what the consultant said.”
Heat prickled up her neck and into her cheeks. How could she forget? She wished the feathers of her mask covered her face more and that her dress covered her neck because she knew a blush now stained her face and neck with blotches. Yes, the consultant had suggested an event such as tonight. And yes, Skylar had agreed out of desperation to save her relationship. On paper, tonight seemed to be a logical option for solving their problems, but logic didn’t always translate to correlating emotions.
Because right now, all she wanted was for this night to be over. All she wanted was to have gone back in time and never agreed to this. And above all, what she wanted was to no longer feel pressured by her fiancé. Was she wrong, insisting her inability to come couldn’t be overcome? Or was he who said the opposite?
Either way, the resent
ment she’d been starting to feel toward her fiancé ever since he eagerly agreed with the consultant that this was a logical choice churned in her chest. She had to look away to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.
Something like, “It’s over.”
The relationship or the quest, though? She wasn’t sure which her mind was pushing her toward. Because she loved Rex. Clearly, she would do almost anything for him— for them.
Or was she just clinging to a love that had long since died? That had evaporated into the ether after one too many instances in which Rex had made her feel less than, and now she was only existing on the phantom emotions of what had been?
These thoughts . . . . These questions . . . She never should have come.
A couple, laughing and leaning heavily on one another, pushed aside a heavy velvet drape as they exited one of the alcoves. At that moment, Skyler glimpsed a man in a golden mask and tux seated on an easy chair. She shouldn’t have been able to make them out so clearly, but his eyes were a bright green that lazily caught hers in a raw and powerful gaze. One beat passed, and he still didn’t look away.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Two beats.
Her heartbeat increased its now rapid pace.
Three beats and—
The drape fell back into place, cutting off her view.
The room whirled in front of her eyes, and she blinked, forcing herself back to reality. Her body was flushed. Her heartbeat racing even faster than it had been. Had she imagined how strong his jaw was? How piercing his green eyes were? How well he filled out his black tuxedo jacket? That stare . . . the way he’d held her gaze in his . . .
She could swear a secret had passed between them, a moment of pure knowing. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they’d held each other’s gaze for hours.
There was something else, too. Her panties were suddenly wet.
As if driven by something invisible inside her, she stood and took a step forward. To him.
The man in the gold mask.
***
“What are you doing?”
Rex’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far away. Skylar blinked. Without even realizing it, she’d stood and started to walk away from her fiancé. To find him. The man who’d captured something deep and primal inside her, something she hadn’t known existed until this very moment. She looked back into the crowd to where she’d seen the man in the gold mask, but all she saw were gauzy drapes. Velvet settees. Milling patrons in black masks.
“I’m going to walk a bit.”
Rex frowned. “Our martinis are coming. We’re billed for food and drinks even if we don’t have anything.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait—I don’t need to worry about you leaving, do I, dear?”
Her stomach twisted with tension coupled with the now familiar sensation of resentment. He was concerned about the cost. Not about her or how she felt. Straightening her spine, she looked down her nose at the man she’d once fallen so hard for. “Don’t worry, Rex,” she said smoothly, allowing no emotion into her tone. “I know you spent a fortune. You’ll get your money’s worth tonight.”
“Skylar—”
She left before he could give her a fake apology. Those little things about Rex she’d fallen in love with, those moments of tenderness, of vulnerability, of gentleness, had they all been an illusion? Smoke and mirrors? Because it seemed that once he’d popped the question—and she’d accepted his proposal of marriage—so much had changed between them.
Although there’d always been one constant. And that constant was why they were in this place. To see if she was fatally flawed.
She swept further away from Rex, wandering the aisles for a few minutes. The arrangement of the ballroom was indeed a maze, and she found herself discombobulated, lost in space. A few of the partygoers smiled at her, mostly men and women in gold masks trying to capture her attention, but none did. None made her want to take a second look. Not like the man she’d seen earlier. Was he still . . . unattached?
She doubted it. A man like that could have his pick of anyone here tonight.
One man in a gold mask stepped up to her and then leaned in close, a knowing smile on his overly wet lips that brought a wave of disgust. The wrong response for tonight’s goal. He appeared handsome, yes, with a chiseled jaw and elegant nose, but the look in his eyes and the smirk on his face made her retreat. She whirled about, fighting not to gag. This night was not going to plan.
I am not nervous.
And yet she was. Nervous and afraid. And far out of her depth. Uncharacteristic for her to be in an environment in which she was not in full control. To feel the old sensations of nerves. Of fear. Of worry. Of being less than.
Yes, she’d made the agreement with Rex and the consultant, and yes, she’d go through with tonight, but she’d hoped to feel something more . . . energetic. Positive. Hopeful. She’d anticipated a rush of arousal upon entering the space. She hadn’t hoped for this reaction, though. Not the fear. Not the tension and dread.
The crowd was growing, and she felt a wave of claustrophobia. Quickly, she ducked into the next intimate space created by the curtains and perched on the armrest of one of the three-sided sofas there.
And there he was.
He sat splayed confidently in a tall-backed leather chair at the outer edge of the alcove. His long legs were spread wide so that the length of his cock was
a mystery to no one. One arm rested lazily behind his head, and the other swirled a whisky glass. And like an erotic pattern, all along his tuxedo were the hands of women in elegant evening gowns and black jeweled masks. Women just like Skylar.
She tried to count the number of women but lost track as they leaned in, and swayed back, all angling and shifting for a better position around him like a pack of ravenous hyenas. One woman rested her hand on his shoulder. Another slid her hand up his thigh toward his crotch. Two women on each side squeezed his knees as they laughed. Another leaned over him from behind and ran her fingers down his chest, whispering something in his ear.
Yet the man didn’t look at her; instead, he stared straight into Skylar’s eyes. She swallowed and pulled her shoulders back and her chin up, returning his piercing stare. Two could play the staring game.
He smirked, then returned his focus to the women in the pack around him, giving them all attention, smiling and nodding in agreement at something one or another said. Yet he was not reaching out and touching any of them. And he certainly wasn’t standing and leading one away to one of the “Well-appointed rooms on the third floor,” as had been identified in the glossy pamphlet provided to Rex when he first made the arrangements.
But it didn’t matter; the man with gorgeous green eyes was taken. She wouldn’t be able to push her way through the throng of women surrounding him even if she wanted to.
I want him, a filthy voice whispered inside her mind.
While another, more familiar voice, retorted, I want to run.
Skylar willed herself to stand. Return to Rex. Resume the hunt. Look for another handsome gold-masked man, one without a horde of women vying for his attention. But her legs felt frozen, her body locked in position.
And then—
The man captured her gaze once again, then placed his whisky glass down and slowly stood. “Excuse me, ladies,” he told his surrounding harem, his voice low, deep, and throaty, sounding like velvet, steel, and sin. Although the women keened and reached for him, he held Skylar’s gaze in his as he walked straight up to her, a cocky smile on his face.
I’m not nervous.
This time, oddly, the affirmation was a statement of truth.
All Skylar felt was lust. Want. Need.
He leaned into her space until he was speaking near her ear. “Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.”
With a warm rush, goosebumps slid up her spine. She blinked at his words and at his soft breath against her neck. “You know your Emily Dickinson,” she said. “Not a poet I’d imagine many men study. But you could be wrong, you know. Who says this is my first time?”
“I know it is because of your wide, round eyes. The way your heartbeat flutters in your elegant neck. How you bit your lower lip when you looked at me.”
“I did?” She hadn’t realized she’d done such a thing.
“You did.” He pulled back, and she craved his heat to return. “They say it’s rude to stare,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
Skyler’s body hummed with sensation. Intrigue. Arousal. Approval. Nothing like the fear and nervousness she’d felt earlier. She let her gaze slip up and down his form, taking him in before tipping up a shoulder. “I think you liked it.”
He grinned. “Of course I did. But did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you like staring at me, princess?” The man circled behind her and leaned in to whisper, “Did you like watching?”
His breath, cool like mint against her skin, made Skylar shiver. She prayed that in the dim blue and red-infused light, he couldn’t see the goosebumps that suddenly raised along her arms. Yes, she had liked staring at him. But there was something too intense, too real about this man, she realized. She didn’t want to go through with tonight’s plan with someone she felt so viscerally attracted to. She simply wanted a man—or hell, maybe even a woman—who was attractive enough to trigger her body’s response and kind enough to not frighten her.
This man, though . . .
This man represented all she’d seen in Rex that had since disappeared—all the good parts minus the insecurities—but so much more. This man represented all she’d ever longed for. Dreamed about. Masturbated to in her fantasies.
She stood, her breasts pressing against his chest as she held her chin high. “Yes, I liked watching,” she said, her tone a challenge. She could feel him holding his breath before she added in a murmur, “The women crawling over you like ants at a picnic are all very beautiful . . . ” She paused deliberately, waiting for him to give her his name.
“Call me . . . Jay,” he said, his voice causing shivers to course through her entire body.
Skylar suddenly felt like she was strangling. Air refused to slip into her lungs, constricted by the tightness in her throat. She was spiraling, hit with desire and want and need, but with the wrong man. She should be feeling this way about Rex. Her fiancé.
She couldn’t do this. Not tonight.
No, wait. That wasn’t right. She couldn’t do what she came to do with this man. She needed to find a man less . . . less everything.
“I’ll call you nothing,” she responded. Without another word, she slipped past him, pushing through the small crowd of women gawking at her, and exited from behind the velvet divider.
Julian tilted his head and grinned as he watched the alluring woman with the nearly white hair walk away. His platinum blond princess. His cock hardened as an image of him ramming deep into her sweet pussy slipped into his mind. Most of the women here were ready for action, eager to get into his pants or the pants of any other gold-masked man—or woman—at the Masquerade Party. And yet this woman had an aura of both confidence and self-doubt. Excitement and fear. Arousal and hesitancy.
She’d piqued his interest and turned him on.
And there was more, too. Something had passed between the two of them as they connected gazes. He’d looked up the moment the drape in the ballroom shifted. It was only a glance in those few seconds before the drape fell back into place, but her eyes remained in his vision as if he’d stared too long into the sun. Honey-golden eyes, so sharp, harsh, and intelligent, caught his and held . . . unspoken words passing between them.
He hadn’t wanted to look away.
The way he felt in that surreal moment was nothing short of powerful. The way her eyes stirred something inside of him had caught him by surprise.
She was wearing a black mask, meaning she was here for entertainment. Only there were rules firmly in place tonight: black masks came looking. Gold masks didn’t pursue. Those rules had been part and parcel of the Masquerade Party for ages.
He’d never broken the rules before, so after that first heady locking of gazes, he’d moved on. Told himself their connection couldn’t have been as powerful as he’d thought.
But then it happened again. And he’d known then no rule would keep him away from her. At that moment, he was hers, and she was his.
He’d left the throng of women surrounding him and made first contact. He’d told himself he’d only give her a tease. A taste. Then the rest would be up to her. In speaking with her, even for those few minutes, she’d intrigued him with her intelligence, her subtle sexuality it seemed she didn’t even know existed, and how she’d not only held her own with him but had clapped back oh so smoothly.
Yet she’d walked a
way from him, even though her body was practically vibrating with desire. In all the times he’d attended parties like these, he’d never had a woman walk away from him before.
An intriguing start to what would prove, he hoped, to be an even more intriguing night.
As the platinum blonde continued on, her hips sashaying to a beat only she heard, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks to his friend Marcus, who’d called him earlier in the day, begging him to take his place at tonight’s party.
“I’m retired,” Julian had said into the phone. Semi-retired, actually, but Marcus didn’t need to know that.
“I’m hearing that more and more from you. But you forget, you and your precious journalism career would be nothing without your escort work,” was Marcus’s rebuttal. “It paid for that fancy college degree you like to brag about.”
“A Masters from Columbia is definitely something to brag about,” Julian cheerfully pointed out.
“Whatever. I accidentally double-booked, and I can’t let either my client or the host of the Masquerade Party down. Please, I’m begging you, attend in my place. You always said you enjoyed the event. The cat and mouse of it all. So bail me out tonight. You’ll get all my tips, and you’ll get to fuck a woman or two. Or three or four, if you play your cards right.”
Julian chuckled. “I can fuck anytime I want. Any woman I want.”
And yet . . . Marcus was right: Julian had always enjoyed his time serving as an in-house escort at the Masquerade Party. The obvious benefit was how anonymous he was under his mask, something he preferred when he wasn’t with a regular client now that he had his journalism career and social standing to consider, not that it would be the end of the world if his past or current activities got out, but it would certainly be . . . inconvenient. It was on record that he'd once acted as an escort; in New York, it is entirely legal for someone to pay someone else to accompany them and spend time with them. Plenty of people had once speculated whether that escort work had blurred the line into prostitution, but they’d never been able to prove it. As for Julian? There really wasn’t any difference because he was paid regardless of whether he had sex with a client or not, and the sex only happened at Julian’s will and no one else’s.
Lately, apart from one steady client, he hadn’t done escort work for quite some time. But right now, Julian couldn’t deny that his blood was buzzing at the thought of the chase. The challenge. The hunt. Often, the women and men at the Masquerade Party convinced themselves they were in charge when they were always the prey, prey that was never harmed but only pleasured. ...
