My Secret Life

by Lori Wilde

  Could Richard have already left the party?

  For the first time she noticed that men were brazenly staring at her. Lots of men, in fact.

  Katie took a quick peak down at her costume. Good gosh. When she’d dressed so hurriedly at Sharper Designs she hadn’t realized exactly how low the neckline dipped. Her cleavage was practically spilling out of her dress.

  Flustered, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from the buffet line, only to find more ogling men. She hurried into the ballroom, heart thumping with anxious excitement.

  Apparently a French-maid was every man’s fantasy. She was accustomed to masculine attention, but not this intense. Men with cloaked identities lusting after her.

  Where was Richard?

  Tanisha was right. Pursuing Richard at the party was a bad idea. Go home.

  “Don’t panic,” Katie muttered under her breath. “This is a costume party. They don’t recognize you any more than you recognize them.”

  And then that’s when she saw him.

  Mayor Delancy sweeping through the crowd with his bodyguards, headed toward the front door. Even in his cowboy costume it was impossible to miss the larger-than-life mayor.

  But standing in the mayor’s wake was the man she’d been searching for. The very Caribbean pirate she’d come here to seduce.

  Resentment pummeled Liam’s stomach like a heavyweight boxer finishing off his wobbly-kneed opponent. Reflexively, he curled his fist around the birth certificate autographed by his biological father. The desire to punch something was so strong he could taste it.

  Raw, bitter, black.

  For the last twelve years he’d worked toward this moment, worked and waited, and Delancy had pulled the rug right out from under him. What should he do now?

  You’ll go at him again. You picked the wrong time, the wrong place, that’s all.

  His mother had never wanted him to do this. She was happy now, married to a great guy and living on a farm in upstate New York. She thought he should just forget about Finn Delancy and be proud of everything he’d accomplished without his old man’s help.

  But it wasn’t that simple for Liam. He couldn’t let it go. Anger twisted him up inside. The place was filled with privileged blue bloods, no doubt many of whom thought they could treat people any way they wanted and get away with it.

  Liam blazed a hard gaze around the room. Frivolous, pampered rich people throwing silly costume parties. If they really wanted to give to charity, just write a check and don’t waste money on lavish celebrations.

  You’re richer than most of them.

  Yes, but he’d gotten his money the hard way. He’d earned every penny of it, not had it handed to him on a platinum platter.

  Adrenaline, anger and frustration coursed through him. He needed to dissipate these feelings. Needed to get a firm grip on his emotions. Exercise. He needed exercise. A run in the park never failed to give him back his sense of control.

  He had to get the hell out of here.

  But then something caught his eye that made Liam forget everything except the fact he hadn’t had sex in almost a year.

  There, on the other side of the ballroom, stood a gorgeous vixen in a French maid costume and she was staring straight at him, as if he were the man of her most forbidden midnight fantasies.

  Coyly, she tossed her auburn wig.

  Liam drove his hand through his own wig.

  She licked her lips.

  Drawing in a ragged breath, he hooked his thumbs through his belt loop.

  Her eyes widened, and he saw a telltale red flush spread from her generous cleavage up her long slender throat.

  His body hardened and he shifted, widening his stance, pointing his boots in her direction.

  She lowered her eyelashes, dropped her hands. His gaze fell to the creamy inside of her wrist, and then tracked up her smooth, delicate skin to her shoulders. She peeked at him again and then slyly winked. Even with the barrier of her black mask cloaking most of her face, he was absolutely certain she was winking at him.

  Boldly, Liam winked back.

  Why the hell not? Sex was better than jogging for blowing off steam and after what had happened before with Delancy, he could certainly do with the distraction.

  And she was one fine distraction with those shapely legs encased in lust-arousing black fishnet stockings. He could easily imagine himself tugging that silky material over the curve of her calf.

  She angled him a long, lingering look.

  He caught it, held it.

  Quickly, she looked away again, but there was no mistaking her invitation.

  Come play with me.

  His blood revved hot.

  She turned and walked away.

  The thundering in his veins intensified. Curiosity grabbed him by the short hairs and hung on tight. Who was this mysterious woman? Did he know her? Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  She made her way through the crowd, hips rolling seductively, as aloof as the blue-blooded princess she undoubtedly was. When she got to the doorway, she paused. Her long fingers stroked the door casing as she tossed him a glance over her shoulder. She looked damned provocative, even in a room chock-full of people dressed in suggestive garb.

  Follow me, her eyes whispered.

  Normally, Liam wasn’t the type of guy who allowed his libido to overrule his common sense. But he was horny and desperately needing something to salve his battered ego, and she was hot and willing.

  Why not go for it?

  You shouldn’t let your anger at Delancy drive you to casual sex with a frisky member of the Ladies League simply to prove you can bed the social elite.

  Maybe not, but his gaze was ensnared on her full, rich mouth that was clearly made for kissing. She pursed her lips, slowly blew him a kiss and then crooked her index finger.

  This way.

  Liam felt the impact of the gesture slam low in his groin. Simultaneously, hormones and endorphins lit up both his body and his brain. He gulped against the sheer force of the sensation. This French maid wanted to have some fun. Why shouldn’t he be the one to accommodate her?

  He shook his head. What kind of spell had she cast over him? His tongue was cemented to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were transfixed by her lithe form. His nose twitched, suddenly sensitized to the scent of seduction in the air. His ears filled with a blinding white roaring noise.

  She strutted off a second time.

  Mesmerized, he watched her hips sway.

  Liam went all Neanderthal then and lumbered after her. Must have woman.

  By the time he reached where she’d been standing, she was already in the archway of another room. The place could have been completely empty. That’s how unaware he was of the crowd jostling around them.

  The French maid paused again, but this time she did not look back. Apparently, she’d assumed he would follow.

  She was correct.

  Sending her auburn curls bouncing over her shoulders with a toss of her head, she turned to the right and started down a long corridor.

  Liam made a beeline after her.

  People were all around him, talking, laughing, joking, drinking, but he could have been stranded on a deserted island or trapped in a timeless vortex. He was that focused on Miss French Maid’s fanny as she slipped through the costumed throng.

  She winnowed around a man the size of a boxcar dressed like Paul Bunyan and Liam couldn’t see her anymore. He quickened his pace, but at the next doorway, Paul Bunyan turned, blocking his path.

  “Excuse me.” Liam stepped to his right.

  Paul Bunyan moved in the same direction at the exact same moment.

  Liam corrected, angling to the left.

  So did Bunyan.

  Was this on purpose? What was happening here? Liam frowned.

  “Shall we dance?” Paul Bunyan chuckled, and Liam realized he’d been unnecessarily suspicious. By the time he got around the guy, he fou
nd himself faced with a long hallway filled with doors. His French maid had vanished.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  It’s all for the best. He was feeling much too vulnerable to be indulging in anonymous sex. That kind of solace, while great in the moment, wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t make up for the aching for a real father that had dogged his bones since he was a kid.

  He stood there in the corridor, staring at the doors, wondering if she was behind one, not wanting to leave in case she reappeared. A minute ticked past. And then another.

  Face it. She’s gone.

  He turned to retrace his steps when suddenly the door behind him opened and a hand reached out to grab him by the scruff of his collar.

  Long, manicured fingernails tickled the back of his neck and the next thing Liam knew, he was being hauled into a pitch black closet.

  The French maid wrapped her arms around him and covered his face in kisses. At least he hoped it was the French maid.

  She murmured something in French. He didn’t understand the language, but he did get the gist of her suggestive message. He tried to take a step back to clear his head, but her fingers were frantically working the buttons of his puffy white pirate shirt.

  “Slow down,” he said, or rather tried to say. His throat was twisted so tight with need the sounds came out as scarcely more than an excited groan.

  Her mind-boggling aroma, which smelled like a cross between apricots and stargazer lilies, filled his nose and shot up his desire. He could see absolutely nothing in the darkness, but the rest of his senses were fully attuned and ready to be indulged.

  “What…how…who…” He wrenched out the words, unable to form a coherent thought.

  “Shh.” She placed an index finger over his lips. Her skin tasted forbidden.

  He thought of truffles and Russian caviar and saffron, the most expensive spice in the world. His nerve endings blazed. In the back of his mind, far off in the distance, sounding as if it had been locked up in a dry, dusty trunk for centuries, his muffled conscience tried to get his attention.

  Hey, sport, this seems awfully odd. Sexy babe coming on to you, no strings attached. You know there’s always strings attached. Something’s wrong. Pull your head out of the hormone soup. Think this through. Last thing you want is to be like your old man. Hey, hey…

  His scruples got no further because his brain short-circuited, closing off everything except the exquisite glory of her hot little mouth on his.

  3

  KATIE COULDN’T believe she was really doing this. It felt so naughty, so wicked, so wrong.

  And yet, it felt so damn good.

  She should have known Richard would be a world-class kisser. He was one of the hottest bachelors in Boston and very popular with the ladies. Why had she waited this long to seduce him?

  He seemed so receptive, so responsive. When she curled her fingers around his forearm, he actually shivered.

  She was shivering, too.

  His mouth was heated and moist and he tasted of peppermint. His arm went around her waist and he tilted her backward in the closet.

  The sleeves of the coats on the rack swayed with their movements, the rough material of the garments brushing provocatively against her bare arms. Farther down on the rod, a couple of empty coat hangers rattled against the sway.

  His breathing was as ragged and raspy as hers. The bold pirate was plunging his demanding tongue past her teeth, plundering her mouth with a brazen zeal, taking what he wanted, leaving her breathless and clinging tightly to him.

  He pulled her closer, crushing her against his broad, muscular chest. The stiff short skirt of her outfit crinkled at the pressure, and her scalp tingled hotly.

  Each strumming beat of her heart was a sexual question mark.

  What now?

  What was going to happen next?

  Would he run his rough hand up her leg?

  Would he give her the mind-blasting orgasm she hungered for?

  “Woman.” The word was dragged from his damp lips in a husky inhalation of breath. He pulled his mouth from hers and tracked his tongue down her chin to her throat. “You are so, so sexy.”

  She threw back her head, exposing her throat, giving him greater access to the pulse fluttering at the hollow of her neck.

  Oh, he smelled good. Like candy canes and the joy of Christmas morning. She wondered what cologne he had on. Usually Richard wore a much cooler, more sophisticated fragrance.

  Hmm, should she ask him?

  And possibly spoil the moment? Was she nuts?

  That sobering notion quickened her breathing, but it didn’t scare her. And that, in itself, was terrifying.

  What was wrong with her? Why was she so willing to walk the edge, to tempt fate, to push the envelope beyond common sense?

  Rhetorical question. She knew the answer. Ever since her mother had died she’d felt an overwhelming need to make her emotional pain disappear.

  Without Daisy as an anchor, it was as if she no longer had anything to lose. Why not gamble everything for a little fun? What was the point of holding herself in reserve?

  Life was short. Live it to the fullest. That was her motto.

  Thankfully, his honeyed mouth was back on hers, forcing the dark thoughts from her head, kissing her hard and deep. His wicked tongue did its job, making her forget the emotional pain inside her.

  Katie allowed herself to be swept up by the headlong sensation. She refused to think. Her only desire was to feel.

  She teetered on her high heels, lost her balance. They stumbled together, slamming into the back of the closet. He laughed then, a hearty, substantial laugh that made her giggle. His arm tightened around her waist.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I like this French thing you got going on. It’s very hot.”

  “Shh.” She wanted him to stop talking and start kissing her again.

  “Listen…” he said, “I don’t want you to…”

  “No talking,” she commanded.

  The costumes made their encounter that much more exciting, but their garments were getting in the way. Reaching up, she pulled off his wig, wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged her fingers through his thick hair.

  Her pirate took the hint and his tongue went back to doing maddening things to her mouth and causing wicked sensation to shoot straight into the center of her sex. His leather masked rubbed against hers, creating a sensation so erotic she made a soft mewling sound low in her throat.

  Yes, take me to oblivion.

  He made a corresponding noise, decidedly more masculine than hers. He ground his pelvis against her pubic bone and she arched her hips, letting him know exactly what she wanted.

  Blood surged through her veins in a headlong rush. The darkness was absolute, the anonymity acute. It was incredible.

  He kissed her, fiercely, passionately. He tasted so good—all masculine strength and sizzling heat. Restlessly, she tossed back her head, exposing her throat to him.

  “Nibble on my neck,” she murmured.

  The minute his sharp teeth sank lightly into the tender flesh at her hollow of her throat, she groaned with pleasure.

  Quiet. She had to be quiet. People might hear. But she couldn’t even think straight, much less fret about the potential for public humiliation. At this point, she didn’t care.

  His palms skimmed up underneath her flimsy getup, his hands scorching the bare skin of her belly.

  Desire exploded into the small tight closet with them, sending Katie on a mission of frantic grappling. She snatched at his shirt, tugging and pulling. She heard buttons pop, spit to the hardwood floor with a series of soft plopping sounds.

  Once his chest was exposed, she buried her face there and inhaled deeply. His chest hairs tickled her nose and she held the hem of his shirt, still clutched in the fist of her hand.

  He growled.

  A tiger.

  She was in the dark with a tiger.

&
nbsp; A sweet fear washed over her. A sugary terror clogging her arteries and making her gasp for more. Her entire body tingled with fear and joy and hungry, secret longing.

  Her knees wobbled. Sensing her weakness, he pressed her back flat against the wall of the closet, holding her in place with his hip.

  She was on fire for him. She had never wanted any man this badly.

  He didn’t speak.

  Golden silence.

  This was very good. Dark and anonymous and quiet. Nothing but heavy, excited breathing. Not hearing his voice made her feel as if he were pure fantasy and it escalated her excitement beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.

  She felt raunchy and rash and ready. This was exactly what she needed to bypass all her troubles.

  Wildly, she pressed the tip of her tongue to his broad chest and licked a long path up to the hollow of his throat. He tasted like a seafaring man. Gloriously rich and salty.

  She heard her own pulse thrumming through her ears and it sounded like a river rushing downstream.

  His movements were measured, controlled, but at the same time relaxed and easy. His fingers were now trailing circles around her nipples, teasing them into taut peaks.

  In the inkiness, in the masquerade, he was a creature of the night. Sleek and primal, sexual in a way that quickened her breath and slicked her palms, along with other, more feminine parts of her anatomy.

  The stagnant air in the closet was heavy with the sound of their rough, synchronized breathing. It smelled of the musk from their throbbing bodies. It tasted twisted and taboo.

  Who—she found herself thinking in the short gaps between utter delight—are you?

  She told herself it was Richard. It had to be Richard. Who else could it be?

  Her mind thrilled to the possibilities. Why did she find the idea of a masked stranger so compelling? Why did she suddenly want him not to be Richard?

  Was she losing her mind? Had she lost it already? Slipping over the edge of reason in a smoking-hot French-maid uniform?

  He kissed her again, the glide of his tongue smooth and perfect.

  Her blood moved recklessly through her. There was that thrill again, rolling like an electrical storm. Searing and stark and scary.