“May I see your invitations?” He extended a hand, palm turned upward.
“Of course.” Everly’s smile belied the trembling of her hand as she drew the heavy cardstock from her purse.
The moisture in my mouth disappeared, taking my voice with it. I hesitated. Everly nudged my elbow. With an apologetic smile, I handed the invitation over to him. He glanced at Everly’s but studied mine, his gaze flickering from the card to me and back again. This was it. Would they escort me to the front door, making a spectacle of my shame? My thoughts raced through a dozen unpleasant and humiliating scenarios.
After an interminable span of time, he returned the invitations. “Thank you, ladies.” A sigh of relief burned my lungs. I held it back. Circling behind the desk, he withdrew two forms and placed them in front of us, along with expensive gold ink pens. “All guests are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Inside the masquerade, real names are forbidden, but you may use any pseudonym of your choosing. Pictures are strictly prohibited. The integrity of this night depends upon your discretion.”
“Right,” I said. The word came out as a croak. I started to write my name, then realized my mistake and corrected the R to become a B. In a shaky scrawl, I signed Barbara’s name. I bit my lower lip and forced a smile. He didn’t smile back but took the form without looking at it and placed it inside one of the desk drawers.
“Please make yourself at home tonight. There is a buffet along the far wall and an open bar to the left. You will find the ladies’ powder room down the hall behind you and to the right. Should you require fresh air, the terrace is through the doors at the end of the ballroom with steps leading into the gardens. There are many delights to enjoy outside as well. Mr. Menshikov asks only that you do not trespass into his private quarters on the second floor. Should you require anything—anything at all—please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Ivan,” Everly said. “Is Mr. Menshikov here tonight?”
From behind Ivan’s back, I mouthed, “What the hell?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“Business has called Mr. Menshikov away this evening. And even if he was here, he chooses not to participate,” he said, his expression polite but shuttered. He opened the door. Light and music spilled into the small room. “Please enjoy your evening.”
Once he’d left us, I groaned. “That was so close. I thought I was going to pee my pants.”
Everly laughed. “Calm down. We’re in. Look at this place. Aren’t you glad you came?”
“Okay, maybe,” I admitted grudgingly now that the rush of adrenalin had receded. “Check back with me in an hour.”
“On that note, I’m going to mingle.” It was one of the things I loved most about our friendship. We’d never been the type of friends who had to be together every single minute. She patted the glossy strands of her updo. “Do I look okay? Is there lipstick on my teeth?”
“You look fantastic, like you always do.” Her personal style, thanks to Christian, hovered on the cutting edge between conservative and classy. With her auburn hair and pale skin offset by the sapphire hue of her gown, she caught the eye of every man in the room. “I wish I had half your beauty.”
“Hush. Didn’t you see yourself in the mirror?” When I shook my head, she rolled her eyes. “Half the secret to being attractive is self-confidence. You’re a hottie, so own it.” She put her shoulder against my back and gave a little shove. “Now, tonight, I have an assignment for you. I want you to dance with someone.”
“No.”
She laughed at my outright refusal. “Come on. I remember the Rourke from college. She was fun and ornery and loved to have a good time. I know she’s still inside somewhere. Let her out tonight. There are tons of gorgeous men here. Take advantage of the opportunity to meet someone new.”
“Fine, but I’m not going to enjoy it.” She had no way of knowing that sometimes—when the ache of loneliness grew too massive—I sneaked out of our hotel room and into the bar. A few drinks and a random hookup eased my frustrations. I liked the freedom of screwing someone I didn’t know. No questions, no commitments, no hurt feelings. The following day, we’d pack our bags and travel to a new destination. I’d leave town with a secret smile on my lips and soreness between my legs, but my heart remained intact.
“I’ll check back with you in an hour. Now get out there.” She nodded toward the dance floor. “And remember, I’m watching you.”
3
Rourke
I wandered through the ballroom, mesmerized by the scores of beautiful people. Behind their masks lurked some of the most famous faces in the world. Every now and then, I thought I recognized the curve of a woman’s smile or the width of a man’s shoulders, but I had no way of knowing who was who. The masks came in all shapes and sizes. Some were elaborate combinations of feathers and gems on a background of satin. Others were sleek and simple like Ivan’s. Everly had picked up my mask on one of her many trips to Venice. It rested lightly above my nose, held in place by strings of silk, allowing a clear view of my eyes but obscuring enough to hide my identity.
After a few minutes, I began to grow comfortable among the guests and had to admit I was enjoying the anonymity. Without the threat of disapproval, I could do anything, and be anyone, I wanted.
A brown-haired man in a navy tuxedo tapped my arm. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”
Remembering my promise to Everly, I accepted. His aristocratic features and pleasant smile bolstered my resolve to meet someone new. “I might be a little rusty. I haven’t danced in years. If you don’t mind my clumsy feet, then I don’t mind either.”
He extended a hand. “It’s my pleasure.”
I placed my hand in his and let him lead me to the dance floor. The brush of our palms together sent a pleasant ripple along my skin. The orchestra segued smoothly from a foxtrot into a waltz. From the sidelines, Everly nodded approvingly. My heart skipped a beat when he put his arm around my waist. It felt good to be held by a man again. He twirled me around the floor until I was breathless, ignoring the many times I stepped on the toes of his shiny shoes.
At the end of the song, he smiled down at me with full lips and gray bedroom eyes. Beneath the dark blue velvet mask lurked the face of a handsome man, around my age, maybe younger. “That was delightful. You’ve made my evening.”
“Thank you. You’re too kind.” I smiled. He lifted my hand to his lips, grazing his mouth over my knuckles, sending a shiver of attraction through my body. “You can call me Nicky. And what should I call you?”
Panic evaporated the moisture from my mouth. I cleared my throat. “I thought we weren’t supposed to reveal our real names.”
“I never said it was my real name.” He watched me closely, waiting for my answer, his gaze focused on my lips.
“You can call me—” I searched for an appropriate name. “You can call me Cinderella.”
His burst of laughter escalated my panic. “Oh, that’s priceless. Well, Cinderella, tell me, how did you come by an invitation to the elusive Masquerade de Marquis?”
I tried to smile and stay calm, deflecting the question with one of my own. If I’d learned anything during my years with Everly, it was that people loved to talk about themselves. “I kind of fell into it.” Not exactly a lie but not the truth, either. “What about you? Have you attended to the masquerade before?” I kept walking in the direction of the ladies’ powder room, preparing to excuse myself before I got into trouble.
“A few times.” He fell into step beside me. “No one turns away an invitation unless they want to offend the host, and Mr. Menshikov doesn’t like to be offended.” His eyes watched me with the sharpness of a hawk watching a mouse. The predatory nature of his stare raised the tiny hairs on my arms.
“Are you a celebrity?” I kept my tone light and teasing but cast a glance in the direction of the ladies’ room, judging the distance.
“In some circles.” A dimple popped on his right cheek. “Mostly I’m here because I have
friends in high places.”
“Are you a friend of Mr. Menshikov?” My sense of self-preservation went to war with my curiosity. I wanted to know more about the enigmatic host without giving too much of myself in return.
“Friends?” The sharpness in his laugh made me flush. Obviously, I’d crossed an invisible boundary. “Roman doesn’t have friends.”
“Ivan said he’s not here tonight.” I stopped walking and gave my full attention to Nicky, hoping to coax more information from him. “Do you know him? Roman, I mean?”
“I don’t think anyone truly knows Roman.” Mystery edged his words. Mistaking my curiosity for the host as interest in him personally, he smiled and took my hand again. He lifted it to look at the ring on my little finger. Delicate strands of silver and gold vines twisted together to form a circle. Amethysts sprinkled throughout the band like tiny flowers. “Your ring—it’s very unique.”
“It belonged to my mother,” I said, running my thumb over it. “My father had it made for her when I was born.”
“Ah, how romantic.” He stroked the band with a fingertip, the light pressure tickling along my skin. “Speaking of romantic, would you like to take a walk in the garden? There are all kinds of entertainers down there. There’s nothing I love more than a moonlight stroll with a beautiful woman.” He leaned down, his tone lowering. “Someone said there are naked performers dancing through fire. How can you pass up a chance to see something like that?”
Although his charm was infectious, I shrank away from the opportunity. I didn’t want to blow my cover. A few yards away, Everly lifted an eyebrow. Although she didn’t speak, I knew her well enough to understand the message. Get your ass out there. Live a little.
I squared my shoulders. “Thank you so much for the invitation, but I think I’d like to dance some more.” Dancing was safe. With the music swelling and the hum of conversation and laughter surrounding us, there was little opportunity for questions I didn’t want to answer.
“Fair enough.” He bent low in a deep bow. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
For the next several hours, I danced with Nicky until my feet ached, drank champagne until my head swam, and laughed until my insides quivered. He was delightful, although his prodding questions required my skillful avoidance.
“Who is that man?” I asked, having caught sight of a gentleman near the fireplace, his forearm resting on the mantle. Although I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mask, I felt the weight of his relentless gaze following us around the room as we danced. The curling edges of his dark hair hung to his collar, its messiness at odds with the crisp lines of his tuxedo.
“Where?” Nicky followed the incline of my head. “Oh.” For the first time, he missed a step. His shoulders tensed beneath my touch, the smile sliding from his face before he recovered. “I’m not sure. He could be anyone.”
Was it my imagination, or had I heard a touch of Russian accent in Nicky’s reply? “He keeps staring at us.”
“Probably because you’re so beautiful,” Nicky said. In an adept maneuver, he directed us toward the opposite end of the room. Within minutes, I forgot about the stranger, too focused on following Nicky’s lead and the heady exhilaration of being held by such a charismatic guy.
“It’s getting late, and I have to leave soon,” he said, leading me toward the row of chairs along the wall. “I know it’s against the rules, but I can’t go without learning your name—your real name.”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” I said, still breathless from his touch and the physical exertion.
“But you can. It’s just a stupid rule Roman invented for his own amusement. You can tell me. No one has to know.” He squeezed my hand tighter, his jaw tightening. “I want to see you again.”
“No. You can’t.” At the flicker of hurt in his eyes, I softened my refusal. After all, he seemed like a nice guy. “There’s no point.”
“You’re married?” His grip loosened on my fingers.
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that I’m going back to America in a few days.” Behind his mask, his eyes searched mine. I fisted my hands, resisting the urge to brush his light brown hair from his forehead.
“I travel to the States frequently. I could look you up. We could have dinner, and you could show me the sights.”
“Excuse me, may I cut in?” A smooth, deep voice sliced into our conversation. From his accent, he was American, a New Yorker or somewhere on the east coast.
Nicky and I both turned to face the stranger. A black leather mask prevented me from going further than the curve of full, pouting lips. My gaze traveled from the onyx buttons of his charcoal vest down the perfect crease of his dark gray trousers to the shiny, pointed toes of his black shoes. Unlike the other formally attired guests, the tail of his silver bow tie dangled from the breast pocket of his jacket. The lack of formality seemed out of place and rebellious in a room overflowing with perfection.
“We were having a conversation,” Nicky said, his tone acidic. The change in his demeanor caught me by surprise. I glanced from him to the stranger. A palpable air of animosity pulsed between them.
“Watch your manners, Nicky.” The stranger’s light rebuke reminded me of a parent scolding a rebellious child. “Please forgive him. He’s been running with the wolves for too long.”
“At least I’m still running.” There was no mistaking the competitive edge in his words.
My gaze bounced between the two men. Whatever their relationship, it was complicated and intriguing.
“Not here. Not now. Not in front of our lovely companion.” While he spoke, his dark eyes locked onto mine. He took my hand in his long, graceful fingers, his smooth palm gliding against mine, and lifted my knuckles to his mouth. My heart stopped at the brush of his soft lips on my skin. In the background, the introduction to a tango began. “Dance with me.”
Three words sent my pulse into overdrive. “The tango used to be my favorite, but I haven’t done it in years.” I panicked at the thought of the intricate moves.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” After another kiss to my knuckles, he led me to the center of the dance floor. The guests parted, making way for us, their eyes heavy on my back. I couldn’t blame their stares. This man exuded confidence, elegance, and power. He placed my left hand on his waist and took the right in his palm. Shying away from his gaze, I stared at his throat. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt gaped open, revealing a triangle of smooth, tanned skin dusted with black hair. He squeezed my hand, demanding my attention. “Eyes to mine. Don’t look at your feet. Follow my lead.”
Behind the mask, his eyes were dark, almost black. Anxiety closed my throat. This would either be an amazing experience or extremely embarrassing. Probably the latter. The music swelled, and we began. Within a few steps, I captured his rhythm. He was strong and forceful, moving me into each position, twirling me out then snapping me back against his chest. I gasped at the press of my breasts against hard muscles.
“Very nice,” he said. A neatly trimmed beard and mustache couldn’t obscure a square jaw, reminding me of a jaunty pirate.
“Thank you.” The warmth of his approval spread through my chest.
“I’m going to have to step up my game.” His eyes glittered with challenge.
“Yes. You are.” They were bold words for a girl who hadn’t danced the tango in six years, but I didn’t care. I liked the feel of his body against mine and the strength in his arms. More than anything, I enjoyed the way his overpowering maleness made me feel feminine and dainty.
“Be careful what you ask for.” His arms tightened around me. I slid slowly down his torso and pressed my breasts into the hard lines of his body. When my eyes reached the level of his narrow hips, he yanked me to my feet. The crowd gasped.
“You surprise me,” he said.
“You aren’t the only one with secrets, sir.” The hem of my skirt swirled around my ankles. The slit opened to flash a stretch of my leg
and the white garter belt around my thigh. I felt his gaze go there. It returned to mine, flashing with desire.
“So, I see.” By the humor in his tone, my answer pleased him. Or maybe it was the garter. There was no more time for conversation as the intensity of the music continued to escalate.
This was more than a dance. It was a test. A game of dominance and submission underscored by sexual tension. I stiffened my arms and pulled away. The words of my dance instructor floated through my subconscious. Be angry. Let the audience see the struggle. He snapped my body to his and stroked a leisurely hand from my armpit to my hip. Goosebumps peppered my skin. I spun away, only to be returned by a tug of his arm. We continued our war of wills around the room.
At the finale, he bent me backward over his thigh, arching my spine until the ends of my hair swept the floor. The smooth fabric of his trousers rubbed against my bare back. I was totally at his mercy, one foot on the polished marble, the other lifted to keep from tumbling over. His lips grazed the column of my throat in an erotic caress. Excitement and lust simmered in my veins. I was living my fantasies in the arms of an exotic stranger.
The music ended, and the crowd erupted into applause. I’d been so engrossed in our power play that I’d failed to notice the onlookers, or that all the other participants had moved to the sidelines. We were the only couple on the dance floor. Under normal circumstances, this kind of attention would have made my stomach queasy, but beside him, it seemed natural.
Adrenalin buzzed through my head, more intoxicating than the liquor. He eased me to my feet. Once I’d steadied myself, he released my hand and bowed. “Thank you for the dance.” Before I could respond, he melted into the crowd. I watched his broad shoulders disappear. A curious sense of regret tempered my euphoria. That was it? One amazing dance, and he left?
The Exiled Prince Trilogy Page 2
