by JM Stewart
Marcus Denali poked a finger into his tuxedo collar, trying to loosen the noose as he scanned the ballroom. A sea of tuxes and ball gowns spanned out in front of him, every face covered by an elaborate mask. The entire place looked like the Fourth of July section at Walmart had exploded. Red, white, and blue covered every available surface. Streamers were strung from the ceiling. U.S. flags adorned every table. Hell, they’d even scattered the floor with balloons. To top it off, a live band played on a stage on the far-right end, the music just loud enough to scrape his already shaky nerves.
Gabe, his business partner and one of his best friends, was probably laughing his ass off right about now. For the first time in months, Marcus had a date. An actual date, not his usual weekend excursion, and from a matchmaking service no less. Gabe had met his girlfriend at Military Match and had recommended the service. Gabe had gotten lucky, though; the son of a bitch had met Steph in the park for their date.
Military Match hadn’t been cheap, but the woman he’d spoken with had assured him she had the highest standards for her clients. Which was the reason he’d signed up. He needed a girlfriend. Or at least someone who could play the part. A nice girl he could see for a while who’d pass Gram’s muster, so she’d stop nagging him about getting married. Her complaints were always the same. He worked too much. Why wasn’t he seeing anybody? When would he finally settle down? The latest argument had started because she’d called him on a Friday night and he was actually home.
Though he had to admit, he’d come tonight because he wanted someone to lose himself in for a while. Something a bit more than a one-night stand, but with someone who wouldn’t want to tie him down.
So here he was, being strangled by a bow tie, waiting for a date he wouldn’t know if she knocked him over. He’d been instructed to meet her at the entrance, but how the hell would he know her? Every woman in the room wore a mask. Was hers dark blue like his? Were the masks identical? Hell. He should’ve asked, but he hadn’t been on an actual date in…years.
He straightened off the wall, resisting the urge to undo his tie and the top few buttons of his blasted shirt, and scanned in another direction. Five more minutes. If his date didn’t show by then, he was getting the hell out of here.
A small brunette breezed through the doorway then, coming to a stop beside him. Peering into the room, she smiled but didn’t look at him. “Kind of pretentious, huh?”
He ought to turn and greet her. Smile. Introduce himself. Be friendly. He couldn’t muster the energy. The whole night set out before him exhausted him. The thought of the fireworks display later shattered his nerves. Since he’d retired from the marines two years ago, he’d always stayed home on the Fourth. Tonight’s masquerade was barely a mile from where they’d set the damn things off.
He shrugged, aiming for friendly but aloof. “This isn’t normally my kind of scene.”
“I can tell. You’ve tugged on your collar four times in the last minute alone.”
Marcus finally forced himself to glance at his companion. Her mask caught his attention. Cobalt blue, matching her eyes, with silver lace trim that ran down the right half of her face. Something about those eyes and the dark curls bouncing around her chin nagged at him as being familiar, but with the lights turned low, he couldn’t see her well enough to figure out why. Was she the date he’d been waiting for?
She was gorgeous, whoever she was. The heart-shaped neckline of her black dress showed off enough cleavage to tease, filling his head with the luscious fantasy of getting to peel it off her. The sheer, wispy fabric of the skirt floated around shapely thighs he could easily envision wrapped around his hips. Someone like her was exactly what he needed. Cute but wholesome.
He straightened off the wall, tossing her a playful smile as he narrowed his gaze on her. “You’ve been watching me.”
Amusement glinted in her eyes as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “Guilty as charged. I was told to meet my date in this spot, and I wondered if you might be him.” She turned back to the room at large, head once again turning as she scanned the crowd. “So, what exactly is your scene?”
Okay. He’d play her game. For now. He copied her stance and turned to the watch the dancers in front of the stage.
“Somewhere quiet. To be honest, there are too many people in here for my comfort.” He jabbed a finger at the flashing ball of death in the ceiling. “And that damn disco ball is giving me a migraine. The funny part is, I used to be the party guy.”
At least, he had been before his sister, Ava, died. And before his time in Afghanistan. Things like binge drinking gained a whole other appeal when you’d watched good men get ripped apart by an IED. When you had to watch friends die. He couldn’t forget, either, sitting in that damn hospital, staring at Ava’s lifeless body, praying somehow she’d wake up.
His date stood quiet a moment. “When’d you get out?”
The soft tone of her voice told him she understood, and relief relaxed the tight knot in his gut. This was the main reason he’d opted to go with Military Match. So he wouldn’t have to explain to yet another woman why a small dive bar was ten times more comfortable than the thought of going into a crowded nightclub. Or why loud music was akin to sandpaper to his nerves, rubbing them raw.
“Retired two years ago.” He darted a sidelong glance at her. “Why Military Match? Did you serve?”
As she looked over at him, her chin lifted and pride filled her eyes. “No. My father and my brother did. Marines.”
“Ooh-rah.” He grinned, straightened off the wall, and turned fully to face her. “Inquiring minds want to know. Who were you told to meet?”
“Tall, dark, and handsome and…” A slow, cheeky grin spread across her face as she tugged the corner of his tie. “Wearing a blue bow tie.”
“In that case, looks like I’m your man.” He winked and gave her a two-fingered salute, then stuck out his hand. “I’m—”
She pressed a finger to his lips, halting the word before he could tell her his name, and shook her head.
“No names yet. Part of the fun of this ball is the anonymity the masks give us, right? I could be anybody. So, pretend I’m your dream girl and dance with me.” She didn’t give him time to approve or deny the request, but winked and grabbed his hand, tugging him behind her. At the edge of the crowd in front of the stage, she turned to him. “This is a salsa. Do you know how?”
His grandmother had spent hours teaching him and Ava to dance. He knew the salsa…along with the mambo, the waltz, and the foxtrot. Not something he’d normally brag about, but the knowledge came in handy every once in a while. Like now.
He listened for a moment, then stepped into the beat, added a few flourishes, including a turn, then winked and held out his hand. “The question is, do you?”
“Impressive.” Her grin widening, she took his hand, stepping into the dance with him.
The quick tempo meant he had to concentrate on his steps, on her movements, so that the crowd around him, the music, ceased to exist. There were only those flirty blue eyes and the sway of her hips. He had to hand it to her. She wasn’t a beginner by any stretch of the imagination. Her movements weren’t stiff, like she followed some remembered set of steps, but fluid, her hips swaying to the natural rhythm of the music like she’d done it her whole life.
The sway of those hips filled his head with more fantasies. What expression would cross those features when her orgasm took hold of her? He had the sudden, overwhelming desire to watch the heat flare in her eyes as her body rose to his…
The song ended far too soon, the tempo slowing to the steady pulse of a heartbeat. The couples around them all shifted, tugging each other closer. Marcus and his mysterious companion stopped moving. She stared up at him, eyes soft, chest heaving with her breathlessness. The need to feel her body against his hit him hard. It had been too damn long since he’d last indulged in the pleasures of the flesh in the feminine form.
Unable to resist, he lifted a brow. When in
Rome… “Care for another dance?”
She smiled, nodded, and he tugged her close, settling one hand against her lower back. They swayed to the soft strains of the music in silence, movements stiff and awkward, but those blue eyes never left his. Despite the crowd and the overwhelming buzz in his head, the knot that had formed in his gut when he arrived finally loosened.
He released her hand, wrapped both arms around her instead, and pulled her closer. Her small, curvy body swayed against him, her soft belly brushing his with every subtle movement. So close he could feel the hammering of her heart against his chest.
He ducked down, leaning his cheek against the top of her head so she’d hear him over the music. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least give me something. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She let out a quiet laugh and leaned back enough to peer at him. “I wanted a nice guy. This place has an excellent reputation for the kind of people they accept.”
Also why he’d used the service. Not that he’d tell her that. No, he wanted to hear that addicting laugh again. So he tossed her a smile. “How do you know I’m one of the nice guys?”
“Because you served. I’ve found enough playboys to be able to recognize the good guys when I see them. And most guys who served are the good ones.” She averted her gaze to the right, something somber moving over her. One corner of her mouth hitched upward. “Just do me a favor, huh? Don’t tell me I remind you of your sister. At least not yet. Give me a running start first.”
Despite the voice in his head telling him not to say the words, he couldn’t resist leaning his mouth beside her ear. “Trust me, angel. What I’m thinking right now has very little to do with my sister.”
A tremor moved through her he felt clean down to his fucking toes and set his libido thrumming. Marcus stifled a groan. Five minutes with her and already she had his cock swelling against his fly.
It didn’t help that when she met his gaze again, those blue eyes filled with an intoxicating combination of heat and challenge. “What are you thinking?”
He really shouldn’t toy with her, but this was the most fun he’d had in…hell, he couldn’t remember. “Oh, I definitely can’t tell you that. I’m supposed to be playing the gentleman tonight, remember?”
The heaviness hanging over her finally lifted. She let out a quiet laugh. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
Triumph surged in his chest. It would probably get into him trouble at some point, but he had a feeling he’d make an ass out of himself in order to hear that laugh again. It ought to scare the hell out of him. He’d spent his life determined to keep people at a distance. You couldn’t get hurt if you didn’t expect anybody to actually stick around. Something about her, though, relaxed his nerves.
He shook his head and chuckled. “Suddenly I’m not sorry I put on this damn monkey suit.”
“Me either.” She averted her gaze off to her right again, but this time her smile was genuine. “You look pretty hot in that tux.”
He ducked his head, leaning his mouth beside her ear again. It was pushing his luck to say this, but hell, he was going for broke. Just to hear her laugh again would be reward enough. “You’re inspiring some very naughty thoughts yourself in that dress.”
“Oh, now you’re just laying it on thick.” Her eyes glinted with playful impishness as she arched a brow. “You didn’t actually think it would get you anywhere, did you?”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “A guy can hope.”
She laughed again, light and airy, and damned if he could stop from smiling along with her. They spent the rest of the song in silence, somewhere between oddly comfortable and a fine sweet tension that arced between them. It was subtle. More in the shift of her body. She leaned into him and rested her forehead against his chin. He was hard as steel, but if she noticed she didn’t say anything or even push away.
“Tell me your name, angel.” He wanted to roll it around on his tongue and taste the flavor of it. She intrigued the hell out of him, and he wanted more. A feeling he hadn’t had in…shit. Practically forever. Most of the women he dated were temporary, women who didn’t want to be tied down any more than he did.
For tonight he gave himself permission to go with it. Tonight was the anniversary of Ava’s death. Finding a weekend hookup had long since lost its appeal, but tonight he needed the company or he’d drive himself insane.
Instead of the quiet murmur he’d expected, his companion stopped moving. She stood so still the back of his neck prickled, heat moving over the surface of his skin. Her awareness of him sparked in the air like a living, breathing entity.
He pulled back and winked at her in a vain attempt to set her at ease. “I have to know whose name I’m going to be calling out later.”
If she slapped him for that, he’d deserve it, but he hoped she’d laugh and then finally relax. When she didn’t, when she leaned back instead, her eyes studying his face as if searching for the clues to life, his gut knotted.
He shrugged. “Sorry. Bad joke. You were supposed to call me out for being cocky, tell me how full of myself I am…”
Nothing.
He let out an uncomfortable laugh and stroked her back. “Angel, if you don’t say something I’m just going to keep babbling. Do me a favor and save me from myself, huh?”
Finally, she drew her shoulders back. “Mandy.”
The name rolled around in his brain. Lodged there. Another small brunette inserted herself into his thoughts. With similar blue eyes, big and wide in her face, and the softest mouth this side of the Mississippi. He studied his companion’s face. The similarities were there, but surely she couldn’t be that Mandy.
His heart now hammering from the vicinity of his throat, he drew a deep breath and forced a calm that came from experience. He was a marine, damn it. One little brunette would not throw him off his game.
He smiled and prayed she didn’t notice the way his hands shook. “Mandy’s a very pretty name. Got a last name to go with that?”
Again she stared. Her throat bobbed. Her mask trembled as she reached up and pulled it off, revealing her full face.
His heart stuttered to a stop. Son of a bitch. So that’s why she’d looked familiar—he’d been seeing her in his dreams.
Of all the women in Seattle, they’d fixed him up with the one woman he wanted more than he wanted to breathe…and the only woman he couldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole: his buddy’s kid sister.
Also by JM Stewart
The Military Match Series
A SEAL’s Courage
The Seattle Bachelors Series
Bidding on the Billionaire
Winning the Billionaire
Bargaining for the Billionaire
Claiming the Billionaire
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