by Lacie Thorne
“Does Rebecca work here?” I enquired as the bartender poured the drinks.
“You could say that.”
There was a smile on his lips but without his eyes I couldn’t say what it meant. The bartender placed a tumbler of whiskey on the bar, the lone ice block clinking against the glass, one of those giant, crystal clear artisan cubes. He smiled at me as he poured a martini and added an olive. The smile was non-threatening, and I was finally more at ease here with two men who didn’t make my skin crawl.
Rebecca returned a few moments later, whispering to her husband so I didn’t hear. While the two were quietly engrossed in each other, the bartender pushed a sweet looking cocktail towards me.
“I’m Colton, by the way.”
“Em—uh, is it only initials with you, too?” I asked, almost slipping and giving him my full name.
He laughed and shook his head in amusement. “How about I just call you Em for now?”
A light touch brushed my forearm, and I glanced over to see Rebecca smiling at me. “I’m sorry, we have to attend to a situation. Mitchell assured me Sam will be with you shortly. You’re welcome to stay here and wait, but I encourage you to head next door and mingle.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Not all of them are as—aggressive as CT. My own suggestion would be to find the gentleman wearing an electric blue shirt and silver mask. I suspect you’ll feel more at ease with him.”
Rebecca smiled and gave me a wink before linking arms with her husband. I let out a deep breath and turned back to Colton. He was watching me with a subtle curve to his lips. “CT giving you problems, huh?”
I nodded and picked up the cocktail, the smell of sweet fruit had me setting it back down, untouched.
“It’s a habit,” Colton said as he made the sugary drink disappear.
“What is?”
“Dominants thinking they know what you want.” He smirked and leaned against his side of the bar. “What would you like to drink?”
I bit back a laugh. “Anything with the least sugar. Preferably water, if that’s on the menu.”
He frowned, already moving to get a glass. “Some crazy diet? You sure as hell don’t need it.”
I shook my head, pointing to the bottle of still water when he held it up next to a bottle of sparkling. “No, I’m—”
I paused, wondering if I could share a piece of personal information with him. When I first applied to The Noire House, they suggested keeping details to a minimum during the early stages of this process. But Colton wasn’t a prospective partner.
He smiled as though he read my thoughts. “Don’t worry, you can tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing. I’m not a D-type, so you’re safe.”
He winked, and I laughed. “I’m a dancer.” I realized that was not at all specific and given the situation, he might read it as an exotic dancer. “Ballet, I mean. I work for one of the local companies.”
His eyes widened and his brows shot up in an impressed expression. “Really? I’d ask which one, but I know nothing about ballet beyond all the glitz and fancy outfits.”
“Yeah. Believe me, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. More like a whole lot of sweat and blood.”
We both laughed, and I picked up my glass of water, realizing too late that I couldn’t take a sip with my mask in the way. Colton noticed and produced a straw, smirking when I awkwardly managed to take a few pulls of the water.
“I think you’ve done enough avoiding now, Em,” he said. “Time to go mingle.”
I grimaced, ashamed he knew why I still lurked in the bar area. With another deep breath and a short farewell, I drifted out of the room and across the hall. The other room was almost exactly as it had been, now sporting far more people. Champagne was being served by unmasked waiters holding silver trays.
I declined when one was offered to me, and as I shook my head, I caught sight of an electric blue shirt. My gaze travelled past a defined chest and up to a silver mask. He was laughing at something, his smile breathtaking as he handed a glass of champagne to the woman beside him.
This was the man Rebecca had suggested, but it wasn’t like I could simply walk over to him and introduce myself. He glanced up, perhaps feeling my gaze on him, and grinned. I tilted my head down, embarrassed to have been caught and instead studied the water in my hands.
“Hi, there,” a voice said from beside me. I looked up to find the man in blue, his eyes a matching color. “I’m AB. It’s nice to meet you, Miss—” He reached down and studied the name tag on my wrist. “LA. Maybe I have the wrong person. Rebecca said you were EC.”
Damn, that’s what you got for using the wrong initials. “I panicked,” I blurted out. “And gave the initials of a friend during the blind dates.”
AB laughed and shrugged. “Well, at least you don’t sound like a blood type.”
Chapter Six
Sam
My night had started in a fit of turbulence and hadn’t gotten better as the hours passed. With Ian’s concerns ringing in my ears, I’d vowed to be on my best behavior this evening, allowing Emily space to make her own choices.
As such, I’d tried to relieve a bit of pressure before the masquerade mixer began, calling on a submissive I’d played with on more than one occasion. Working her body over hadn’t helped, and I’d felt no inclination to fuck her, despite the look of disappointment she threw at me. She’d left in a huff I ignored, my thoughts already returning to a faceless woman I lusted after more than any before her.
Emily.
She’d ruined me, and I’d never even seen her face. My frustration grew into agitation and then spiraled down to anger as I considered Ian’s words. Would I really be so bad for her? What did Ian know that wasn’t in her file and told him I wasn’t right for her, that she needed someone softer?
I couldn’t deny I played hard, but I would never push her further than she could handle. I’d been in the lifestyle far longer than Ian, more immersed in the gritty side to know how to deal with a submissive. She might be new, but she was searching for a Dom for a reason. She wanted to submit or she wouldn’t have visited The Noire House. I could go slowly, be careful, and gently introduce her to all manner of sexual heights. Besides, I’d read her file, and while she was inexperienced, she was also curious.
There had to be some other reason Ian warned me against her. Some unknown cause for his concerns. I was torn between trusting my brother and my own instincts. And the fact I wanted Emily beyond reason.
I avoided Ian when I arrived for the masquerade, far earlier than any of the other attendees, and secreted myself inside one of the rooms overlooking the driveway. I nursed a glass of bourbon as I watched members and guests arrive, each dressed in fancy suits and dresses, varying masks concealing their identities and stepping out of expensive cars.
But then one caught my eye. A Toyota hatchback that looked at least a decade old. While it appeared to be well cared for, there was no denying it stood in stark contrast to the luxury vehicles parked beside it. I squinted, trying to get a better view of the woman seated behind the wheel, but the distance and dim lighting didn’t allow more than a vague silhouette.
It took her a moment before she climbed from the front seat and my cock hardened at the sight of her walking up to the doors. I knew it was Emily. Something about her fanciful braided bun and petite frame confirmed it had to be her. Or maybe the poised, graceful way she walked, with her head held high, face concealed by the mask.
When she disappeared, I stood staring at the pavement through the glass window, pushing down the eager excitement to join her. I had to give her space. Ian made me promise, and I vowed to do it for Emily’s sake as much as taking my brother’s advice.
The short, fortifying moments were pure agony, the blood in my veins searing my flesh as I fought to remain upstairs. I paced the room like a caged lion, striding from one end of my metal bars—or overly frilly Victorian décor room—to the next. My control didn’t last long. I slid my mask into place and raced downstairs t
o the ballroom.
By the time I reached the first floor, Ian had his arm linked with Emily’s as he led her into the bar. Becks was talking with Mitchell when she spotted me and held up a hand before heading in my direction.
“Ian was wondering where you were.” Before I could explain, she continued. “Listen, Emily had a small encounter with CT, and she’s a little shaken. Ian’s with her now, but you need to—Sam, where are you going?”
At the mention of CT, I turned to look for the fucking bastard, intent on ensuring he stayed the hell away from Emily. I ignored Rebecca’s tug on my arm and stormed down the hall.
“Sam, please don’t make a scene. This is not the time, nor the place.”
My eyes scanned the ballroom, but the Texan was nowhere to be found. A throat cleared behind me, and I turned to find Mitchell pointing out the front doors. Good man. With a nod of thanks, I followed his direction while Rebecca chided the head of security for enabling me. I’d have to make it up to the poor guy sometime, but not now. Once I’d dealt with the cowboy.
CT stood under the oak trees, puffs of smoke clouding around him as he took deep pulls from a cigarette.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He glanced up, his mouth curling in what I assumed was a questioning frown. “Come again?”
“The girl. What did you do to her?”
A low rumble of a laugh escaped him. “Nothing. I asked if she wanted a drink and before I know it, Ian is telling me to fuck off. Funny, since he set me up with her in the first place.” He took a drag of the cigarette. “Now I’m starting to understand the sudden change. Seems like his brother’s taken a shine to the little minx.”
My knuckles ached from clenching my fists, fighting hard not to lash out at the son of a bitch. I was seconds away from shoving him against the oak tree when a familiar voice stopped me.
“Sam, don’t even think about it.” Ian and Rebecca appeared in my peripheral vision, but my gaze remained locked on the Texan. “I’ll handle CT, and in the meantime, I suggest you calm down before joining the mixer.”
I knew what he was really saying, his meaning hidden behind polite words. Fuck off and let me deal with CT. Calm down before you frighten Emily and cause a scene during my event. With barely leashed control, I nodded and ventured back inside, slipping into the bar instead of the ballroom.
Colton laughed, his onyx eyes glinting with amusement. “Why can’t you and CT ever be in the same room together?”
I ignored the question and ordered a shot of bourbon. In truth, I didn’t know the answer. There was something about the Texan I didn’t like, add to the fact that Blue’s hackles rose the one time I’d brought him to The Noire House and bumped into CT. He’d growled low and bared his teeth, the first sign of aggression I’d ever seen from my otherwise easy-going dog. I trusted his judgment, so it confirmed my negative opinion of CT.
I drank the bourbon in one gulp, setting the empty glass on the bar counter as I turned to leave.
“SR, take my advice and give it a few minutes,” Colton called after me. I glared at the guy over my shoulder, and he laughed. “I can still see steam rising from the top of your head and for now, she’ll be fine.”
“She?” I asked, earning another chuckle from the barkeep.
“Give me some credit, man. I hear CT harassing her out in the hall and not ten minutes later, you’re rushing after the guy. Now you’re throwing drinks back and scowling like a deranged serial killer. It doesn’t take much to figure out you have some kind of attachment to the woman in question.” He smiled, pouring another shot of bourbon while I continued to frown at him behind my mask. “Ian might have also mentioned something about her.”
I drank the offered bourbon and wondered what was so special about Emily that Ian had even spoken to Colton about her. This was no ordinary guest of The Noire House. I considered the possibility she might be the daughter of an old member, but that seemed a touch sordid. Not impossible, but the prospect was unlikely.
At least the questions distracted me enough to finally calm my anger, the bourbon easing the need to smash CT’s face into the pavement. Colton didn’t stop me when I left the room this time, and I took that as a sign I didn’t appear on the verge of murder. Across the hall, members and visitors mingled, the scene entirely too innocent given the reason behind these mixers.
A soft laugh caught my attention, my eyes landing on the expanse of exposed skin framed in black and burgundy lace. And then I spotted the hand trailing up and down her bare spine, thumb stroking each vertebra. I loathed the sight of that hand, a possessive growl threatening in my throat. When he leaned in close, his face a mere inch from her long neck, my feet moved of their own accord.
Chapter Seven
Emily
AB was nice, I realized. Unthreatening. We talked a while, nothing too personal, just random small talk one might expect when first meeting someone. He told me he worked in finance, and I tried not to hold that against him. The beautiful blue of his eyes made up for a career I thought would bore me death in three seconds flat. Of course, this came from someone who literally put her body through hell each day.
Perhaps most important of all was that he made me forget about Sam for a few moments. Up until then, my mind had kept wandering back to the man I was not supposed to want. I smiled and listened to AB, thinking that Garret would probably approve of him. He wasn’t overly sweet, but he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.
When he asked me to dance, his grip was firm, but his hands didn’t wander to parts of my body that were not his to touch. His fingers were smooth against the bare skin of my back, trailing up and down in a slow rhythm that left me dizzy—in a good way.
“You have gorgeous skin,” he whispered, eyes darkening.
I swallowed against the lump in my throat but didn’t comment. AB leaned in closer, his mask brushing my shoulder as he inhaled a deep breath.
“And you smell incredible.”
A shiver crept down my spine, my eyes falling shut. I felt his warm breath on my neck, waiting to see if he would try to kiss me there. Perhaps it was forward, but I’d let him, mesmerized as I was by this man.
He stilled, bringing me to a stop with a sudden jerk. “SR, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
My entire body went rigid, hot anticipation burning through my veins as I waited for Sam to say something. AB’s tone held a faint hint of challenge. His grip on my waist prevented me from turning to look at Sam. Or maybe that was my own doing, nerves freezing me in place.
“You’re currently holding the reason.”
“Am I now?”
“Don’t worry, AB. I’m not trying to steal her away. Ian asked me to keep an eye on her until she settles in.”
My gaze flicked up, searching AB’s eyes as Sam spoke. I thought his brows furrowed, but I couldn’t be sure with the mask in place. In slow increments, his grip on my waist loosened, and he took a step back. Sam sighed, his breath rushing against the back of my neck and causing the fine hairs to tickle my skin.
“I won’t keep her long, but I would like to have a word.” Sam stepped closer, the warmth from his body searing me. “You can have her back soon, I promise.”
AB stared over my shoulder for a long minute before he nodded. “Fine, but keep her away from CT. Rebecca said she had a run-in with the fucker earlier tonight.”
A low sound rumbled from Sam. “Noted.”
AB shook his head at Sam before smiling down at me. “Don’t go too far.”
While he sauntered off in the opposite direction, a gentle caress started at my nape and moved all the way down my spine. Sam traced every vertebra slowly, his fingers rougher than AB’s and far more erotic. Such a simple touch, and it had my heart racing and heat rising to my cheeks.
“I have to say, Emily,” he whispered into my ear, voice lower than I’d ever heard it. “I didn’t expect such a provocative dress. Flowing white or pastel pink perhaps, but definitely not a red lace collar.�
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I flushed, part embarrassed and part seduced by his voice and his hand moving to grip my waist. He spun me around with deft grace many dancers would envy, ensuring my balance with a firm hold on my body. I gasped, and as soon as I faced him, my gaze found his. Shrouded in shadow, his dark eyes appeared black, leaving me to guess at their true color.
A Greek-inspired mask adorned the top half of his face, black with dark gold detailing that somehow mirrored the tones of his hair. The deeply bronzed skin of his jaw and chin held a hint of dark stubble, but it was his lips I stared at. Most men couldn’t pull off lips as full as Sam’s, at least not without looking ridiculous or feminine.
I couldn’t look away, stuck on the thought of how they’d felt against my mouth. The rapid rise and fall of my chest alerted me to my jagged breathing. Of course, it didn’t escape Sam’s attention either, his eyes scanning lower and lingering on my modest chest, where my nipples hardened under his gaze. I wished I had more curves. My dancer’s body allowed me to wear a dress like this—sans bra with my back left bare—but the downside was a distinct lack of cleavage.
The way Sam stared suggested he didn’t mind. Long minutes passed before he found my eyes again, his full lips pressing together. Without a word, his fingers slipped from my waist and took my hand. He led me out of the room, down the hall, and out of the house. I glanced at Mitchell on our way through the front door, receiving a short nod of his head as Sam tugged me down the stairs.
My heels crunched through the gravel as Sam walked us along a path leading into the manicured gardens. The large oak trees gave way to delicate shrubbery and sweet, night-blooming flowers. Sam only stopped when we reached a gazebo far away from the house where silence surrounded us. Or perhaps it was the plants that acted as a shield against the noise, cocooning us in the greenery.
“Are you okay?” Sam turned to face me, and I wished I could see him, tempted to rip the mask from his face even as I nodded in answer. “CT—he didn’t—tell me he didn’t bother you too much.”
