Mister Diamond

by Chance Carter

  Flashing lights blinded me as we walked up the carpeted front steps. I wasn’t completely anonymous behind my mask, but I was comfortably shielded behind it. Normally the press made me feel exposed and insecure.

  “Come on,” Jo said, dragging me by the elbow. “I just saw a guy built like a linebacker go inside and I need to catch him.”

  “Jo,” I said in a low, warning tone. “Don’t do anything that’s going to get you or me kicked out of the country.”

  She snorted. “Relax. I’ll be totally cool. Completely chill.” Her head swiveled as another finely sculpted man sauntered past us. She squeaked.

  At least I could say I tried.

  We topped the steps and gave our names to the man blocking the door. He nodded coolly and stepped aside to let us past.

  Jo dug her nails into my arm. “This is so cool.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you came here for another reason and not just to see your favorite big sister.”

  Jo smiled guiltily but then laughed, bumping into my shoulder. “You could be a poor intern up to your elbows in river grime right now and I’d still want to come visit.”

  “Good.”

  The main hall opened into three other rooms, with a winding staircase leading up to the second floor. Gilt candelabras, fitted with blazing electric lightbulbs, illuminated the crowded space in a warm, buttery glow.

  Jo stopped to stare in awe. I did too. Scores of people outfitted in the finest fashions surrounded us, masked and glamorous. They chatted in small clusters like wealthy chimpanzees, preening each other and gossiping.

  I didn’t expect that in a group of masked strangers I would find a friendly face, but Dean Horowitz was a hard man to miss. His trademark cheek mole and the shock of white blonde hair on his head attracted my eye instantly.

  I nudged Jo. “That’s my friend, Dean. Let’s go talk to him.”

  “Dean Horowitz?” she asked. “Like from your show?”

  “Yeah. Don’t be weird.”

  We shouldered through the crowd to Dean’s side and I tapped him on the shoulder. He detached himself from his group and turned. Confusion soon blurred to grateful surprise on his features and he enveloped me in a hug.

  “Finally, someone interesting!” Dean said, releasing me and turning his eyes on my sister. “And who is this?”

  “Dean, this is my sister Joanne. She’s visiting for...” I turned to Jo, frowning. “How long are you visiting for?”

  Jo ignored my question, clasping Dean’s hand and shaking vigorously. “It’s so good to meet you! I’m a huge fan of the show.”

  Dean loved compliments. He smiled widely. “Always happy to meet a fan. Especially one as beautiful as you.”

  “Down boy,” I said with a laugh. “Just because you’re a dirty flirt on the show...”

  Dean chuckled. “You’re right. Where are my manners?” He bent low and kissed Joanne’s hand. “M’lady.”

  Jo, who had never been bowed to before even as a joke, blushed. These two were going to get along just fine.

  “I’m going to grab us a couple of drinks,” I said, scouting above the crowd for the bar.

  “There’s a bar in each of the rooms,” Dean said.

  “Thanks.”

  I headed for the middle room, skirting around the walls until I was close to the bar and then cutting across. It was hot, though not unbearably so. I was thirsty all the same.

  I grabbed two glasses of champagne (since Dean had one already) and headed back toward the archway. Once there I stopped.

  Jo’s head was thrown back in laughter, lips pulled back from her teeth. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her so happy. Before I left home to shoot this season, she was about to go back into school for her third year. And she was miserable.

  Jo was one of those people who radiated from every pore when she was happy, but when she was sad it was like the rains had come and nothing would send them away. I was glad to see her like this, and hovered in the doorway rather than taking her drink over. Besides, I wasn’t worried. Dean was harmless. Apart from being a complete flirt and a bit of a playboy, he was much older than Jo and would never do anything to damage our relationship—least of all breaking my sister’s heart.

  Dean caught the attention of another man walking by, a tall brunette in a crisp tux and black satin mask. He was gangly but cute in a boyish kind of way, and as soon as his eyes clapped on Jo he stopped in his tracks and went over. Dean introduced them, and from that moment on Dean ceased to exist.

  If Jo was happy before, she was beaming now. I leaned against the doorway and smiled. I was glad she dragged me out.

  “I can’t tell whether you’re batty or a stalker,” a smooth male voice said from beside me in a posh, crisp accent.

  I straightened in alarm, nearly spilling champagne. The stranger smiled down at me, endeared by my alarm more than apologetic.

  “Neither,” I corrected.

  “A woman with two drinks, staring blissfully into a room full of people but talking to nobody…” he mused. “People will wonder.”

  I met his gaze. His eyes were a deep forest green and sent a shiver of delight through me. Even though he wore a black and silver mask, more concealing than most of the others in the room, I could tell he was incredibly handsome. That he was at least 6’3” and broad as a brick wall helped. He looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place him.

  “People should mind their own goddamn business,” I said.

  “An American,” he drawled. “Delightful. How are things in the former colonies?”

  “Wouldn’t know.”

  I plastered an expression of disinterest on my features and swung my gaze back to my sister, who was still having a wonderful time. My heart was racing, cheeks blazing with heat, though I hoped he thought it was a symptom of the room and not my fiery core.

  Struggling to fill the charged silence that grew between us, I nodded toward where Jo stood, face like sunbeams. “I’m watching my sister. I don’t want to interrupt since she’s having a good time.”

  “You’re a good sister.”

  “I try.” I handed him the glass of champagne that was meant for her.

  “Cheers,” he said, taking it. “Normally I don’t take drinks from strange women at parties, but there’s something about you that doesn’t scream assassin.”

  “Perhaps I don’t need to be so strange then.”

  I turned to him, mustering up courage. I was a beautiful, successful actress. What did I have to be self-conscious about?

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  The man’s eyes narrowed a little and he took a sip of champagne. “Therein lies the problem,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “A party crasher?” I chuckled. “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “All the same.” A sly smile crept onto his lips. “How about a little game?”

  The way he said it held the promise of something dark and seductive, and I licked my dry lips.

  “What kind of game?”

  “We each give each other a name and ridiculous backstory, become new people for the night.”

  Okay, I was intrigued. Adding a fake name on top of a mask was layering anonymity on anonymity and I was all about that. Plus, this guy was smokin’ hot. He could’ve suggested a spirited round of whist and I’d be in there like swimwear.

  “Let’s do it,” I said. “You go first.”

  “Very well.” The man swiped his tongue across his lip in contemplation, jade eyes studying me.

  “You go by the pseudonym Katherine Bond, a budding model, but really you’re Katarina Blotnikov,” he said. “Assassin extraordinaire.”

  “I thought you said I didn’t seem like the type.”

  He smirked. “And that’s why you’re so good at it. You’ve cleverly assimilated into posh society in order to get close to your next mark.”

  “Who would that be?” I asked.

  “How am I to kn
ow?” He shrugged and took a sip of champagne. “You never tell me anything. You’re like a safe.”

  “You have quite the imagination,” I said flatly, though all things considered I was quite flattered. A model and an assassin? It sounded bad ass.

  “Darling, you have no idea.” He winked and my insides burned.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay. So I’m Katarina Blotnikov, assassin extraordinaire, and you’re...” I paused, thinking. “Dennis Kickaroff. Eldest son of the Kickaroff crime family. You have a rubber duck collection but nobody who has seen it has lived to tell about it.”

  He cocked a brow. “Both criminals? I like it.”

  “One thing left to figure out, Dennis.” I gestured between us. “How do we know each other?”

  He flashed a panty-melting smile and lifted his free hand, fiddling around with the one clutching the champagne flute.

  “That’s easy,” he said. I realized then that he was pulling a golden band off his pinkie. He took my left hand in his and slid the ring on my finger. “You’re my wife.”

  Chapter 3

  Alexander

  Katarina’s surprise was quickly overtaken by a red blush running up from her neck. She was good at hiding her reactions, so this morsel of unfiltered abashment tasted sweet.

  “Right,” she said, glancing down at the ring that fit perfectly on her finger. She recovered almost instantly. “In that case, one person has seen your rubber ducky collection and survived.”

  “And what did you think of it?”

  She let her hand fall to her side and her mouth pinched. “Honestly, I was expecting it to be a little bigger.”

  Oh, this girl had some cheek in her. Perfect.

  Something caught Katarina’s attention before I could retort, and we both looked over to see her sister waving at us. Once she caught our attention, she gestured to the next room and made a dancing motion. Katarina waved back and nodded, and her sister disappeared.

  “It’s a good thing I came with my husband,” she mused. “Otherwise I’d have just been ditched.”

  I offered her my arm. “Come along, darling. If we want your mission to be a success, we’re going to have to do more than stand around and talk about ducks.”

  “Should you be talking like that?” She took my arm. The light touch sent electricity to the tips of my fingers. “You don’t sound like the racketeering type.”

  “We’re an upscale organization.”

  “Of course, how could I forget?”

  I chuckled and led her toward the bar, as both of our glasses were empty. We ordered more champagne and took a turn around the room.

  “I thought I recognized someone here!” a shrill female voice came from behind us. A finger poked into my back.

  I stiffened. I thought getting a mask that covered most of my face would be enough to keep me from being recognized. Wishful thinking, I supposed.

  Gritting my teeth, I turned. And frowned.

  The middle-aged woman in front of us was dressed like a 1920s flapper, dark hair trussed up with ribbons and a purple, feathery mask resting above pink-stained cheeks. I had no idea who she was.

  “You’re Davie’s boy, aren’t you? I heard you were going to be here but I didn’t dare hope.” She looked at Katarina, winking. “These Harvard boys. Play as hard as they work, I suppose.” She turned back to me. “How is your dear father?”

  Relief flooded my bones. The irony of being mistaken for someone else while pretending to be someone else was not lost on me, but I had no desire to be Davie’s boy, whoever he was. Davie’s boy wasn’t Katarina’s husband.

  “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistak,” I said, lowering my voice an octave just in case. “My name’s Dennis. Dennis Kickaroff.” I motioned toward the black-haired beauty on my arm. “This is my wife, Katarina.”

  “You must forgive me!” she tittered. “It’s so difficult to determine who’s who in here. I’ve never been brilliant with faces. Katarina and Dennis, it is lovely to meet you. I’m Janet Shaw.”

  “Wonderful to meet you as well,” said Kat. Her American accent was gone. If I didn’t know already where she came from, I would have thought her a local. “My husband was just lamenting our lack of acquaintance here. How pleasant to find a friendly face.”

  Janet puffed up, obviously pleased to receive such positive attention. I could tell that the near-empty glass of wine clutched in a claw-like grip was not the first of the evening. She swayed on the spot as she spoke, which wouldn’t have been noticeable except for the layers of fringe encasing her.

  “What is it that you do?” she said. “If you don’t mind me asking. Everyone here seems to be someone important. As a personal chef, I feel quite common.”

  Katarina looked up at me, grinning. Your turn, her expression said. Good luck.

  “I work for my family’s business,” I answered, uncomfortable with how close to the truth it was. “We have several high-profile assets and investments, but most of my job revolves around eliminating the competition.”

  “And I’m a model,” Kat said proudly. “I have a feature in next month’s Vogue.”

  Janet’s eyes widened. “I’ll have to look out for you!”

  “Oh, do,” said Kat.

  Janet downed the rest of her glass and looked at it mournfully. “I’m afraid I must fly, my dears. I’ve friends in here somewhere. Probably by the bar.”

  “It was a pleasure,” I said.

  Janet smiled and walked past us. Once she was out of view, Kat descended into a fit of giggles.

  “I’ve always thought that if something was this fun it was probably a bad idea,” she said.

  “All the best things are.” I jabbed my chin in the direction her sister disappeared. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, trailing beside me as I cut through the middle of the floor. “At assassin school they taught me eight ways to kill a man with a high heel. Better not be trying anything funny.”

  “I’ve had a drink, I’ve had a chat,” I said. “Now I’d like to have a dance with my wife.”

  Kat had no sassy reply, and soon we plunged into the crowd of dancing couples. I turned her in my arms, placing one hand on the small of her waist and holding the other by my shoulder. Something hot flickered in her gaze and she put her hand on my arm.

  I started leading her around the floor. Nothing complicated, just swaying and steps. This wasn’t the place to dazzle the crowd or my date with a Viennese Waltz or a Foxtrot.

  “You’re surprisingly fleet-footed for a gangster thug,” Kat commented.

  “Like I said, we’re a classy bunch.” I spun her, pulling her back a little closer this time.

  “I suppose that only goes to show that anyone can surprise you,” she said breathlessly. “Even your husband.”

  The space between our bodies was hot, fervently so. If there were other people on the dance floor, in the room, on the planet, I was unaware. All I could see was her. Smoldering golden eyes stared back at me, and her plump cherry lips stood out against the caramel of her skin, begging to be kissed.

  I was no stranger to desire, but this was different. I wanted her like I’d never wanted any woman before, and I had since the first moment I talked to her. Primal instincts barged past my breeding and manners and urged me to claim her. To own her. To make her mine in every way. I didn’t know whether it was the light in her eyes, her dusky beauty, or the fire that laced each word from her lips. I only knew that if I went the night without tasting her, I’d shrivel into a husk of a man.

  We danced slow, then fast, then slow again for what felt like hours, then escaped onto the balcony for some air. Janet found us again, her friends with her this time, and we played our game like experts.

  The anonymity of the mask made me feel freer than I had in a long time, and I sensed Kat was feeling the same. We took the opportunity to indulge in a little mischief, sneaking into forbidden spaces and playing harmless pranks. Time seemed to flash by, and before I knew it the fes
tivities began to draw to a close. I checked my watch while Kat went to the bathroom, noting that there was an hour left before the night was officially over.

  Kat returned, and I took the opportunity to admire her from a distance as she approached. Her dress fit snugly, as if molded to her curves. The black gossamer parted at the side so that when she walked I got a mouthwatering glimpse of her toned leg.

  “It looks like people are starting to clear out,” Kat said, stopping before me.

  “We’ve got an hour before we’ll be kicked out officially, but there are plenty of after parties already on the run.”

  She frowned. “Boo. For a while there it seemed like the night might last forever. Reality’s a bitch.”

  “Now, now.” I caught her eye, grinning. “Don’t call it until it’s dead.”

  “What should we do?” she asked, scanning the room. “We could steal some more hor d’oeurves from the kitchen. I could go for another of those mini pie things.”

  “We could do that,” I said, nodding. “Or we could do something else.”

  “Like what?”

  I brushed an escaped curl behind her ear. Her hair was black and silky, though she had styled it into a chignon for the occasion. I wondered if I’d ever get to see it down.

  “There are dozens of empty rooms upstairs,” I said, dropping my voice just above a whisper. “I don’t think anyone would mind if we borrowed one for a little while.”

  Her brow furrowed in question but then it dawned on her and her lips fell open just a little. She was testing my restraint and didn’t even know it. I had half a mind to slam her up against the wall right there. I might die if she turned me down, and it was the first time in a very long time that I worried about being rejected.

  And then, mercy, lust flashed in her eyes. And something else. Daring. My cock swelled.

  “Screw it,” she said. “I’ve been playing it safe for way too long.”

  I smiled and took her hand, leading her through the remnants of the crowd toward the curving balustrade to the second floor. We weren’t supposed to be up there, but everyone was either too drunk or too distracted to realize. The security at these kinds of things was always less than one would expect.