His lips twitch. “Mastery in anything comes with doing, not age, Miss Scarlett.”
My blood whooshes through my veins, making me tingle all over. His ability to switch from direct bluntness to innuendo is so freaking hot. He’s definitely mastered that. “Really? And here I thought age and wisdom go hand-in-hand.”
“Not always,” he says, releasing me.
I hold my breath in eager anticipation as he moves to slide the hood off. When the green material lands on his shoulders, revealing hair even darker than Damien’s, I grin my approval. It’s so dark I can’t tell where his black mask ends and his hair begins.
The second his eyes connect with mine, full of seductive promises, my heart jumps several beats. One single brown eye and one brilliant blue eye stare back at me behind his mask.
Chapter Three
‡
It can’t be him. But all I can think about is the young guy who has haunted my dreams these past eight years. I shake my head, but the spots forming in my eyes only get bigger right before my knees give out.
He catches me, hauling me fully against him. “Are you okay?”
Blinking to stay conscious, I press my hands to his rock hard chest, my pulse whooshing in my ears. His youthful, pretty boy features have grown more rugged and angular. He has a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before. Did he have a dimple when he smiled earlier? It’s not like I can ask him to smile for me now. His hair’s shorter and his shoulders are much broader. He’s grown a good four inches. Is it him? Here, of all places? Or am I losing my mind?
“I—need to go to the bathroom,” I say, extricating myself from his firm grip. Pivoting around, I bolt away and dodge left around a couple dressed as Morticia and Gomez, then veer right past a group of girls dressed as the Spice Girls. I pause when I finally realize I have no freaking clue where the bathroom is.
A strong hand clasps mine, and he tugs me through the costumed crowd, up the few steps, through the bar/living room, where others are hanging out on barstools and sofas, ice melting in their cocktails. The main room is packed, but the crowd starts to thin a little as he leads me to a door along a far wall.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” I pause when he leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “I’ll be fine.”
He shakes his head, his voice steady and calm despite the loud revelry around us. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Go back to the party. I’ll be out soon.”
“I’ll wait.”
“But you really don’t have to.”
He touches his mask, then locks a determined gaze on me, nodding toward the bathroom. “You entertain me, Scarlett. A beauty wrapped in intriguing layers. I’m not letting you out of my sight all evening.”
Layers? What does he mean by that? I don’t know what to say, so I just walk into the bathroom and shut the door. With the music muffled somewhat, I splash cold water on my heated cheeks and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Of course, there are other dark-haired men out there in the world with one brown eye and one bright blue eye. It’s possible he’s not the guy from my past. But the age is about right. I start to nibble on the tip of my thumb, when the movement he’d done just before he gestured for me to head into the bathroom—pressing his thumb against his mask, right where his nose meets his brow—hits me. It’s the same mannerism that guy had done that night when I wouldn’t talk to him. That must be how he expresses frustration. Too many similarities to discount.
Oh God! It has to be him. No wonder I was drawn to him; I even named him Mr. Black. Blackie-Black. Sounds like a band name. I exhale a low, half-hysterical laugh, my brain short-circuiting as my shaking hands grip the sink. I stare in the mirror, trying to get control of myself. Okay, so it’s him, but I don’t look anything like the skinny redhead he helped all those years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember me. I was a blip in his evening of prankster boredom.
I stare at my reflection. My nose is free of freckles now. I’m a couple inches taller, with a woman’s curves instead of the boyish figure I had back then. And until the color grows out, I’m blonde, not the redhead from that night. I doubt he remembers anything from that evening, other than he helped a freaked out girl get home.
I’d lain awake so many nights as I grew older, hoping I’d run into Blackie again, dreamed about it even. I’d planned out what I would say and exactly how I would thank him for helping me. Then he’d shock me by pulling me close and telling me he’d never forgotten me.
Now that I’m faced with reality, I’m terrified. My dream guy was young and didn’t ask probing questions. This man runs in completely different circles, and he doesn’t miss a thing. With his profession, he’ll ply me with questions, wanting every detail.
He has no idea the things I’ve done. And he never will. I stare at the closed door, my heart aching a little that he’ll never know the positive impact he had on me.
With a heavy sigh of regret, I glance around and try to refocus. I can’t let myself be distracted any longer from my purpose for coming here tonight. First, I need to figure out how to ditch my highly-perceptive dance partner. Then, I’ll find Mina. When my gaze lands on the raised window next to the toilet, an escape plan forms.
I peer outside at the dark, heavy clouds that have rolled in with a storm about to break. Thankfully the bathroom sits right next to a covered terrace. Glancing over my shoulder, I quietly lift the window sash, then move the bathroom chair under the window so I can climb out. Turns out, that’s not an easy task while wearing spike-heeled boots and a long cloak.
Somehow I manage to slowly inch my way out the window on my belly. All I have left to do is lower myself over the sill, then drop the last foot to reach the ground. As I maneuver, ready to lower myself down, my cloak snags on the chair. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” I mutter.
Just as I swat at the cloak to try and unhook the material, a knock sounds at the door. “You okay in there?”
“I’m good. Just need a minute,” I call out, heart speeding up while I desperately yank to unhook my cloak. The chair tilts and starts to crash to the tile floor. I panic and swing the cloak around. Thankfully I catch the small chair on the material, which only manages to trap my cloak even more.
Hanging half inside the raised window sill, I hope and pray Nick stayed right next to the French doors, or he’s getting one hell of a panty show with the wind whipping my short skirt up my back. Ever so slowly I tug the cloak and finally free it, leaving the small chair on its side.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, I lower myself down, then drop to the ground.
As soon as I turn the corner of the terrace, intending to find my way inside through one of the French doors, I see a huge black dog blocking Nick’s way back into the house.
The dog tenses at my movements, darting his gaze to me. When Nick tries to side-step him, the massive animal snaps his attention back to Nick, curling his upper lip in a snarl. Sharp white teeth flash in the darkness as a low growl erupts from his throat.
Now I know why Black had smiled briefly once Nick walked outside. That guy has a devious streak.
“Nice, doggie,” I say nervously.
The dog doesn’t make a move toward me, but he’s not letting Nick budge. When Nick raises his hand and says, “Go get Gavin or Damien to call this mongrel off,” the dog aggressively snaps at the guy’s pants. I panic, worried he’ll connect, so I stomp my high heel on the stone, hoping to distract the dog. Instead, he just growls deeper at Nick. The second I open my mouth to yell at him to back off, thunder booms quickly followed by a flash of lightning.
The dog yelps and pins his ears back, then takes off running across the patio, apparently seeking a safe place to hide. Relieved, I don’t say a word to Nick as I quickly follow him back inside the house.
While Nick immediately heads for the dance floor, I keep my gaze on the wall where the bathroom is located. I can’t see Black’s dark head because of the crowd, but just in case, I keep my hea
d low while scanning to check on Cass. Finally I spot her still dancing with Mr. Uniform. She’s laughing and drinking, having a great time. Her dance partner is a good-looking guy, and I’m sure the uniform only makes him hotter in her eyes. Makes me wonder if Cass has given up her mission for a general good time.
I certainly haven’t. Swinging my gaze back through the room, I wonder how I’m supposed to spot Mina among the costumed guests. The answer hits me as I watch the bartender hand someone a drink. Bartenders always know everything.
Once I finally shoulder my way through the crowd hanging around the bar, the blond bartender smiles at me while twirling a metal cup across the flat of his palm. “Hello there, Sexy Red Riding Hood. What can I get you?”
I shake my head and smile. “I’m actually trying to find the youngest Blake. Have you seen Mina around?”
Without meaning to, he gives away her general location by glancing toward the cordoned off stairwell. “Haven’t seen her, sorry. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Ducking my head, I squeeze my way back through the throng of people wanting more drinks, then steer toward the stairwell, all the while wondering how I’m going to climb the stairs without anyone seeing me.
A velvet rope blocks the bottom of the stairwell. A sign is attached to the middle of the rope, boldly stating: Private quarters. Not for Guests. Upstairs is off limits.
I cast a gaze over my shoulder. No one is paying me any attention. And Gavin is currently dancing with two girls at once. No way he’s looking over here. The thunder is rumbling now, louder with each boom. The partiers’ excitement amps with each new thunderclap and lightning flash brightening the room.
When the lights flicker and then dim briefly and the crowd whoops their enthusiasm, I reach for the rope’s hook on the banister’s spindle. Everyone’s watching the storm’s fury unfold; this might be my only chance to get upstairs undetected.
The moment my hand lands on the rope, something slides up my right wrist and a deep voice grates harshly in my ear, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Chapter Four
‡
I glance down at the rope Black has cinched around my wrist. Frowning at him, I try to yank free, but he’s made some kind of rope handcuff, latching our wrists together. “Let’s go,” he snaps in a curt tone, tugging me along.
All I can do is stumble behind him as he pushes through a swinging door. The moment we enter the kitchen, the couple getting it on against a far wall near the double oven glance our way. “Out,” he barks at them. The clean-cut “biker” guy lowers the girl with devil horns to the floor and they quickly readjust their clothes.
Once they exit another door on the far side of the kitchen, the muffled thump of music outside the door has nothing on the sound of my heart hammering against my chest. Black hasn’t said anything to me yet, but he’s standing so close it’s unnerving.
I refuse to look up at him while I try to unhook the rope on my wrist. “Take this thing off me!”
“I don’t think so.” He slowly wraps the trailing end of the rope around his other hand, cinching it tighter around our joined wrists. “Since you bailed out of the bathroom window, I’ll assume you’re here for some reason other than a good time. You have thirty seconds to use that smooth-talking mouth of yours to convince me not to have you arrested for trespassing.”
I meet his furious gaze and square my shoulders. “I’m here to see Mina Blake.”
Surprise flickers in his eyes. Apparently that’s the last thing he expected me to say. Did he think I was a thief?
His mouth tightens. “What do you want with Mina?”
Exhaling, I tell him the truth. “I’m trying to get her side of the story as to why she left school.”
“She left. It’s done.” He shrugs. “Why do you care?”
“I work for the school paper.”
Brackets of disapproval form around his mouth. “Mina’s a story to you? You’re a gossip reporter?”
The low growl in his voice, the utter disdain when he says “gossip reporter” tenses my stomach. He might as well have called me a “shit slinger.” I hold my ground and shake my head. “Investigative. I solve mysteries with words. Some things just didn’t add up to me. I want to hear her side of the story.”
“There is no side. She left. End of story.”
His tone is harsh, protective. No matter how irrational it is, a part of me can’t help but feel a little jealous. How well does he know Mina? I jerk my chin up, meeting his hard stare. “If that’s all there is to it, then why is everyone being so protective? Why isn’t she down here partying? Why is she upstairs?”
“This party was for her—” he begins, then cuts himself off, jaw tensing.
That sounded personal, like he genuinely cares about Mina. I touch his arm, my gaze locking with his. “Look, all I want to do is to tell the truth. I’m not interested in smearing Mina’s good name. I believe there’s more going on. There are rumors.”
“What rumors?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
“That she was involved somehow.”
His face shutters. “She wasn’t.”
“Then let me tell the truth. Let me talk to her. This story means a lot to me for personal reasons, but if she refuses to tell me anything, I promise to let it go.”
He glances at the ceiling as if considering. Finally, he shifts his gaze back to me. “I can get you five minutes.” He begins to loosen the rope on my wrist.
When I start to smile my thanks, he halts his movements. “And then you’re going to tell me how you know me.”
I feel my eyes go wide. Keeping my tone even, I shift my gaze to our hands. “I don’t know you.”
Just as I slip my hand from the slackened loop, he clasps my freed wrist and slides his thumb along the soft skin, tracing my veins. “Yes, you do. The first time our eyes met, I saw recognition in yours.”
I lift my eyes to his and really stare, hoping to throw him off his assumption. “Your eyes are arresting, that’s all.”
His gaze darkens. “Nice try. I can tell the difference between surprise and recognition. Somehow you know me.”
“I probably saw you in a picture with the Blakes,” I say nonchalantly, shrugging.
For some reason my comment makes him laugh. “You know me, yet you don’t know me. This is more intriguing by the minute.”
I snort. “I assure you, Mr. Black, all I know about you is that you have a talent with knotted rope.”
“You have no idea,” he says cryptically, shooting a dark, suggestive look my way as he steers me to a door tucked into the back corner of the kitchen. “I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Scarlett. One hood to another.”
We take a back staircase upstairs and pass through a door, where he leads me down a long hall toward another door at the end. Knocking lightly, he waits until a feminine voice calls out, “Come in,” then he says to me, “Wait here,” before disappearing inside.
The door is solid wood, so I can’t hear what’s being said. Just that the girl raises her voice in anger, and then his low rumble follows. She’s not happy. Maybe I won’t get those five minutes after all. When the knob starts to turn, I quickly step away from the door before he opens it.
“You’ve got your five minutes. If she chooses not to talk to you, you will abide by your word. Understood?”
He’s so commanding and gruff, like a drill sergeant, I resist the smartass urge to click my heels and salute. Barely. “Got it.”
I’m surprised when he ushers me inside, then closes the door behind me. I kind of expected him to stand guard in the room or something. As I stare at the girl with the long golden blonde hair sitting on the window seat watching the storm rage outside, I realize he must be pretty close to the family to convince her to talk to me, however briefly.
“You have four minutes and thirty seconds,” the girl says on a heavy sigh without turning.
I can see by her profile she’s just as beautiful and aloof as she is in
pictures. She’s a third year student, just a year behind me. Well, until she withdrew this semester.
I lift my chin and step forward. “Why did you really quit school, Mina? May I call you Mina?”
She turns gorgeous brown eyes my way, her gaze hesitant. “What’s your name?”
“Scarlett.” Approaching, I pull my notepad out of my cloak pocket and something falls on the floor.
Cass! I mentally scream, my face flaming. I retrieve the gold foil packet and shove it back into my pocket, mumbling about annoying friends.
When I glance up, the girl’s nose is elevated and her face closes off. “Apparently Sebastian was wrong about you. I just lost my best friend. I’m not in the mood to become fodder for some trashy tabloid bimbo. You can leave now.”
“My friend put that in there as a joke,” I say in a low tone, trying not to take offense, but the girl’s anger has already shifted back to a glassy I-really-don’t-care-about-anything gaze. The sadness in her eyes pulls at something deep within me.
I slip the notepad and pen back in my cloak and untie the ribbon at my neck. Holding the cloak in my arms, I slide the mask off and offer an apologetic smile. “It’s only fair if you know who’s asking you questions. I’m Talia…and I understand loss more than you know.”
The girl’s hooded gaze turns curious. “Who did you lose?”
“I lost someone…who was like a sister to me…when I was thirteen. Her name was Amelia.” I haven’t talked about Amelia’s death to anyone. The words come out stuck together and raspy, like pages in an old photo album opened after years of deep storage. My aunt refuses to discuss that night. I suppose it’s just as painful for her, so we never talk about it.
Tears glisten in Mina’s eyes. “Does it get any easier?”
I sit beside her on the window seat and meet her pained gaze. “Missing her hurts a little less each year, but I have a hard time letting the guilt go.”
“Were you responsible somehow?” Mina’s eyes are wide, empathy in the dark depths.
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