Unmasked

by Stefanie London

  She trembled in his arms, her breaths turning to gasps as orgasm took hold of her. She squeezed him, her hips grinding as she wrung the pleasure from him. Dragging it out of them both until they peaked. He roared into her hair as the release shook him, his cock pulsing inside her.

  * * *

  Thankfully, Damian had a good grip on her, because that was the only thing stopping Lainey from tumbling back onto the floor of the limo. How long had they been driving? Had the driver heard everything going on back here? She reassured herself that if the guy drove limos for the rich and locally famous, he’d probably seen or heard a lot worse.

  “Wow,” she breathed, her head resting against his shoulder.

  “Wow, indeed.” His lips brushed her hair. “That was incredible.”

  If only she could freeze time and stay here forever—in his arms, before the cold reality of what she’d done came crashing down like an avalanche. But it was officially time for Cinderella to turn into a pumpkin. Or something like that.

  No doubt Damian would be a gentleman and offer to have the limo drop her home first, which couldn’t happen. He’d been to her place a few times. She’d have to give a fake address. Somewhere close enough for her to walk home safely, without giving the game away.

  As she moved to climb off his lap, something shifted against her face. The mask slipped, and Lainey’s hand flew to the back of her head as shock seized her heart. She felt for the ribbon that held the mask in place, but all she could find were the frayed edges of where it should have attached.

  Crap! One wrong move and she was about to have the mother of all wardrobe malfunctions.

  “Is everything okay?” He reached out for her. But the gesture sent her into panic mode.

  He could not find out her true identity. She couldn’t risk losing his respect, not to mention putting her friendship with Corinna on the line right before she was due to leave the country.

  Just hold the damn mask and get the hell out of this car.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was tight. “I... I need to go.”

  Damian glanced out the window. “Right now?”

  They were driving down Swanston Street in the heart of the city, not at all close to her apartment. But there were plenty of people around, and she could hail a taxi. Besides, once Damian was gone, she didn’t need the mask. And then she’d just be a girl in a dress...a revealing, slightly too tight, impossibly expensive dress.

  “Yes, please. Right now.” She searched for her clutch but couldn’t find it. Shit. Where had she left it?

  Her breath came in shallow bursts, her ribs flexing against the tight fabric of the dress, which only served to amplify the panic. She needed her clutch—she wouldn’t be able to get back into the house without it. It had her keys, her money and ID. Oh, God, her ID!

  If Damian saw it...

  She spotted the bag on the floor of the limo. It must have been knocked down in their passionate encounter. She snatched it up and pressed it to her chest as though it were a life jacket.

  “We can take you home,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of dropping you on the side of the road.”

  “I live in the next block. It was...good timing.” Her voice was about as convincing as a politician telling people he had their best interests at heart. She wasn’t about to get into acting any time soon. “Please, ask him to stop.”

  Damian sat still, his large frame seeming even more imposing in the wake of her panic. His lips pressed into a line, but he relented and zipped himself up before pressing the button to lower the privacy partition. A second later the limo pulled over.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll give me your number?” he said. “Even if I promise not to ask your name.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes.

  Why was she being so emotional? This was exactly what she wanted—a night with the perfect man. Her perfect man. No consequences...except that she hadn’t factored in her stupid heart.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She leaned forward and stole a kiss before pushing the door open and stepping out onto the street, her hand still holding her mask in place.

  Lainey waited, her muscles tense and aching, until the limo pulled into the stream of Saturday-night traffic. It disappeared around a corner at the next intersection, and the air flew out of her lungs. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. The tender spot between her legs hurt, but in the best way possible. Damian had left his mark on her, and she would never be the same.

  “Just great,” she muttered to herself as she stuck her arm out to hail a taxi. “You’re ruined for other men.”

  As the yellow vehicle pulled over, she opened her purse to dig out her phone. That was when she realised that her grandmother’s compact was missing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAMIAN SAT BEHIND his desk, turning the compact mirror over in his hands. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get that night out his head. It was odd, since he didn’t usually mull over a one-night stand. Especially when it was clear up front that it would be a onetime-only thing.

  But something about the redhead had got him all tangled up. For the first time in four years, he was thinking about something other than work.

  He frowned at the compact. It’d been sitting on the floor of the limo, and he’d almost missed it. Must have fallen out of her bag when they’d knocked it to the floor.

  How on earth was he supposed to return the damn thing without a name or phone number? It looked old, possibly a family heirloom. An important item. But there were no distinguishing marks on it—no engravings or product details. Nothing that might help him identify the mysterious masked woman.

  Placing it carefully on his desk, he turned to stare out of the huge window that framed the city view like a piece of art. From his level thirty-six office, he could see everything: the tracks running into the Flinders Street railway station, the ribbon of water cutting through the city, the spire at the Arts Centre, and the great stretch of green from the gardens. Ever since he’d walked into his first office job, he’d had his eye on a big corner office just like this one.

  It’d taken a few years of slumming it, first working out of his apartment and then—when he’d hired a team—out of a crappy, falling-down building in the inner suburbs north of the city. But his collection of smaller clients had led to some medium-size fish. And those had led to bigger fish. Now he had two blue-chip clients and a healthy list of medium-size businesses that made him very good money.

  But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had McPartlin & Co.

  “Damian?” His assistant, Leila, poked her head into his office. “I’ve got a call for you, but you’re supposed to be meeting with Corinna in five minutes.”

  “Who is it?” He swung back around to his desk and raked a hand through his hair. “If it’s the tax office again, put them through to Greg. I don’t have time—”

  “It’s Jerry McPartlin,” she said. Leila’s expression didn’t reveal a thing, but Damian had worked with her long enough to detect the hint of judgement in her voice. Since he’d poached her from his ex-boss’s company, she knew the history.

  “Put him through.”

  Leila frowned but didn’t argue, and a second later the red light on his desk phone flashed. “Hello?”

  “Mr. McKnight, how are you?”

  “Call me Damian.” He reached over to his laptop and pulled up the file he’d been working on before his first meeting with McPartlin. It had everything he knew about the guy and his company—from personal and professional achievements to the AFL team he supported. “I’m well. Did you enjoy the Carmina Ball?”

  “I did. The TAFW charity thanks you for your generosity.”

  The charity were the organisers behind the Carmina Ball. They had a lot of powerful people in their ranks and worked to raise money for various recipients, most
notably the Royal Women’s Hospital.

  “I wasn’t aware you were affiliated with them.” Damian scanned his file, but nothing about the charity appeared there.

  “It hasn’t been announced yet, but I’ll be joining their board soon.” He cleared his throat.

  Damian leaned back in his chair. This was going to go one of two ways: either McPartlin had decided to give him a shot at his business, or he was calling to ask for a donation. “So are you calling to tell me you’ve decided to come across to McKnight Management after all?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the man replied in what Damian could only imagine was his “stern father” voice. “But I thought we could have dinner.”

  Damian had to force himself not to fist pump. This was the opening he’d wanted—a chance to show what he was made of. And really, that was all he needed. Because once Jerry saw Damian on his game, that asshole Ben wouldn’t stand a chance of hanging on to McPartlin & Co.

  “And by we, I mean including my wife and your lovely fiancée,” Jerry added.

  Shit. “You really want to put them through the tediousness of a business dinner? I’m not sure about your marriage, but Ariel and I have a no-shop-talk policy at the dinner table.”

  “It’s not a business dinner. It’s a social dinner.” McPartlin paused. “For now.”

  “Right.”

  “And maybe your fiancée could let us know where she got that incredible mask. Sandra is dying to find out.” There was a hint of amusement in the older man’s voice.

  “Of course,” Damian said smoothly. No way in hell was he going to pass this opportunity up, and if he couldn’t locate the redhead, he’d find a substitute. Because the one thing no one had seen was her face.

  Not that anyone else would even come close to her. This woman was the first in years to leave him wanting—wishing. But he knew nothing about her. He had no leads...other than the compact.

  “I’ll get my assistant to call your office tomorrow and set it up,” Jerry said. “I look forward to seeing you both.”

  The message hung in the air—his fiancée had better be there.

  Damian ended the call and stared up at the ceiling. He’d figure something out—he had to. For the last four years it had felt like he was moving through quicksand. Work had kept him busy, but the other areas of his life had stalled. One beer-fuelled night a few months ago, he’d seen Jenny and Ben out together. That night he’d packed a suitcase and walked out of the apartment he’d once shared with his ex-wife. He hadn’t returned.

  Movers had put his things in storage, and he’d been living in a hotel room ever since. He was in limbo. Not wanting to be living in the past, but unable to move forward. If only he could get one back at Jenny and Ben, then he might feel as though he’d levelled the playing field and be able to move on with his life.

  He needed a redhead. He wanted the redhead.

  “Damian?” Leila’s voice came through on the intercom. “I’ve got Corinna here for your lunch date.”

  “Send her in. I need to finish up an email before we go.”

  He was tapping away at his computer when his sister walked in. As usual, she looked perfectly fashionable. Her grey eyes—identical in colour to his—were accentuated by a pair of chunky black glasses that would have looked awkward on most people, but looked chic on her.

  “Ticktock,” she said, dropping down into one of the chairs facing his desk. “We can’t be late. I’ve got a class at two.”

  “You need to graduate and face the real world sometime, you know.”

  “I’ve graduated once already.” She grinned. “No one said I couldn’t go back for more.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “There are worse vices in the world than academia. Not all of us are so desperate to become corporate slaves,” she teased.

  He shook his head, refusing to take the bait. Despite the decade between them, they were as close as a brother and sister could be. Different, yes, but they had a deep bond. Maybe it was because he’d been like another parent to her. He’d cooked her meals, driven her to ballet class and cheered like a maniac as she’d received her bachelor’s degree.

  But that meant she knew what buttons to push and made a sport out of winding him up. Not today, though. He had bigger fish to fry than letting his sister get under his skin.

  “What are you doing with this?” She reached over his desk and picked up the compact.

  “Uh...” Close as he and Corinna were, their sex lives were not up for discussion. “I need to return it.”

  “No shit.” She flipped the compact open to check her appearance. “Lainey must be having kittens.”

  Damian blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “This is her compact. Well, it belonged to her grandmother, but it’s hers now. I’ve been telling her to put it somewhere safe, but she carries it everywhere.” She shook her head. “Like a good luck charm. Wait, no...what did she call it?” Corinna snapped her fingers. “A talisman.”

  Lainey.

  There’s no way she could have...

  A cold fist enveloped his heart and squeezed. But her voice had been different. And her hair had been different.

  She’s a fucking hairdresser. You don’t think she could have dyed her hair?

  He forced himself to remain calm...at least on the outside. “You’re sure it’s hers?”

  Corinna looked at him strangely. “Positive. There’s a little set of initials in the embroidery, and Lainey has the same initials as her grandmother.” She put the compact on the desk and pointed to one of the roses, where a very subtle shift in the colour of the threads revealed the letters LK. He’d never have noticed it if she hadn’t pointed it out. “She’s had this thing since her grandmother passed away years ago. I’d recognise it anywhere.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He couldn’t flip out right now, because the last thing he wanted was to explain to his little sister that he’d accidentally screwed her best friend. He needed to play it cool.

  “It must have fallen out of her bag last time I gave her a lift.” He shrugged. “I found it under the seat of the Audi when I was cleaning it, but I had no idea who it belonged to.”

  “Because so many women ride in your car.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to drop it off to her?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll return it myself. I’m heading out her way tonight anyway. I should stop in to see her—it’s been a while.”

  “Okay.” Corinna looked at him strangely. It wasn’t like he’d ever mentioned “dropping in” on Lainey before. But Corinna’s stomach rumbled and she huffed. “Can we go now? If I don’t eat soon I’m going to turn into Bitchzilla.”

  “I definitely don’t want that.” He pushed up from his chair and pocketed the compact.

  Tonight he’d call in to see Lainey and confirm if his fears were true—that he’d found the redhead right when he needed her, but that she was definitely someone he shouldn’t have slept with.

  * * *

  Lainey stood in her tiny kitchen, cradling a mug of coffee, and quietly tried not to lose her shit. This week had been a complete fucking disaster. First, she’d had zero luck in tracking down her grandmother’s compact. The limo company had been sweet and checked multiple times for her, but to no avail. Then she’d dropped her phone into a sink full of water and now the damn thing wouldn’t turn on. And, like the cherry on top of a giant fuck-you sundae, Imogen’s friend refused to accept the masquerade mask back because of the broken strap. Which had meant forking out more money she couldn’t afford to buy a broken mask.

  Frustration bubbled like lava in her veins. It was karma, for sure. Karma for tricking Damian and keeping secrets from Corinna. And to what end?

  “Only the best sex of my entire life,” Lainey grumbled.

  And not the best sex in
the way people tended to fling those words around. It was literally the best. It was the Ferrari of sex. The Chanel of sex. The kind of sex that people scoffed at in romance novels and labelled unrealistic, because nobody could come like that on the first try with a new partner, right?

  Wrong.

  It was like Damian had been in her head every time she’d reached between her legs in the dead of night, thinking about what she would do with him if only she had the chance. Like he’d saved up all her fantasies and distilled them into one perfect, never-to-be-repeated experience.

  And instead of feeling over the moon that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted, she felt bloody miserable, because one taste wasn’t enough. Nowhere near it.

  She twirled her hair around her finger and startled herself with the bright red hue. She still wasn’t used to it. Every time she walked past a mirror she gave herself a fright. But the longer she wore the vibrant colour, the more she liked it.

  A knock at the front door snapped Lainey out of her worries and she put her coffee down before going to answer it. “Hello?” she said as she swung the door open.

  Time seemed to slow as her brain tried to catch up with what she was seeing. Damian McKnight, standing on her doorstep, looking hot and pissed as hell. He wore a charcoal suit with a white shirt and baby-blue tie, which brought out the subtle blue tones in his grey eyes. But the soft colours did nothing to lessen the impact of his ice-cold stare and the hard set of his jaw. His nostrils flared as his gazed raked over her.

  Oh my God, he knows.

  “Uh, hi, Damian.” She swallowed. “Are you looking for Corinna? She’s not here right now.”

  “I wasn’t looking for her,” he said. The words squeezed out between his teeth, the razor-sharp edge of his anger palpable in the night air. “I came to see you.”

  “Oh.” She stepped back and held the door, unsure what to say.

  Maybe he doesn’t know and you’re being paranoid. Perhaps he’s had a bad day...