by Ann Major
“I don’t know it.”
“Do you have an invitation?” The man leered at her breasts, causing her to pull her shawl higher.
Indignantly she handed him the invitation she’d retrieved from the garbage after Bryce had walked out on her. “Am I at the right place?”
Loud knocks boomed against the outside door, and he broke off, nodding abruptly. “You just got lucky, sweetheart. Go on in.” He pushed a button under a counter, and a door he’d been blocking with his huge bulk swung open.
She heard the gatekeeper behind her demand the password of the stalker. Rock music and the howl of musicians blasted her as she read the purple graffiti above the door.
Dark Entry—Where Wild Things Happen…
The crowded room was so huge, she immediately wished herself safe and snug at home. The beat of the music shook her. Hundreds of guests screamed in laughter as they gyrated and shouted to each other. Some were dancing; some embracing. All were in costumes and masks. A lot of the women wore skimpy costumes that looked like lingerie.
The party was so noisy, she put her hands over her ears. The strobe lights were so bright and flickering so fast, she had to squint and shade her eyes. The place was packed, and she didn’t see a soul she knew, not even Bryce.
As she moved toward the bar, the evening took on a wicked, surreal quality. The man in the alley had scared her to death, but the party scared her, too. She didn’t belong here. If only she’d stayed home with Vanilla. If only…
Bryce was right—she was hopelessly dull.
On her way to the bar, she bumped into a woman with long, shiny black hair and a mask covered in hot pink sequins. The woman smiled, lifting her glass so Lizzy could ooze past her.
“Welcome to hell.” The woman giggled and turned to kiss her burly date who was dressed like a pirate. Lizzy looked away. Flames leapt in massive fireplaces against one wall to give the illusion of hell, she supposed. Not that the fires gave off any heat. Even with all the people, the air felt icy.
“Lizzy…”
She twisted her head, hoping Bryce had spotted her. But he wasn’t there, so she hurried on toward the bar.
On the opposite wall of the vast room, draperies hung from the high ceiling. Just as Lizzy was wondering what they were for, a man in a tiger suit grabbed a girl dressed like a yellow butterfly and threw her onto a low couch. The butterfly squealed in delight when he pulled the thick drape around their couch, creating their own private boudoir.
Lizzy slipped through a doorway into a smaller room filled with couches and plump pillows and plush Oriental carpets. Finally, at last, she found herself standing in the line at the bar. She licked her dry lips. It came as a surprise that she was very thirsty.
She glanced around. Along one wall there were doors of different rainbow colors—yellow, green, blue, pink. From time to time a man or a woman or a man and a woman together opened one of the doors and vanished inside. For what purpose, she wondered nervously. The party felt wild, much too wild for her. She shivered.
Then suddenly Bryce was standing in front of the blue door, holding hands with a pretty, young blonde in a black bondage costume. They were talking earnestly. Bryce was holding her whip and appeared to be pleading with her.
Pain shredded Lizzy’s heart.
“What’s behind those doors?” Lizzy asked the woman in front of her, who was dressed like black jaguar.
“Your wildest fantasy, sweetie.”
Lizzy felt her jaw drop a notch.
“You open a door and go inside with someone you find attractive…man or woman. Anything can happen. There’s a bed…a tub… You’re obviously dressed like a hooker. If that’s your fantasy, find a guy to sell yourself to. You make him pay. Then you do whatever he wants.”
Lizzy gulped. Whatever he wants.
Lizzy reached the bar just as Bryce opened the door and vanished inside, his nervous date running away.
Lizzy’s heart began to pound again. What if she opened that door and played the whore for Bryce? Would that really change anything? Would things be worse? Doubts besieged her. Would he want her to go to more parties like this? Could she?
“You having tonight’s special, honey?”
When she nodded absently, the bartender placed an icy drink in her trembling hand.
Play the whore? How could she? Even for Bryce? Her eyes glued to those doors, she felt herself losing her nerve, so she bolted the drink. It was sweet and thick and made her thirstier. Her heart began to beat like a drum.
“My, you were thirsty.” The bartender laughed and handed her another. “Slow it down,” he advised. “Those are potent.”
Sipping the second drink more cautiously as she wondered what to do, she walked slowly toward the doors like a sentenced person going to her execution. Her mind blurred. Yellow, green, blue, pink.
By the time she reached them, her temples were throbbing painfully. She felt hot and tingly and strange, not herself at all. What was wrong with her? The rock music pulsed along every nerve ending.
The doors seemed to grow larger, brightening into fierce rectangles of glaring light and then disappearing from sight altogether. She swayed, feeling a little dizzy when they reappeared. She couldn’t help thinking about Alice falling into that rabbit hole.
She blinked. Where am I? What am I doing here?
Bryce—she had to get him back. She loved him. She had to show him that she loved him, that she could be the woman he’d fallen in love with that first night.
She could be a sexy New York girl—even if it killed her!
Still, she stood there for a long moment, fanning herself with her hands. She was fine, she told herself even as the doors began to spin.
The air felt close, too close. It smelled of sandalwood and incense and exotic perfumes. She didn’t want to play the whore, not even for Bryce. Deep down, she knew that. All she wanted was to sit down or lie down, just for a little while until she was herself again.
But Bryce was in there. And the stalker might still be somewhere near looking for her. Fear had her heart thudding even faster than the music. It was now or never.
When she put her hand on the green door, she wasn’t sure which door. So, she moved to the blue door. No… Bryce hated blue. Which door? Which door? Dear God… The music was so loud she couldn’t think.
Choose.
She gulped in air and opened the green one. If he wasn’t inside, she’d simply go to the next room. And then the next…until she found him. Until she showed him that she wasn’t dull, that she was exciting. Until she made him realize he still loved her.
But when she stepped inside the dark room, she was so rattled by the sudden hush after the roar of the party, she forgot to close the door.
She heard footsteps. Then a shiver of air caressed her shoulder blades as the door slammed behind her.
“Bryce?”
A bolt clicked.
He’d locked them inside.
For an instant she felt like a bug trapped in a jar.
“Bryce, is that you?”
“Liz—”
“Thank God—Bryce! For a minute there…I wasn’t sure which door…which color…I mean.”
He said nothing. In the dark nothing felt real. Not even Bryce’s voice had sounded real. But who else knew her name?
“I—I know you don’t like surprises. You’re not angry, are you…angry that I came?” she whispered.
“Lizzy, I’ve got something important to tell you.” His low, gruff tone sounded as muffled and unsure as hers.
She had to talk fast before he got mad. She’d come here to show how much she loved him, to show him she was a new, exciting woman.
“No! Me first!” She held her breath for a second. “I—I love you,” she began in a low, cottony, raw voice. “I know you want me to be wild and sexy. So, I wore the lingerie you bought me. A girl told me that these rooms are designed for us to indulge our wildest fantasies. D-did you give me that lingerie…b-because you want me to play the
hooker? I will, Bryce. I’d do anything to get you back.”
He didn’t answer, but she could hear his breathing grow raspier.
“I’ll play the hooker for you, darling. I’d do anything,” she repeated.
“Anything, darlin’?” drawled that slow, deep voice that was so sensual and male, it made every nerve in her body tingle.
“You don’t sound like yourself,” she murmured, feeling confused.
“Neither do you,” he said, but she felt him come nearer.
“Touch me,” she pleaded. “I’m aching to be in your arms. Just touch me. I—I’m so scared.”
“Don’t be.” He hesitated. “So, you’re a woman of the night here to please me?”
She gasped. “Yes, oh, yes. I’ll be your wildest fantasy.”
“Whatever I want—you’ll do it?”
“Yes. Y-your wildest fantasy.”
“That won’t be hard,” he whispered. “You always were. You always will be.”
“So, w-what exactly do you want?”
“You’re a hooker, right?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well, I want your mouth on me everywhere.”
“All right.”
“Then I want to strip you and kiss you and lick you everywhere.”
She gasped.
“How much will that cost?” he whispered.
“M-money?” she squeaked, horrified.
“My fantasy…remember? You’re the hooker. I’m your client. I pay. You deliver.”
“Oh, y-yes…darling.” She named a price.
Leather slid against fabric. He got out his wallet and counted out crisp bills. He took his time, pressing the dry wad of bills between her plump breasts with warm, probing fingers.
“Don’t you want to turn on the light and make sure you didn’t overpay me?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you earn every penny. I paid for the whole night.”
When she felt a callused fingertip slide down her cheek to her throat, she shivered and jumped back. “I feel so hot and strange, not myself.”
“Good, pretty lady of the night. That’s the way I want you.”
“I—I think I’m drunk, and I know I’m new at this. If I don’t quite have the role down, please forgive me.”
When he laughed again, she felt him move nearer in the darkness.
“Lizzy. Oh, Lizzy.”
Something in his lazy, drawling voice sounded of Texas and touched her heart. Desire swept her even before his hard, possessive mouth closed over hers. Then his powerful arms wrapped her so tightly, she couldn’t think. She could only feel. And oh, how unexpectedly powerful those feelings were.
Something was very wrong, and yet very right. Strange. Bryce had never felt so good. Tonight her lover’s arms were hard and strong, his grip tight and firm. He felt so good, she began to shake. She felt young, a girl again. He felt as good as…as good as Cole used to before she’d realized he hadn’t really wanted her for herself.
Cole. The mere thought of him sent a pang of sheer, visceral longing through her. Vivid images struck her. Cole making love to her in the oak mott on a threadbare quilt. Cole making love to her on the beach behind the beach house with the pelicans flying overhead. Cole looking so ill and pale and lost after Mia’s death, all his dark anger gone.
Cole. Cole. Cole. Her heart beat his name like a tattoo even as she fought to push him out of her mind.
Cole was a million miles away in Texas where he belonged. Bryce was here, kissing her, holding her. Bryce was finally on fire for her, and just because she was on fire, too, the way she used to be with Cole, she had to quit thinking about Cole.
Then her lover’s tongue slid inside her lips and a hot, crazy thrill rushed through her. One taste left her reeling. One taste was all it took for her to know deep down in her bones who the man kissing her really was.
Nobody tasted like that except Cole.
What was he doing here?
Later she would wonder why she hadn’t fought him. He had never wanted her. He’d only wanted the Golden Spurs Ranch. But in the heat of the moment, even knowing who he was and what he really wanted, she was too hungry for him to care.
Always, always he’d deceived her. Tonight he’d let her think he was Bryce, and she didn’t even care about that. Later, she would, of course, but for now, she clung to him, kissing him back, giving him her tongue as she wound her fingers in his thick black hair.
It had been so long—years of lonely separation. And she had been lonely, lonely even when she’d pretended to herself that Bryce was perfect. No matter what she’d told herself to the contrary, she’d missed Cole. Somehow she’d continued to deny this simple, undeniable reality because his marriage to Mia on top of everything else had hurt her so terribly.
She slid her arms around Cole and pressed her body against him. When she felt his lower body harden against her, the world seemed to spin crazily on its axis.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. She hated him. She loved Bryce. She’d run away from Texas to forget him.
And she had forgotten him. She had.
Until he’d married Mia and her sister—for reasons known only to her—had put her Golden Spurs stock in his name. Then she’d truly learned to hate him. Or had she? What was that old cliché about hate being the flip side of love? Hadn’t that marriage shown her what she really wanted?
Even knowing who he was and how she really felt, she still wanted Cole right now, this very minute, more than she’d ever wanted anything else—more than she wanted New York or Bryce or any other man. She knew all of Cole’s faults; she knew all the unforgivable things he’d done. He’d forced Mia to marry him. He’d accepted her stock as his due and received even more stock when Vanilla had been born. Even so, right now Lizzy still wanted him.
“You’re not Bryce,” said a tiny voice that had to be hers.
“No,” he admitted roughly, stealing another swift kiss.
“You followed me here? You tricked me.”
“Or maybe you tempted me.”
I should slap you. Tomorrow I know I’ll never forgive myself for this.
“Cole?” she whispered against his lips. “It’s you. Really you.”
He didn’t deny it. “I wouldn’t have let it go too far without telling you who I was.”
“Like I really believe that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Cole. Here. It was almost too much to believe. “How did you get past the man at the door?”
“I waited until a couple arrived who knew the password.”
When he kissed her again, she wrapped her arms around his waist, glued her body to his and held on tight. She couldn’t stop squeezing him or kissing him. Desire built inside her like a burning tide, and she put her hands on each of his cheeks and touched her mouth against his again and again.
He groaned raggedly.
God, how she’d missed him, longed for him, and hadn’t wanted anybody to know, least of all herself.
Her hands dug his shirt out of his jeans and she slid her arms around him, needing, compelled to touch his hot brown skin.
“I vowed to hate you forever,” she said.
“You pretty much stuck to that vow,” he reassured her with a rueful laugh.
“Until now.”
“Until now,” he muttered. “Don’t start hating me again tonight, darlin’. I’m sorry for whatever I did.”
The real Cole wasn’t sorry. But right now Lizzy was too far gone to care.
She tore his shirt from his body and ran her mouth and tongue up and down his torso, lingering over his nipples and navel, kissing him until she felt like molten flame.
What was she doing? Was she drunk? Why this crazy, wild combustion of emotion and passion for a man she hated? And yet in his arms, she felt like she was shooting sparks, bursting, completely alive—for the first time in years.
She remembered the first time he’d been inside her. That night she’d told herself she’d love him forev
er. But so much had happened. He was a Knight, and she was a Kemble. She’d run away from him and Texas to make it in the big city.
He’d left south Texas too after their breakup. Only he’d returned with a pilot’s license and enough money to start his crop-dusting business. Then he’d married Mia.
He loved the land and cows and the big sky and the big silences as much as she hated them.
But she hadn’t been as successful in New York as he’d been at his pursuits.
Cole Knight, bad as he was, vengeful as he’d been, was the only thing I was ever good at.
Was it the icy drinks and the bizarre circumstances and the sexy game she’d played with him that had her so confused? Or had these games opened doors to her truer self?
She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She only knew that she needed more…more…more of him. Like Alice, who’d fallen into that rabbit hole, this dark little room and her desire for Cole had become her new reality.
His mouth found her nape and sent more hot ripples through her.
“I want you naked,” he said on a shudder. “But not here. Not like this. You said you were drunk. I won’t take advantage of that.”
“I don’t understand— You just paid me—”
“Not like this,” he growled, sounding as stubborn as she remembered him being.
“Cole— What’s happening to us? I hate you. Or at least I’m supposed to— And you hated me…or at least you did…before the amnesia.” Her words tumbled out as she tried to gather her thoughts and emotions.
“Lizzy… Oh, God, Lizzy. I don’t remember, but I don’t hate you now. I couldn’t hate you, darlin’. I want you too damn much. I came here because—”
“But you married Mia.”
“Mia? I don’t even remember Mia. I never think about her or dream about her. Only you. You haunt me, darlin’. Not Mia. I want you. Not her.”
“I’m a mess, Cole. My whole life’s a mess. You couldn’t want me. Not if you knew.”
“Trust me on this.” His large, rough hands covered her softer, smaller ones. “I want you, darlin’. I want you very, very much.” Slowly he brought her fingertips to his lips. When he kissed each one, she tingled all the way to her toes.
She felt breathless. And crazy.
