Page 12 of Gilded Princess

“Not here,” I breathe out, arching my head back.

“Anywhere you want, babe,” he murmurs with his lips against my throat.

I blame my delayed reaction on the feel of his lips—soft and plump and gentle. A few moments later, the persistent thought finally takes center stage in my lust-fogged mind. Babe? Matteo’s never, ever called me that before. Cherry or the occasional doll, but never babe.

Suspicion worms its way through me, extinguishing my daze. Pulling my head back, I open my eyes and peer at him through the colored strobe lights and lingering smoke.

Tall with dark hair that looks lighter in the flashes of light worn short on the sides and messy on top in that effortless “I just woke up like this” look. He has the same air of superiority and radiates possessive asshole like it’s his job.

He lifts his gaze to mine, finally catching on that I’m not lust-drunk anymore. “You okay, babe?” He cocks his head to the side, and then it hits me.

His voice.

It’s deep and alluring, but it’s not Matteo’s voice.

Holy shit.

My jaw drops. I reach for his flat black half-mask, intent on revealing this mystery man I was five minutes from getting intimately acquainted with, but his long fingers encircle my wrist.

“I heard that’s against the rules,” he murmurs.

And in a move too smooth to be real, he shifts his hold and brings the back of my hand to his lips. He sweeps his kiss-swollen lips across my knuckles, and his dark-brown eyes hold me prisoner.

“I—I thought you were . . .” My head spins and I wet my lips. “Someone else.” I was so sure it was Matteo behind me, but maybe that was a leap my mind took because I saw him tonight.

He stiffens in front of me and guides my hand down to my side. “I see. My apologies, Raven.”

“Raven?” I tilt my head to the side and watch in fascination as his mouth curves into a sinful smirk.

He gives me an obvious once-over before meeting my gaze. “Your dress.”

My gut clenches when he takes a step back, and a lightning bolt of clarity hits me square in the chest. I would’ve gone home with him tonight. A total stranger.

And would that be so bad? a little voice inside whispers.

All tall, dark, and handsome and dressed in black, he reminds me of a villain in a movie.

Easily six-two with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, his deep black suit and matching shirt reek of luxury. He looks exactly like someone I’d expect at one of these events—wealthy, privileged, and not my type.

But he doesn’t feel like he’s not my type.

Underneath that Armani suit he’s wearing like it was made for him, he feels different.

Like maybe he could’ve been mine in another life.

He runs his thumb across his bottom lip, and my skin flushes at the visual reminder of how his lips and hands felt on my body.

Okay, maybe less of a villain and more an antihero from one of my favorite romance novels.

Between the shadows blanketing us, the flashes of light at his back, and his masquerade mask, I can’t actually place the face of my mystery dance partner. And perhaps that’s part of the thrill.

He misinterprets my silence and takes another step back.

I bite my lip and remind myself to be brave.

Life is short. Buy the shoes. It’s a saying my mom practically lives by, and while I do love a fantastic pair of shoes, I think it’s better applied to other situations.

Mary and I haven’t talked about it, and Lainey’s going through her own stuff right now, but what happened to her—to all of us—at O’Malley’s Pub left a mark on me. One that has me more inclined to say yes to this, to him.

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