Page 19 of Forbidden Mistress

I look up at him. He’s wearing a black mask. “Oh, yeah, no. I’m just grabbing a drink before heading home for the night.” He’s sitting, but I can tell he’s tall with a frame that leans toward athletic. He has dark hair, and green eyes, and even behind his mask, I can tell he’s beautiful. He’s wearing a half-mask, like the Phantom of the Opera. All he needs is a cape, and he’d be the spitting image.

“What’s your name?” he asks, looking me over.

“Ca—oh, um, actually, I’m called C, for now.” I say. “You?”

“Phantom,” he answers.

“Oh, that’s very on point,” I laugh. “Very nice.”

“Mmm, not the only thing that’s very nice…” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my masked face. It’s a bold move for someone who just met me, but I get the sense that bold is the name of the game here at Obscura. Real world rules don’t seem to apply in this place. It’s like a world between worlds.

I turn toward him a bit and smile, still on fire from the session with Willow and Hart, burning with the memory of how he touched her and made her scream. I still haven’t quite recovered.

“Thanks,” I say as his hand falls away from my face, moving to my arm. The blunt tip of his thumbnail moves up my arm, then back down again, feathery light.

He leans in and whispers in my ear. “I have a private room here. What are you into?”

I’m a little shocked by the suddenness of his suggestion—but, again, I’m in a sex club. Why am I surprised? I guess it’s because I’m not usually in this kind of environment. Even regular clubs freak me out a little if I’m being honest.

I finish the rest of my drink, savoring the burn as it travels down my throat. I already feel a little dizzy. “Why don’t we just go check out the dance floor?” I ask. I’d like to get to know this guy more. I’m definitely not ready for a private room with a stranger. Baby steps.

His mouth turns up in a smile. “As you wish.”

Threading his fingers through mine, he tugs me off the stool, but before we can even make our way to the dance floor, a giant wall of muscle appears in front of us. My gaze climbs up, up, up, until I see the same mask I just spent the last forty minutes staring into.

Hart.

What the fuck?

He now has more clothes on than before, wearing a dark short-sleeved shirt that conforms tightly to his muscled biceps. He steps up to Phantom threateningly, his body language tense and stiff. I wonder for a second what the hell this is about. Why is he so angry?

“Hey, my guy,” Phantom laughs. “What’s the problem?”

Without saying anything, Hart reaches out and takes the pendant around my neck in his palm, showing it to Phantom. “Don’t touch what’s mine,” he grates out.

Phantom releases my hand like I’ve suddenly sprouted thorns and backs up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t see the necklace. It’s a fucking cave in here.”

I frown, not believing for a second that Phantom didn’t see my necklace. It lays across the notch at the base of my throat, spread along the area where my collar bones meet and it’s not small. And the emerald in the middle glitters and gleams even in the low light.

“Now you know,” Hart growls in response.

“Yeah,” Phantom says with one last glance at me—like he regrets having to let me go. “Sorry, man.”

As Phantom turns and disappears into the crowd, Hart takes me by the upper arm and hauls me over to the entrance. Behind his mask, I can see the tension in his eyes. “Andrew is waiting to take you home.”

I tug my arm out of his grip. I’m feeling emboldened by the martini. “I’m not ready to go home,” I snap. I’m looking for a guy who can satisfy the hunger that Hart has awoken in me. I don’t say that, obviously, but it’s the truth if I’m being honest with myself. I don’t even stop to reflect on how that makes me feel. Like a slut? A whore? I glance around. If that’s the case, I’m in good company, and I don’t feel bad about it. Maybe I should. But I don’t.

He steps closer to me, and the scent of his cologne wraps around me like a blanket. I find myself leaning in. He hooks the crook of his finger under my chin and tips my head up, so I’m looking at his face. “You are going home. And, in the future, you will not allow other men to touch you,” he says.

I blink slowly, the warmth of the martini working its way through my body. Despite Hart standing over me like an angry Lord of the Manor, I’m completely relaxed. My God, I’m such a lightweight. “That was not part of the agreement. In fact, I was given very few instructions.”

“Then allow me to be clear.” His British accent is somehow thicker—which I guess must happen when he’s angry. “You will remain pure for me, little fawn. That’s what this job requires.”

Pure for him? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“I can’t date at all or anything?” I ask, incredulous. Talk about controlling.

He releases my chin, then crosses his arms over his broad chest by way of answering.

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