Page 3 of Midnight Masquerade

"Yes," I sigh, relieved he gets it. Mortified it happened at all. Oh my god. This is horrific.

"Uh-huh. And I suppose you accidentally kept squeezing it, too?"

I narrow my eyes on him, anxiety churning through me. "You don't sound very convinced."

"You don't sound very convincing. Why'd you grab my cock, unicorn?"

"Stop calling me that." I tug on my arm, but he refuses to release me. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Madeline Dooley." My eyes fly open wide when he smirks. "Crap," I mutter. Now he knows my name and can file charges against me for touching him inappropriately. Or he can axe-murder me.

Stranger danger, Madeline. Stranger-freaking-danger.

"Madeline Dooley," he repeats, his eyes still locked on my face.

"What's your name?" I ask, far more bravely than I feel right now, but hey. Turnabout is only fair play, right? Maybe. He isn't the one who just had his hands all over my private areas.

This is bad. I am so going to jail. And I can't even be upset if he sends me to the slammer. I deserve it.

Goodbye, new job. Hello, toenail clippings.

"Drake Whitlock."

My gaze flies back to his face, and I blink. "You're Drake Whitlock?"

I've only been here for a week and even I've heard about Drake Whitlock. He lives in a mansion on the outskirts of town, is a bajillionaire or something, and doesn't come around town much. People say he's a cranky hermit. This man does not look like a hermit to me. He's maybe thirty. That's at least thirty years too young to be a cranky hermit.

"And you're Madeline Dooley."

Okay, brain, time to do your thing.Explain what happened, apologize, and get the frig out of here before you spend the rest of your life in jail for touching his dick without permission.

"I didn't mean to touch your dick," I say, literally squirming on my feet. "I'm so, so sorry. I was trying to escape, and I ran into you, and I thought I was falling, and I tried to grab you to keep myself upright, but I expected to find your chest, not your…um…dick. Instead, I found it, and then I panicked like fight, flight, or freaking panic, you know?" I inhale a breath, my first since I started speaking. "And now we're here. Please don't send me to jail. I don't think I'd be a very good inmate, Drake."

"Huh."

I stare at him for five full seconds before "Huh?" finally bursts from my lips. "That's all you have to say? Just huh?" I cross my arms, scowling. "My fate is literally in your hands. I could have a cellmate who collects toenail clippings. I'm pleading for mercy here, and all I get is huh?"

"Toenail clippings?"

"I watched a documentary," I mumble.

"On toenail clippings?"

"On prison. Keep up."

"Right. You're pleading for mercy."

"Exactly!"

A lazy smile tips his lips up at the corners. "Tell you what," he murmurs. "When we're married, and you're in my bed, we'll see if you still want mercy. But that's not what I was talking about when I said, huh."

I gape at him, my face blazing hot. "You did not just say that."

"Oh, I did." He slowly reaches out, using one fingertip to close my mouth. "Meant it too."

"You're insane." Yes, that's the explanation. He's a cranky hermit because he tells complete strangers that they're getting married. His family obviously keeps him locked away for his own well-being. He seems perfectly sane to me, though.

---