Page 3 of The Secret Play

The woman was a word ninja, and I was smart enough to know when I was beaten.

“Lead the way.” I reluctantly followed her across the ballroom. But as we threaded through the crowd, I couldn’t help glancing back.

The peacock was still there, standing by the dance floor, her head tilted slightly as she scanned the room.

For a brief moment, her gaze landed on me, and my breath caught in my chest and my cock twitched. It was just a second, maybe less, but it was enough to leave me wondering who she was—and how I was going to meet her.

Chapter 2

Gemma

Iwasn’t supposed to be here.

I should’ve been home, packing boxes for my move to Los Angeles in two days.

Instead, I was standing on the edge of a dance floor, swirling a glass of champagne, trying and failing not to look completely out of place.

It was impossible.

“Relax, Gemma,” Nico said, leaning down to mutter in my ear. “You look like you’re waiting for someone to throw you in a penalty box.”

I rolled my eyes, glancing up at my older brother, a center for Atlanta Fire. “That’s because I am. This whole thing is ridiculous. Why are we even wearing masks? We’re adults and this isn’t Halloween.”

“Because it’s classy,” he said, smirking as he adjusted his own mask—a sleek navy one with gold detailing that somehow made him look even more like the charming, overconfident flirt he was.

The mask matched the navy tuxes he and the rest of the team wore. The Atlanta Fire’s colors were navy and gold, so the players wore navy tuxedos with navy and gold masks, each one a little different from the other.

He continued, “And because I promised you’d have a good time tonight. It’s like a costume party. That’s fun, right?”

“This isn’t really my scene. You know that.”

“It’s no one’s scene,” he said with a shrug. “It’s for charity. Have a drink, relax. You might even meet someone interesting.”

“Among debutants and guys hunting for a trophy wife?” I snorted. “I doubt it.”

Nico put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. At six years older than me, he’d always taken his role as big brother very seriously, even when I didn’t want him to.

“Breathe.”

“Iambreathing.”

He gave me the look, the one that told me I was being petulant. He had perfected that look back when we were kids, and I hated being on the receiving end of it.

“You deserve to have some fun, Gemma. You’ve worked hard. Let yourself enjoy a night out of your comfort zone. You might even figure out that you like high society.”

I sighed, because as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Not about high society. They could kick rocks for all I cared. I’d seen how they treated him back when he sang at a charity event at the opera. He was a beefy, kind, charismatic man, smarter than anyone gave him credit for. And all the wealthy women of Atlanta saw was a good time and a story to tell over brunch. None of them took him seriously.

“Fine,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “But if this night sucks, you owe me.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he kissed the top of my head, careful of my mask.

Then his gaze shifted across the room, and his grin turned into something more mischievous. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to say hi to someone.”

I followed his gaze to a petite woman with a dazzling smile who was chatting with a group near the bar. Her eyes said it all—Nico had this in the bag. “Let me guess. Staff massage therapist?”

“You know me too well,” he said with a wink. “Be good.”

“Seriously, Nico? Haven’t you had enough of pointless one night stands?”

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