Page 3 of The Imp Act

I shake her extended palm. “Enzo Rossetti. Nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“No,” she says. “I don’t get out much. Or, at least, I didn’t used to. I tend not to stay out late. But tonight is an exception. I just graduated from fashion school and I’m celebrating. Wanna help?” She shoots me a wink and I can’t help a chuckle.

“Yeah, okay,” I say, intrigued. “I’ll help. What does that entail, though?”

“Hmmm,” she says, glancing around the club as if the answers are on the wall. “Definitely some drinks. Definitely some dancing. And then who knows? I guess whatever we canthink of. I’ve never had a graduation celebration before.” She raises her brows at me, a dare if ever I’ve seen one.

Well, well, not only is she beautiful, she’s bold. That’s my favorite combination.

“I had one, but it was boring. Lots of old people there and way too much cake. I don’t think I have any suggestions.”

She smiles. “Sounds like you need a redo.” She glances at the empty glass in my hand. “And a refill. Shall we start with the bar?”

Before I know it, two hours have passed. I’m not drunk, but I’m definitely feeling the alcohol. Noelle is a swirl of silver, a sparkle in the crowd that makes everyone next to her seem dull by comparison. She’s like some exotic bird, that, for reasons unknown, decided to land on me.

We’re both on the dance floor, grinding and sweating, and I pull her close to me. I speak in a low voice next to her ear, hoping she can hear me over the music. “We’ve done drinking and dancing. What should we try next?”

She wraps her arms around me and presses close. Her gingersnap aroma envelops me, making my mouth water. Could she possibly taste as good as she smells?

She presses her lips to mine, answering that question. She tastes even better, like vanilla and warm sugar. She parts her lips and I let my tongue tangle with hers, wanting more of that taste. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are large and her lips are swollen.

“Wanna take me home?”

I’ve never wanted anything more.

NOELLE

Kaliya mentioned Enzo was from a wealthy family, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he lives in a two-story penthouse in one of the fanciest buildings in Monstrocity. His place is stunning; the décor is minimal, but there are pops of art everywhere that tells me whoever designed the place has a good eye and good taste.

I stop to admire an arresting painting, an abstract with slashes of turquoise and gold. “I love this,” I say.

He comes up behind me to study the piece. At this proximity, I can smell him. His scent is minty and cool, but with an undercurrent of spice. I can’t tell if it’s cologne or his natural aroma. Either way, it’s appealing.

“I do too,” he says. “As soon as I saw it through the window of a little gallery downtown, I knew I had to buy it. I have another piece by the same artist in the dining room.”

I turn to face him. “Did you pick all the art in here?”

He looks puzzled. “Of course. Who else would have?”

I shrug. “I thought maybe you had it professionally decorated or something.”

“Ah, nope. It’s all me. I like design.”

Something about that makes me feel warm inside. He could obviously afford to have a professional come in and take care of everything. But the fact that he did it himself tells me he cares about his belongings, that he took the time to make his home feel right. I can appreciate that. I try to do the same thing with my fashion designs.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offers. “Wine? Water?”

I shake my head. “I’ve had enough. And that isn’t what I came here for.”

Heat flashes through his eyes. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”

“Lead the way.” I shoot him a grin and give him my hand.

His bedroom is as welcoming and cozy as the rest of the place. The walls are painted a soothing shade of blue, and the art in here is also calming—more abstracts in shades of navy, brown, and green. His bed is a huge teak piece that sits low to the ground.

I perch on the edge of it and stare at him, appreciating the view. “Care to show me what you got?”

He raises his brows at the challenge, but begins unbuttoning his shirt, never breaking eye contact. When it hangs open, revealing a muscular chest and the ripples of his abs, he speaks.

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