Page 20 of Masked Seduction
My assistant. My temptation. The line I swore I’d never cross.
And here she is, stepping willingly yet unknowingly into the fire.
I lead her through the club and up the stairs to my private booth overlooking the floor. The crowd parts around us without a word. Staff and patrons know better than to interfere. I hold herhand for as long as I can, fingers brushing against the throbbing pulse in her delicate wrist.
She doesn’t pull away.
When we reach the booth, I let her slip inside first. She pauses as she takes in the view—the plush velvet, the candlelight glowing low and gold. I watch her closely, watch the way her mouth parts with a soft exhale. She’s nervous. Excited.
Perfect.
I slide in beside her. Not touching. Not yet.
Anticipation weighs heavily between us.
She has no idea who I am. But I know exactly who she is.
And I’m going to make damn sure she never forgets what it feels like to be wanted.
Desired.
Ruined.
Mine.
CHAPTER 7
JENNA
My body is practically humming as I follow the masked stranger toward his booth, my heart pounding wildly with each step.
This isn’t me, I don’t do things like this. But tonight feels different. Tonight, I’m someone else entirely, someone daring enough to take risks.
We reach the plush sofa nestled in a darkened corner overlooking the club’s main floor. He gestures for me to sit first, waiting until I’ve eased onto the soft leather before joining me. The energy around him is magnetic. His broad shoulders fill his suit effortlessly, the expensive fabric tailored perfectly to the powerful lines of his body.
I glance at him, frustrated by the mask hiding so much of his face. The dark beard beneath gives him a dangerously appealing look, emphasizing his strong jaw and perfectly shaped lips. He feels strangely familiar, but that must be my imagination—my subconscious trying to comfort me by inventing a connection.
I study him discreetly, catching the smooth confidence in every tiny gesture—the subtle tilt of his head as he regards me, the casual way he leans back, utterly at ease despite the charged atmosphere.
A waitress materializes beside us, her posture deferential, clearly recognizing my companion. “What would you like to drink?” she asks politely, turning to me first.
“Whiskey. Neat,” I say, catching the way the stranger’s lips curve slightly beneath his mask, as if pleased by my choice.
It’s not my usual choice, but something about the moment has given me a strange courage.
“And for you, sir?”
“The usual.”
The waitress vanishes into the darkness.
“The usual?” I ask.
He inclines his head slightly, eyes twinkling beneath his mask. “I come here often enough. They know what I prefer.”
“They must,” I say softly, teasingly, before leaning in just a little closer, emboldened by the anonymity we share. “You must be someone important to get service like that.”
He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, vibrating through me. “I tip well.”
