Page 3 of Mistletoe Masquerade
What am I supposed to say to this guy? What if he’s the chief of police or the police commissioner? Does he know I don’t belong? Oh God. What am I doing here? Why on earth did I think this was a good idea?
Sachi, get a grip and answer the man!
“Um … I was just appreciating the party. They did a great job.”
Okay, not bad. Scrape yourself together. You got this.
“Yeah, they did good this year. The whole masquerade part is kinda fun, if you’re into that sort of thing.” His voice drops at the end with an icky insinuation like we’re wearing blindfolds and ball gags instead of festive carnival masks.
What a weirdo.
“Themed parties can be great when everyone participates,” I say merely to be polite.
His eyes spark hungrily. “Now you’re talking. My favorite kind of party is the one where everyone gets involved. You like that sort of thing, too?”
Oh dear God.
Does this man think I’m talking about orgies? What the hell is wrong with him?
I’m about to make an excuse and disappear when another man approaches on my other side, effectively caging me in.
“Danny, tell me you’re not torturing this beauty with your attempt at conversation.” He leans in conspiratorially, whiskey wafting heavily on his breath and burning my eyes. “Thinks he’s a player, but there’s a reason guys like him are always single.”
Then he winks, as though he’s any better. The beefy man with white-blond highlights in his intentionally messy hair screams of insecurity.
“I take it you’re not single, then?” I ask curiously.
“I am,” he quickly reassures me. “But not like him, you know?”
Riiight.
“Yeah, Levitt, you just collect ex-wives like trading cards,” the man named Danny jabs back.
“Sometimes things don’t pan out.” He shrugs, unbothered. “Means Mrs. Right is still out there somewhere, and when I find her, I’ll treasure her forever.” He holds my gaze with a hooded stare that I think he’s hoping is seductive.
That, or he’s trying to hold in a fart.
Could go either way.
This is not at all how I saw my evening going. I don’t know what exactly I expected, but this wasn’t it.
In fact, I’d say this is karmic retribution. The universe saw my antics and decided to put me in my place. I’m at a loss for how to describe the horrific misfortune of this situation.
“I should really…” I start to sidestep my way to an escape when an arm wraps around my waist and pulls me into a solid body.
“There you are. Thought I’d never find you in this crowd.” The masked man lifts my hand to his lips and places a chaste kiss on the back of my fingers.
Eyes wide, heart thudding in my chest, I gasp in a breath that fills my lungs with the heady scent of spicedaftershave.
It only lasts a second.
An eternal heartbeat that lingers like smoke from an extinguished candlewick. I don’t even have time to react. The touch is over before it began, and I have to quash an unnerving urge to grab his lapels and draw him in for a real kiss.
“Follow my lead,” the man murmurs before pulling back and giving me a peek at the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever come across, and I can’t even see his whole face behind the black domino mask. Broad, muscled shoulders are outfitted in a tuxedo jacket cut to his athletic form, crafted from black velour that exudes confident elegance. A chiseled jawline with a dusting of blond facial hair forms a five o’clock shadow. And those lips—a rosy color full of life and hitched in a wry smirk.
I’d probably follow this man off a cliff if he asked me to.
He is utterly captivating and undoubtedly familiar. I’ve seen him before. He’s the man I saw with Sante. The detective the girls talked about days earlier. Malone—the man-dy cane.
