Page 212 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
His panicked eyes dart down to me before he briskly shakes his head. I raise my brow, giving him my best it-wasn’t-a-request look I mastered from Isaac.
After a few seconds of silent contemplation, the anxiety marring his face relaxes, and his shoulders roll high. “Wish me luck.”
He swoops down to place a peck on my cheek before weaving through the hundreds of event-goers separating them, her eyes once again not leaving his. Once they greet each other with a somewhat awkward hug, I saunter toward a gentleman balancing drinks on a silver tray. With so many people crammed in one spot, the temperature is stifling.
When I accept a bottle of chilled water from the grinning waiter, a shiver jolts down my spine. Uneased by my intuition warning me I’m being watched, I drift my eyes over the people surrounding me. Other than a guy drinking a brown-colored liquor out of a crystal glass on a loveseat, no one appears to be paying any attention to me, so he must be the cause of my angst.
The good-looking stranger dips his chin when he realizes he’s captured my attention. After returning his greeting, I make my way to a group of people congregating at the back of the foyer,diligent that there’s always strength in numbers.
As I drift across the vast space, I keep an eye on the suspicious gentleman without turning my head. Other than his unsuitably long gawk, he seems innocent enough. I’d give anything for my intuition to pick up the same vibe. It’s warning me to remain cautious. It’s not a caveat that comes with a nasty side of fear. It’s just an alarm that won’t be doused without further evaluation.
My pulse surges through my body when the stranger stands as soon as I reach the edge of the crowd. When I break through a group three deep, and he loses me from his sight, he rushes my way, his steps hurried. I maintain a calm, cool approach, confident months of training and on-field tactical responses will keep me safe, not to mention the drills my uncle ran me through from when I was a child.
While moving slowly through the crowd, I watch the stranger in a floor-to-ceiling mirror that spans one side of the foyer. He maintains an adequate distance between us, having me wonder if he’s trained in surveillance. If I had to guess his age, I’d say early to mid-twenties. His dark brown hair is clipped close at the sides, but the top is loose and shaggy. His vibrant, dark brown eyes stand out on his beige skin, and he’s tall, at least six-foot-three. He has a fit build that even his suit can’t hide the impressive span of his biceps and thighs.
When my eyes return to his face, I choke on my spit. He’s peering at me in the same mirror I studied him from. His brow is quirked, either amused by my stare or frustrated by it. If his smirk is anything to go by, I’m leaning toward the former. I swear I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place his face. Col has many ‘family’ members,so there’s no way I’d recognize every face I’ve scanned the past few months.
I follow the direction of the stranger’s eyes when he peers past my shoulder. Hugo is heading my way, his strides long and efficient. When I return my eyes to the mystery man, his smirk switches to a smile before he vanishes amongst the crowd—not even his impressive height keeps him in my sight.
The shudder of my thighs is felt by Hugo when he sets his hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” His eyes bounce between the hundreds of people swarming us. “Where’s Brandon?”
“Umm…”
I’m so confused, I can’t form words. My interaction with the stranger was unnerving, but I didn’t feel threatened by him. If he wanted to harm me, he would have made his move before Hugo arrived. The fact he didn’t has me suspicious of his motives.
Before I can get a grip on reality, a new type of idealism courses through my body. As the hairs on my neck prickle, I spin in a circle, slowly drinking in the vast assembly of people in the one space. The gala organizers are opening the ballroom’s frosted glass doors, meaning most attendees are assembled there, but my body’s heightened response is directing me down another path. I can’t see Isaac, but I know he’s here. I can feel him.
My breath traps in my throat when my eyes collide with Isaac’s not even three seconds later. He’s standing on the bottom step of the hotel’s elegant staircase, staring straight at me. The pulse in my neck descends to my pussy when my eyes soak up the sexually satisfying visual of his delicious body encased in a black tuxedo, white dress shirt, and black bow tie. He looks ravishingly hot, and he’s making me sticky all over.
I’m not the only one enjoying the visual. My inner vixen screams in euphoria when a seductive smirk forms on Isaac’s well-carved mouth after he drinks in my outfit. His jaw has that taut look, the one that reveals he either approves of my outfit or is desperate to peel it off me. I’ll be happy with any decision he makes.
After placing a black mask over his eyes, he hops off the bottom step before moving toward a sea of black tuxedos. Because of the large volume of people gathered in one space, I soon lose him in the crowd.
I lift my glowing eyes to Hugo, who’s waggling his brows at me. “Put your mask on.” He snags my black and silver feathered-design mask from my hand before spinning me around to secure the silver straps into place. “Now, go get him.”
Enthusiasm clusters in my pussy when he barges me toward the horde of people entering the gala’s ballroom. I can’t see Isaac, but his magnetizing pull is undeniable. It guides my steps, and every one taken increases the zing of intimacy that binds us together. Not even Hugo tracing my every move can dampen it.
A short time later, a fingertip brushes across my bare shoulder. The zap it arrives with is too intense to belong to any other man. It had to come from Isaac. My body only responds to him with this much intensity.
With wide eyes and clammy palms, I pivot around to face him. Confusion rockets through me when I discover a tall African American man and his wife standing behind me. They eye me cautiously, curious as to why I’m bizarrely glancing at them.
After a quick apology, my gaze shifts to Hugo. Grinning, he shrugs, but before he can articulate any of the theories in his eyes, the faint yet deep rumble of “Isabelle” slicks my panties with moisture. When my name is quickly followed by the briefest skim of a hand past my thigh, I crank my head to the left before slowly shifting it to the right. I know Isaac is here, teasing me, but the endless sea of black tuxedos thwarts my search.
I pace through the crowd, my steps guided by my body’s awareness of Isaac. The air is thick with humidity, but it can’t mask Isaac’s alluring scent. It’s as potent as the excitement heating my veins.
Eager to suck in his panty-wetting aroma, I close my eyes to enhance my sense of smell before drawing in a big breath through my nostrils. My heart thuds my ribs when his scent doubles a mere second before the softest pair of lips sweep past my parched mouth.
My eyes snap open in just enough time to catch a flurry of a black weaving through the dense crowd. With a broad grin etched on my mouth, I push through the herd of people to chase Isaac down. I know what he’s doing. He’s punishing me for my defiance earlier today. Since I forced him to interact with me, he’ll torment me until pleas for forgiveness fill his ears. It’s an enthralling game we’ve played many times before.
The natural wave of the crowd has our game soon spilling into the ballroom. The room is decorated with silver and black silk stretched as far as the eye can see. Mirrored balls bounce diamonds onto every flat surface. Black long-stemmed roses in crystal vases adorn each table, and multi-hued chandeliers encourage a visually stimulating display, but it isn’t elegance that has my heart galloping. It’s every gentle touch Isaac hits me with as his relentless pursuit to unravel me continues without pause.
The faint brush of his fingers has my head slinging in all directions, but I’ve yet to catch sight of him since our kiss over fifteen minutes ago. He’s like a ghost meandering in and out of the crowd with ease and simplicity.
By the time I make it onto the jam-packed dance floor, my panties are saturated, and pleas for forgiveness are sitting on the tip of my tongue. He’s teased my shoulders, neck, thighs, and both my arms, but the most passionate one was the one that skimmed the back of my knees. It shamefully buckled my knees and had me wishing we were alone.
My pussy pulses when the lips that highlight my dreams stroke my neck. “Are you ready to beg yet?”
Nodding, I step backward, yearning for his body heat to simmer the shivers running rampant through mine. I’m not cold. I’m so incredibly turned on, my brain thinks I have a fever.
