Page 5 of Room Seventeen

But that’s a problem for later.

I check my mask in the mirror one more time, impressed with the spirit gum holding it in place. It’s black and emerald green, which matches my silk gown. Over the last couple days I took off from work—supposedly traveling two states over to go to a family reunion that will never happen in my lifetime—I’ve immersed myself in the world of high-end pampering. First thing I did was get my hair dyed and cut. Nothing too drastic, because I still have to go back to work next week, but I had them put in highlights and cut layers, just to give me a more sensual look. Then I had my first wax appointment. And when I say wax, I mean they stripped me clean everywhere. I’m not sure what my men like when it comes to feminine grooming, but I figured a blank canvas was a safe bet. Then I got my nails and toes done, something I rarely take the time to do. Lastly, I bought a couple of good fake tattoos to help conceal my identity, placing them in areas the guys would’ve never seen at work, but also on my wrist and the base of my neck, which they would have noticed in my normal work clothes. Granted, I’ll have to conceal those areas over the next couple of weeks as the tattoos fade, but it’s a small price to pay for this night.

Three soft, evenly spaced raps hit the door, and I’m unsure of how to proceed. Do I sit casually on the sofa and say come in? Or do I open the door? Should I greet them by kneeling in a submissive pose?

Oh shit, why didn’t I think this through?

A slightly harder rap hits the door, and I snap out of my temporary stupor, rushing forward to open it, and stumbling on my ridiculously high heels in the process. I slam against the door, straighten myself, and open it to find Garrett leaning against the doorjamb, an unreadably hard expression on his face. His gaze travels over my body, starting at my masked face and working its way down in a slow, seductive embrace. My nipples pebble under his assessment, and he notices, if the way his features relax is any indication.

He grabs my hand and gently lifts it to his perfect mouth, placing the most heartfelt kiss against my skin. “You are stunning.”

Xander appears behind Garrett, his gaze also drinking me in. He’s breathing is heavy, moving his massive chest up and down in a mesmerizing dance. “Can we come in?”

I snap out of it, backing up and opening the door fully. “Please.”

With that one word, I realize a potentially fatal flaw in my otherwise brilliant plan. My voice. I forgot about masking my voice, although to be honest, I have no idea how I would do that. These are three of the smartest men I know—brilliant, really—and highly skilled in reading a situation, body language, and speech patterns.

I press my lips together, my mind whirling. Music. Maybe if I turn on the music, that’ll introduce some confusion—a cacophony of sounds to overwhelm that one sense. Slowly, I walk to the bar where there is a stereo and turn it on, unprepared for the volume at which it comes on. I jump and scramble to turn it down to an appropriate level.

Glancing between my two men who make the otherwise large suite seem small, I purse my lips and then risk speaking out loud. “Is Darian coming?”

“He’ll be here in a minute. He had some business to attend to.”

“Oh.” I press my lips together again and glance at the bar. “Can I fix you something?”

Garrett strides towards me, a confident swagger to each step. A small smile plays upon his lips, and then he motions to the bottle of Glenlivet on the bar. “On the rocks.”

I nod and proceed to make his drink exactly as he likes it. I stocked this bar with what I know my men like and spent a whole paycheck on this night to include the room, which was given to me at a significant discount. Not that the money matters to me. This night, this experience, the chance to live out my fantasy with the three men I have no business being in love with—but totally am—is worth more than all the money in the world.

Xander steps forward, his gaze bouncing between me and every corner of the room. I know what he’s looking for, because he’s done it at every restaurant and building I’ve ever accompanied him to. He’s looking at the security of the room, searching for hidden cameras or anything else inappropriate given the situation, but he’s doing it with an air of nonchalance, something he’s very good at. He grabs the bottle of Don Julio and slides it in front of me. “Straight up for me.”

I reach for the bottle, but he captures my hand, rotating it so that my wrist is on display. “Interesting tattoo. What’s does it mean?”

I glance between him and Garrett, who leans casually against the bar, a wry smirk on his lips. On my wrist is a pair of dandelions floating in the air. It was the most popular fake tattoo the studio had, which I felt perfectly accentuated my anonymous persona.

Attempting to mask my voice, I barely move my lips as I whisper, “People blow on dandelions to make a wish.”

He pulls me forward by my arm and lifts my wrist to his mouth, gently blowing across my heated skin. “Can I make a wish?”

I’m on the verge of telling him he can do whatever he wants when there’s a single knock, followed by the door opening with an air of authority. I glance up from Xander’s mouth to see Darian walk in, closing the door firmly behind him. He flicks the lock before turning his dark brown eyes our way.

“Perfect timing,” Garrett says, lifting his glass.

“I see that.” Darian’s eyes lock onto my wrist in Xander’s hands.

Xander smirks and places a kiss against my skin before releasing my hand.

“Can I get you a drink?” I whisper and motion to the bar, my gaze set on Darian’s. He looks amazing—they all do—in tailored black slacks and a black button-down shirt. He’s got the first two buttons undone, his cuffs rolled up to mid-forearm, the veins on his arms bulging as he unclenches his fist and offers me his hand.

“Come here.” I forget all about Xander’s drink and give Darian my hand. He pulls me gently toward him from out behind the bar and walks backwards until we are in the middle of the room. Without a word, he lifts our joined hands above my head and then slowly turns me for their inspection. There’s a growl behind me, a grumbling of obscenities that screams approval, and a seriousness to the way Darian clenches his jaw. “What should we call you?”

“Ivy.” I swallow down my nervousness and excitement.

“Your invitation…” Darian drops my hand and takes several steps back. I’m left standing in the middle of the room, three larger-than-life men watching me, wearing their own masks despite their bare faces. I’ve always hated how they can easily hide their emotions, thoughts, and feelings from everyone, but especially me.

“Was intriguing,” Xander finishes what Darian has yet to say.

“And mysterious,” Garrett joins in, pushing himself off the bar to approach me in the middle of the room.

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