Page 12 of 3 Stolen Kisses

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know.” Smoothing the front of my gray dress, I try to keep my tone light and teasing. Try to hide my mounting frustration, and how badly I miss this man with each passing day. How haunted I am by our forbidden brush of lips. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I seem to attract trouble at these parties. You’ll be swooping in to save me again any minute.”

Saxon growls something under his breath, but I don’t catch it. Not with the thumping music and the shrieks of laughter drifting in from the terrace, and the bodies surging in and out of the kitchen like waves breaking over the shore.

“What?” I say, squinting up at our head of security. Shoot, he looks so handsome tonight with his dark hair combed back and his broad shoulders pressing against his suit, looming over me like a grumpy, gorgeous giant. An earpiece crackles in his ear, but Saxon rolls his neck and ignores it. His eyes are piercing gray behind his mask.

“I said, you might as well stay close to me, then. Save me time.”

His words are casual, but his posture is tense. And… oh, I get it. This is bothering Saxon more than usual—the crowds of strangers; the wandering hands and hungry eyes. We may havebarelykissed, but is that a possessive glint in his steely gaze? Is that a jealous set to his jaw?

Works for me. Oh hell yeah, that works for me.

“Okay,” I say brightly, and Saxon flinches like this wasn’t his suggestion. “I’ll stay close, you big grump. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Mm?” He’s already leading me from the kitchen, one big paw wrapped around my wrist. I totter after him in my stupid heels, beaming from ear to ear, because this is seriously no hardship. Staying close to Saxon? That’s mydream.

“You have to promise not to fall in love with me,” I say, quoting one of my favorite comfort movies as he leads us through the press of people.

Saxon doesn’t bother with a reply, tugging me along faster. Maybe he didn’t hear.

* * *

“Masks seriously make people go loopy,” I observe, sitting on the fifth stair in the mansion lobby. It’s one of those big staircases that splits off in two directions on the next floor, and a gold length of tinsel has been draped across it halfway up between the bronze metal banisters, ‘discouraging’ the guests from going upstairs.

Like that stops anybody from doing anything. They’rehereto misbehave. If anything, telling these guests they can’t do something is like waving a red flag at a bull.

Still, it’s quieter in this part of the house, the music drifting in from other rooms. Whenever guests burst through the lobby doorways, their heels clacking against the hardwood floor, Saxon and I watch them like we’re on safari.

Some of the guests are too wrapped up in each other to notice us, kissing each other fiercely, clothes tugged into disarray. One couple in the corner is a heartbeat away from doing it, right here in the lobby, with the woman’s dress shrugged down around her waist and her bare boobs out for anyone to see. Their masks are still on, though. Guess they needsomeprivacy.

I keep eyeing Saxon when I think he’s not looking, but he hasn’t gawped at that woman’s chest once. In fact, whenever that pair moans extra loudly, he rolls his eyes, and when the man starts pushing the woman to her knees, he lurches to his feet beside me and offers a hand.

“Time to go. Come on.”

My heart squirms happily as I take his hand, pulled gently to my feet. My own strappy silver heels dangle from my other fingers, slipped off to save my toes hours ago.

Time moves so strangely at these parties. Sometimes ten minutes feels like it lasts for years, and then three hours whoosh past in a blink. What time is it right now? I have zero idea. Sometime between midnight and dawn.

Hanging out with Saxon, though—this always rushes by too fast. Especially when he hustles me up the stairs, holding the tinsel for me to duck under, muttering darkly about lobby blow jobs.

“Saxon, Ihaveseen porn,” I tell him, laughing as his shoulders shoot up around his ears. You know, for a bearded, tattooed, motorbike-riding tough guy, our head of security is kind of a prude—when it comes to me, anyway. “You don’t have to rush me out like I might faint.”

“You’re not seeing that guy’s dick,” he says flatly, marching me up to the second floor. The walls are glass up here too, supported by huge industrial beams, and the floors are hardwood.

An abandoned champagne flute and a man’s undone bow tie scattered on the floor confirms my theory: guests are roaming through this whole mansion, tinsel boundary be damned. I squeeze Saxon’s hand, then knot our fingers together. He lets me.

Is he jealous? The huge older man by my side seems jealous, his silver-flecked beard bristling with agitation. I love it.

“Saxon?” I say. “You can slow down. You don’t need to frogmarch me all the way through the house, okay? I don’twantto see that guy’s dick. Obviously.”

Our steps slow, fireworks bursting out in the darkness beyond the glass walls. My self-assigned bodyguard sucks in a long, deep breath, then gusts it out all in one go. His mouth twitches when he glances down at me. “Good. Sorry.”

“There is something I want to show you, though,” I say, a sudden, devious plan coming to me on the fly, because if Saxon’s finally softening up with me again, you’d better believe I’m gonna milk this moment for all it’s worth. Who knows when I’ll get this chance again? “Can we go to the library?”

Saxon narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to sense a trap. There definitely is one, but I smile at him sweetly. “…Sure.”

Ah, this big, beautiful sucker. I love him so much.

Six

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