Page 3 of Rival Desires

Rylee

I took a slow sip of champagne, savoring the bubbly sweetness as I surveyed the scene before me. The annual Silicon Valley Tech masquerade ball was in full swing. A classical quartet vibrated their strings smoothly on a small stage, but soon, their efforts were drowned out by the steady throb of club beats dominating the dancefloor.

Costumed partygoers laughed, schmoozed, and flirted in dizzying whirls of color. Gods, goddesses, and fantasy creatures from myths and legends came to life under the pulsing neon lights.

I smiled behind the bejeweled safety of my purple mask. I was shocked when the engraved invitation arrived on heavy cardstock in my mailbox last week. I - little Rylee Palmer, new in town from Sacramento - was invited to rub shoulders with the Silicon Valley elite at the social event of the season.

Apparently, the local business chapter was already taking our new firm more seriously than I’d realized. This masquerade ball was the perfect opportunity to do some subtle networking.

And, you know, maybe have a little fun for once. I smoothed the skirt of my shimmery amethyst gown. When was the last time I’d actually felt pretty? It had been ages since I dolled myself up, longer still since I’d flirted just for the thrill of it.

Tonight called for a fresh start on both fronts. I added a dash more lipstick, pressed my lips together, and strutted towards the crowd with newfound confidence.

Over the next hour, I charmed my way through businessmen who wanted to talk crypto, starry-eyed entrepreneurs pitching app ideas, and even a semi-famous retired athlete who asked me to breakfast. I deftly distanced myself from any morning-after expectations but didn’t shy from coy smiles or light brushes of fingertips along muscular biceps.

Harmless fun. The anonymity provided by silky masks and the champagne buzz gave everyone pleasant, plausible deniability.

Throughout it all, though, I found my gaze returning again and again to one man. He stuck out sorely - tall and broad-shouldered in a classic black suit, his hair a tousled coppery mane. But the tense set of those shoulders intrigued me, the way he tugged at his tie like it was a noose strangling him. His companion seemed in his element, working the room with easy laughter. Yet Masked Ginger looked ready to crawl straight out of his skin.

I sensed a story there. And I wanted in on it.

I’d always had a knack for digging up dirt, figuring out what made folks tick and how to push their buttons. It was all part of the game.

So I watched him from across the room, curiosity well and truly piqued. Waited to see what he would do.

Our eyes locked with a bolt of lightning. He looked away quickly, but the connection had already snapped into place. I bit my lip to hide a smile, noting the endearing splash of pink coloring the tips of his ears.

Hook, line, and sinker. I just had to reel him in now.

Patience was key. I let him gather his courage, sensing the impending approach as surely as a shark scents blood diffusing through the water.

But I noticed he slipped outside the doors to the patio, and I followed him.

When I spoke, I must have surprised him as he jumped and turned. I gazed up into sea-glass eyes behind an inky black mask.

After a little small talk and flirting, he finally popped the question, “Would you maybe like to, you know...dance?” His voice cracked charmingly on the question, and my grin flashed wolfishly. Gotcha…

We flowed together on the dance floor, conversation clipped and jittery. He fumbled words, raked nervous hands through his hair, and grimaced at his own awkward jokes. I smoothed down his rumpled collar and rested a steadying hand on his shoulder. Slowly coaxed him out inch by inch onto the slippery ice of flirtation.

Asking for his name was on the tip of my tongue - I could see the shape of it waiting behind his teeth, too. But real names had no place here. Ours was a world spun from champagne bubbles, and snatches of song lyrics and secrets whispered in ears smelling of expensive perfume.

We swayed to the rhythm, his hands inching their way down my waist, a shy cat on the prowl. My fingers traced a path up his neck, getting lost in that copper mane of his. With every new song, our lips drew closer, each touch igniting sparks that crackled in the air.

“Want to slip outside for a breath of air?” I finally murmured against his throat during a bass-heavy dip. He nodded wordlessly, Adam’s apple bobbing.

The autumn wind smacked us in the face, a chilly wake-up call as we left the ballroom’s stuffy, humid embrace. I tossed my head back and gulped the crisp air like it was a top-shelf merlot. My enigmatic dance partner mimicked my actions with an exaggerated groan that had me biting back a laugh. For a moment, we stood there like two random strangers, silently bonding over our shared relief from the refreshing cold.

“God, I needed that.” Raising his mask, he scrubbed both hands briskly over his face. “Much better out here.”

“Mm-hmm.” I slid a look at him, still hidden behind purple lace and crystals. “The company’s improved too.”

He flushed and reattached his mask. But instead of stammering, he boldly caught my hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckle.

“What do you say we lose these masks too?” Long fingers plucked at my lace. “I want to see if the face matches the silver tongue.”

My breath caught at the unanticipated daring, an electric thrill chasing down my spine. There was more to this shy gentleman than met the eye. Peeling back those layers one by one filled me with unexpected longing.

Wordlessly, I removed his mask, then my own in turn. Eyes locked, the thousand unspoken rules governing this glittering make-believe world unfurled around us. We finally stood face to face, and the nameless Adonis smiled. His eyes sparked with appreciation, devouring the sight of my wild, dark hair cascading down my shoulders before recapturing my gaze.

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