“I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’ve spent time bringing people’s fantasies to life. And do you know what I’ve learned?” I step so close I know she can feel my breath against her skin. “You can’t be good until you’ve first been a little bad.”
I hear the exact moment her breath catches in her throat, and while I long to follow its path, coax it to the surface with my lips, I don’t. There’ll be time for that later.
There’s power in wanting.
“Tonight is for you and you alone,” I tell her. “Don’t hold yourself back, and promise me one thing.” I allow myself a single touch, slowly trailing my fingers from her shoulder to her wrist. She shivers. “Say anything you like to the people in this room, but we don’t lie to each other.”
She nods. “Okay. I promise.”
“Good.” I raise her hand to my lips, an indulgence I can’t ignore. “Tonight,” I whisper against her skin, “I’m the only one who knows you.”
CHAPTER8
PICKING A PART TO PLAY
IVY
I try to catch my breath as I look around the room.
The crowd is thicker now, strangers shifting and pausing at each piece on the walls. Shadows pool in the spaces between, rolling like mercury and calling to me.
Putting on the mask earlier had sparked a trickle of excitement in my chest, but now, the thrill of what is possible—anything, everything—is like lightning in my veins.
The last time I wore a mask I was eleven, collecting candy dressed as Bo Peep’s sheep with socks on my hands as hoofs.
This? This is so not that.
Jumping from the pan into the fire? More like jumping from training wheels to the high wire on a unicycle.
As we ascend the staircase of my dreams, I’m so busy admiring the needlework curtains that I completely miss the next step and have to grab on to Lincoln’s arm to steady myself before I fall face-first into the ornate oak railing.
“Let me,” he says, lowering himself to his knees to rescue my shoe from the last step. He takes it in one hand and my ankle in the other, and wow, I couldn’t feel more like Cinderella if I tried.
When he looks up at me and places a gentle kiss over my knee, my heart stops.
The all-black ensemble he’s wearing tonight will be my undoing. I just know it. His dress shirt is basically painted on, clinging to his broad shoulders and chest like an aspiration (read:myaspiration). Its open collar teases me with that damn tattoo and a promise of the most delicious of bad choices.
Then there’s the white mask and slicked back hair.
Prince Charming, eat your heart out. (Wait, was Prince Charming the one fromCinderella? You know what? It’s not important right now).
Emma’s going to have to come and collect my ashes if he gets any hotter. I might light that funeral pyre myself if it means finding out where that snake leads to, and if it has any friends hiding under there.
However, when we reach the second floor, Lincoln pulls away. “Wait.” I reach out, catching him by the hand. We just got here. The thought of losing him to the dark sea of the masked crowd is both scary and exciting.
“Where are you going?” The question is out before I can stop it, my stomach twisting at how needy it sounds. I’ve never been good at showing my soft, vulnerable underbelly to anyone new.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he says, his voice warm and thrilling as he leans in. “I only need to look for the most beautiful woman in the room.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“How will I find you?” I ask, even though I can’t imagine a room he could enter where I don’t immediately lose track of everyone else.
“Would you allow me a small request?” he asks, his devilish smile peeking out from under the white mask.
I nod, my heartbeat racing.
He turns his face, pointing to where the mask covers his cheek. “A kiss, to mark me as yours for the evening. So you’ll never have to wonder who I am.”
