I grin hard. "Sweet."
"And we all know I look beautiful," Bronson says as he opens the door and slides out of the limousine.
Words dance on my tongue. My cheeks burn at the thought of them, but watching Max's gaze drop to my lips again gives me the courage to speak. "Stick your tongue out. I'll give you a preview."
The grey in his eyes darkens as he sticks his tongue out. I take his tongue into my mouth and suck on it. He fists my hair hard, his grip biting at my scalp. Groaning into me, he reaches for my hand and presses my palm to his erection. His hips buck. My heart pummels inside my chest.
He pulls his tongue out abruptly and nips my lip. "Naughty girl! I have to go out there and as you once pointed out, I'm not easy to hide."
I breathe hard and lick the taste of him from my lips. "Sorry."
He reaches down to adjust himself, his eyes never leaving mine. My hand finds his thigh before he can exit the car.
"Max. Why the masks?"
"These people like anonymity."
I laugh nervously. "But they don’t hide anything. You'd still recognise me."
"It's something Jimmy started doing. It offers a sense of privacy and it's infinitely harder to identify a person in a photo with a mask on."
My mouth and throat get really dry. I decide to just nod in lieu of asking any more questions. Gazing through the tinted windows at the gallery, I watch as gowned ladies and tuxedoed men stroll leisurely up the steps and through the arch. Privilege drips from them in the form of clothes, jewellery, and attitude.
"You trust me, right?" Max asks.
I tear my eyes away from them to look back at him. "Only with my heart."
His eyes soften as he squeezes my hand. "And I'm gonna take care of it. Just be the good girl I know you are. The one that read me yesterday when I told Jimmy you were busy. I don't give you enough credit sometimes, Little One, and I should. You read my play. Just do the same in there. And remember, I'm working tonight. I might have to leave you every now and then, but in that dress, I can assure you, I'll have my eyes on you. Nothing should go wrong. We aren't expecting any surprises."
He lifts my mask and kisses me softly. His tongue skates over my lips, tasting me. I moan and he breaks our kiss, sliding the mask down again and ushering me from the car.
"Wait, aren’t you wearing a mask?"
"No," he says, entwining our fingers. "I'm six foot four and everyone knows me. It's pretty hard for me to go incognito."
He tries to tug me from the car again, but I pull my hand from his.
"Wait," I plea.
He stills.
"Little One, I can see you're stalling. It's going to be okay. You might even have fun tonight."
I sigh and draw courage from his attentive grey eyes. "Okay."
We step onto the red carpet, where Bronson waits for us. The whole frontage is lit up, lights shimmering in the dresses and heels that pass me by. I understand the appeal of the mask now that I'm wearing one. Just like a pair of sunglasses seem to hide emotions—eyes shifting, pupils dilating—a person'stells, the mask hides expressions—weaved brows,blushing cheeks. The mask allows me to observe the other guests inconspicuously.
Bronson and Max flank me, both boys tall and powerful and standing so close that I can smell them. Even though the mood between the three of us is light, their positions warn me to exercise caution.
We are pat-down at the door. The guard touches Max's gun, but ignores it. The female guard frisks me gently, barely touching me. With the slightest hesitation, I enter the bright gallery.
The space is wondrous. It's white on white. Glass. Shiny. Men in suits with earpieces stand staunchly in every corner. Stunning girls walk elegantly around, almost untouchable in their perfection and yet, they display product on their being, beckoning guests to approach. Necklaces. Earrings. Rings. Bracelets.
The overhead lights are absorbed by the facets in the diamonds, making them flicker with additional colours. Colours not found in the diamond without the addition of light.
A lady in a suit approaches us with a silver tray. I expect to be handed some liquid courage, but instead I'm staring down at a thin, softly-looped, white gold chain holding a delicate deep-pink solitaire diamond.
"This is yours for the night, Cassidy," the lady says. I hold my breath as she picks the necklace up and moves behind me. Max's fingers slip from mine, the absence of him seeping deep into my bones. She touches my shoulder with her wrist as she places the piece around my neck. I stand very still even though about twenty sets of eyes have fallen to my décolletage. I desperately try to steady my pulse, but it's an attempt to no avail. My breathing becomes laborious and my mouth parts. I dare not touchthe necklace. It feels heavy even though it's nearly weightless.
