I reach the first bedroom on my right and open the door to find it quiet and dark. It smells faintly of perfume, something easy and light and equally appealing. I find myself taking a deeper inhale and then laughing to myself. Shit. I’m definitely drunk.
It takes me a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room, and on my right are two closed doors. The first one turns out to be a closet. I move toward the other door and open it to find a fogged mirror and a woman standing before it with wavy, damp blonde hair hanging around her bare shoulders. Before I can take in more of her, a loud pop sounds from somewhere in the distance, and the lights go out.
Complete darkness falls, so absolute it feels like I’ve been struck blind. The party noise beyond the bathroom and bedroom sparks with surprised yelps, nervous laughter, and a few theatrical screams.
“Shit!” someone who I think is Stone yells from somewhere in the penthouse. “No one move. The power went out. Let me see what’s going on.”
“Oh my god!” the woman in the bathroom exclaims. “This isdramatic. Good thing I finished getting cleaned up before this. You didn’t see anything, did you?”
“Huh? Is that meant to be ironic?”
“No. I wasn’t dressed.”
“Oh,” I reply automatically, heat curling up the back of my neck at the thought. I rub it away with my hand. “No. The lights went out just as I opened the door. I didn’t see anything. I was looking for the bathroom.”
“You found it. I thought I locked the door. A friend accidentally spilled pink punch in my hair and down the top of my dress. I was in here washing it out of both. Crap, I seriously can’t see anything.”
“Me neither. Are you okay?”
She gives a nervous laugh. “I mean, I’m not great considering the situation, but I think it’s better in here than out there.”
Given the loud murmurs and panicked hush outside the bedroom door, I’m inclined to agree with her. It’s complete sensory deprivation in here, and a little eerie if I’m being honest. I hear her move and note the soft rustle of fabric against skin. Is she getting dressed? The thought sends a rush of unexpected lust through my body.
“I think we’re stuck in here until the lights come back on.”
“Probably,” she agrees, and I hear her shift again, closer to me now, and with it I catch the light, sweet scent I admired when I came into the bedroom.
It’s her perfume. A smile curls up my lips.
“Though being trapped in a dark bedroom with a stranger isn’t the worst Valentine’s scenario I can imagine.”
Suddenly I’m aware of how close we are, how intimate darkness can be. The alcohol in my blood makes me brave, or perhaps just reckless, as I inch toward her, my pulse thrumming with excitement at the darkness and the woman.
“What would be the worst scenario?” I ask, my voice lower.
“Beingalonein the dark,” she answers simply. “Or, youknow, there being a psycho killer in the apartment going from room to room to slash up unsuspecting women.”
I chuckle. “Watch a lot of horror movies, do you?”
“Enough to know the half-naked, unsuspecting blonde always gets it first.” She cracks up. “Wow, that sounded insanely dirty. More like a porn than a horror film.”
My smile grows. “It did, but I’m not complaining. Are you still half-naked?” I don’t know why I ask. Or why my voice drops to a seductive timbre.
“Not anymore. Not that you’d be able to see either way.”
Her voice is light. Soft. Almost sugar-coated. Combined with the way she smells, she practically has me under some kind of hypnotic spell. I want to touch her. I want to smell her skin. Taste it. Tasteher.
“True,” I agree and change course. “Your date must be missing you?”
She laughs, the sound full and uninhibited, making me chuckle in return. “That was the worst way to ask if I’m here with someone.”
“Probably. I’m a bit out of practice.” I blink, willing my eyes to see through the darkness, to find her, even if it’s just an outline, a flash of her eyes, something to go by.
“At what? Flirting with women in the dark?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Well, this is the most practice I’ve ever had.”
