“Pardon me,” came a deep, masculine voice, polite on the surface, possessive underneath. “The set has changed.”
Only then did Daisy realize the music had shifted. Another tango, but this one slower and moodier.
Hadrian’s hand tightened at her hip. “I’m not finished.” His tone dripped with barely concealed irritation.
“You are now.” The man in the dark mask spoke with a smooth edge of authority that brooked no argument.
Hadrian’s jaw stiffened, his grip on Daisy tightening enough to cause her to gasp before he physically turned away from her. “I’ll find you later,” he warned, before disappearing into the swirling sea of gowns and tuxedos.
The second Daisy was released from his arms, she stepped back only to be pulled into another set.
“Breathe,” he said quietly. Not a command, but an invitation.
The difference was immediate.
Where Hadrian had been all sharp angles and aggressive possession, this man moved like water. His hand settled on the small of her back, firm but not constraining. His other hand cradled fingers, rather than gripping or clutching.
Daisy looked up, but his face was disguised by the mask. At first, she thought it was black, but now that she was closer, she could see it was deep emerald like his tux.
Her hand rested on his broad shoulder. He was taller than Hadrian. Lean muscle wrapped in luxury. They stood close enough for her to see the slight stubble on his strong jaw. His lips were full but far from kind as they set in an unbending line.
When he moved her backwards over the floor, gracefully dipping her, she finally had a clear view of his eyes. Storm-grey and utterly unreadable. He watched her with an intensity that should have terrified her. But it didn’t. Not like before.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said, and those haunting eyes pinned her like a thrown blade. Accusatory in a way she didn’t understand.
He moved, and she followed without thinking. The tango transformed beneath his lead. No longer a battle, but a silent conversation. He guided her with subtle pressure, giving her time to find her footing, adjusting when she faltered.
His hand shifted on her back, drawing her closer. Not grabbing, but supporting. The heat from his body seeped through her gown, reminding her how exposed her chest was beneath that plunging neckline.
But his hold didn’t feel invasive. It felt like shelter.
“You’re shaking,” he observed.
She was, but not as badly as she’d been a moment ago. “It’s not you.”
Recognition flickered in those grey eyes.
He spun her out, shooting her into chaos where she suspended for a sharp breath as couples swirled about and predatory gazes traced her limbs like physical strokes—then he pulled her back in, catching her against his chest with a gentleness that took her breath away.
“The man before,” he said, voice so low she needed to lean in. “Did he hurt you?”
She thought of the way he squeezed her hip hard enough to leave a bruise. “No.”
His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed behind his mask. “You hesitated.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“Too overwhelmed to remember your safeword?”
“No. I know it.”
“Use it if you need to.” A warning, not a threat. A reminder that she still held power.
He was a hunter like all the rest, here for the same purpose, paying the same fortune for the privilege of chasing women down in the dark.
But when he looked at her, she didn’t feel like prey.
His hand curled gently around her fingers, raising her arm in a graceful pose as they shuffled elegantly through the crowd. His ring glinted in the candlelight. Gold, heavy, bearing a signet with the letters RA. His initials.
