Luxury cars and limo scenes pulled up to the front, the doors being opened up by attendants waiting to do their job. Gorgeous people climbed out, the air of money surrounding them strong enough to choke you.
I took a deep, steadying breath, the air coming out slowly. I had a tiny clutch in my hand, my cell phone, ID, and some money tucked away inside. I wouldn’t need any of these things, but having them gave me a semblance of feeling like I was in control.
And in my other hand was my mask.
I took another deep, calming breath and slipped the mask over my face. It was all black with crystals beaded around the eyes and a little feather detailing around one corner, accenting it. It was a contrast to the green gown I wore.
I had to focus on not tripping over the dress, so I gathered up a section of the bottom in my hand and lifted it up. As it was, I couldn’t even walk in the damn thing, let alone the stilettos that were already killing my feet, so concentrating was taking extra effort.
I got to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main doors, a continuous stream of people walking by me, their chatter drowned out by the sound of my blood rushing through my veins. I really didn’t know why I was so nervous. This was a temporary situation, not a lifelong commitment.
But I had a feeling one of the main reasons I was so nervous was because I worried no man would find me attractive enough to bid on me. The anxiety that I’d be left standing on that stage, crickets sounding, not one dollar being thrown out for an evening with me, had me feeling lightheaded with worry.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts and tightened my grip on the dress. I took the first step and focused on the two men dressed in suits standing on either side of the open double doors, their matching expressions stoic. They looked like those guards in England that protected the queen, the ones who were like stone and didn’t even seem like they breathed.
I took another step, and another, and when I was nearly to the top, it was like the next moment slowed. My heel got caught on the back of the gown, and I felt myself going forward. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth part as I saw the ground rush up to greet me. My clutch fell from my grasp, because I reached out to brace myself for the impact. But before I face planted, I felt a strong grip on my waist pulling me back, my body moving farther away from the stone.
My heart was racing, and I felt adrenaline rush through my veins. I felt dizzy, my throat tight, beads of sweat starting to dot my temples. I was shifted on my feet so I was facing the person who’d saved me.
At first, my focus was trained on a very broad, very muscular chest wrapped up in an expensive tuxedo. My body was pressed against an all-male physique, and I instantly felt fire lick across my body.
I tipped my head back, let my gaze travel along his neck, over a clean-shaven, square-cut jaw, over full, masculine lips, up a straight, almost aristocratic nose, and gazed into eyes so blue they seemed to contradict his short, immaculately styled black hair. He had an olive complexion, Mediterranean in appearance, like the sun came down and kissed him personally.
“Thank you,” I said and blinked a few times. His expression was stoic, and the only thing that seemed alive, on fire, were those ice-blue eyes. The shade of his eyes was a starling contrast to his tanned skin, but the two complimented each other perfectly.
I lowered my gaze back down to his chest and felt embarrassment flood me. I had my hands gripping the lapels of his tux jacket. I quickly let go and moved a step back, so our chests were no longer touching—although that sensation of not being pressed up against him seemed so abhorrent.
“What’s your name?” he asked in this deep voice.
I glanced down, feeling my face heat, thankful for the mask that would hopefully hid the very physical reaction of my humiliation. He still had his hands on my waist, and his touch felt hot and cold, electrifying yet grounding.
“Beatrix,” I whispered, unsure why I freely gave it to him.
He didn’t say anything for long seconds, and I wondered if he was rolling my name around inside that gorgeous head of his. “I’m Logan, Beatrix.” I didn’t miss how he lowered his eyes to my lips. “You’re steady?” he finally asked in a deep and thick-sounding voice.
I looked up at him from under my lashes and nodded before licking my lips nervously. “Yes. Thank you,” I whispered. He let go of my waist, but I was well aware of how his hands slid along my body, as if he too didn’t want to let me go.
But then again, the most rational reason was it was all in my head.
For a second, we just stared at each other, and I could imagine it was just the two of us, that there weren’t people all around us, that I wasn’t about to auction off myself to the highest bidder.
I wouldn’t mind it if he bought me.
That random, out-of-the-blue thought slammed into my head, and I cleared my throat. “Thank you again,” I said a little louder this time, offered him what was no doubt a very awkward smile, and turned to ascend the rest of the stairs and head inside. But I felt his gaze on me the entire time and chanced a look over my shoulder before entering the house.
And as our gazes clashed again, as it was clear he hadn’t taken his focus off of me this whole time, I felt a strange sensation move through me, this undeniable desire I’d never felt before.
I didn’t know what it was about this man that drew me so instantly, but a part of me said it had to be dangerous if it was this potent.
Chapter Five
Logan
I could still feel her pressed up against me, could still smell that light, floral fragrance that clung to her. It hadn’t been artificial, was no doubt her natural scent.
It intrigued me… aroused me.
It had taken every ounce of willpower and self-control not to get an erection as her very feminine form had been up against me.
I had seen her instantly as I made my way toward the front doors, this unique creature walking alone, her nervousness evident. She wasn’t used to these functions; that was clear in the way she kept swallowing, and the fact that her eyes darted left and right, as if she were afraid she was in the wrong place and someone would notice.
And someone did notice. Me. And I fucking grew intoxicated by it, addicted to finding out who she was.
I picked up my pace so I was closer to her, watching her ascend the steps, taking in her curves, how her green dress formed to her body. I’d been surrounded by so many fake women my entire life, the socialites, ones who lifted their noses at anyone who they felt were beneath them. My mother had been like that, my first experience on how our life really worked.
I strived to not be like that, to not let wealth or status cloud who I was or change my basic need to be a good man.
And this mysterious, out-of-place female drew me like a lighthouse amidst a storm, this beacon of hope and warning, so I didn’t crash against the rocks.
This pull I had to her made no fucking sense. I’d seen her from afar but right away felt this invisible string connect us. It was insane, unrealistic. That’s what people would say. But maybe they’d only think that, because they never experienced it before. Maybe they’d know how real love at first sight was if they’d actually felt that emotion grip its warm, powerful fist around their heart and squeeze until there was no doubt it was real.
After our encounter, I followed her in the house, but she’d been swallowed by the sea of bodies. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I searched for her from the moment I stepped foot inside. But here we were an hour after that, and I wasn’t any closer to seeing her again.