Unmasked / Inked. Stefanie London

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      “Hurry up, then.” She strode away from him. “Time’s a-wasting.”

      Chuckling, he followed her to the front of Patterson House. The grand foyer was a sight to behold—an intricate parquet floor gleaming under an enormous chandelier that looked like something straight out of a royal palace. Two security guards stood by the front door, but Lainey couldn’t tell if they were the ones who’d caught them on the balcony.

      They joined a short queue of people leaving the building, and Lainey tapped her foot impatiently.

      “Good evening, sir,” a man in a dark suit said as they reached the front of the line. “Can we get you a car or do you have one booked?”

      Damian nodded. “A car would be great, thank you.”

      The man stepped out onto the path that framed the circular driveway in front of the estate and raised a hand. A moment later, a black limousine appeared.

      She’d never been in a limo before—never had a reason to. Her life hadn’t been littered with special occasions that required fancy dresses and fancy cars and drivers who held the door.

      “After you.” Damian motioned for her to enter first.

      She slid onto the seat as elegantly as she could, the length of her dress in one hand and her clutch in the other. Damian followed her, and the bang of the door filled her with electricity. With excitable, nervous energy. She pulled her grandmother’s compact out of her bag and touched up her gloss, because she had no idea what was supposed to happen next.

      Her plans had never taken her this far, because, in the back of her mind, she’d been certain she would fail. Or be discovered. Or that he would have no interest in her, even with the disguise.

      But he did.

      “They went all out,” she said, snapping the compact shut and running her thumb over the embroidery. “Limousines for that many guests must have cost a fortune.”

      “Well, the ticket holders pay for it, really. Not that you would know that.” His lip quirked. “How did you get past security, anyway?”

      “I would tell you, but...” She shrugged. “You know how it goes.”

      “Blood and mayhem and all that.”

      “Exactly. Don’t make me ruin such a pretty dress.”

      “If that dress is going to be ruined, it won’t be by bloodshed. Trust me.” He leaned back and stretched his arm along the back of the leather seat. The pose—coupled with the way his gaze burned her up—was so unabashedly male. She’d always envied his confidence in the space he occupied. “Now the mask, on the other hand—”

      “It’s staying on.” She’d come too far to ruin it now. Her body was primed and ready for him—the one little taste from earlier had only stoked her appetite. “No negotiations.”

      He rubbed a hand along his jaw, a grin forming. “But I’m a brilliant negotiator.”

      “I’m sure you’re wickedly talented, but I’m not interested. The mask stays on or you can go home and have a cold shower.”

      He laughed and reached for a bottle of champagne stashed in a small refrigerator that Lainey hadn’t noticed. Obviously, Damian had a lot more experience with limos than she did. He expertly eased the cork out of the bottle with a soft pop and poured the liquid into two glasses.

      “I can handle a little mystery,” he said, passing a flute to her. “But I need you to tell me one thing.”

      “What’s that?” she asked warily.

      “You’re not married, are you?”

      His words were a punch to her heart. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might assume she was married, but it made sense. With his history and her desire to hide her identity, it was a logical conclusion. As much as he acted like he’d moved on, it was clear he still carried the scars from his divorce.

      “No, I’m not married,” she said softly. “I’m not in a relationship of any kind, I promise.”

      Damian raked a hand through his dark hair and nodded. “I gave something away, didn’t I?”

      “Just that you’re a guy with morals.” She sipped her drink. “But I won’t push you for more information.”

      * * *

      Damian leaned back against the plush seat, toying with the stem of the champagne flute. Tonight he’d crossed a line that he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—at least for a little while—and he wasn’t the sort of guy who changed his mind once he’d made a decision.

      He was supposed to be off women. Off sex and head games and all that fuckery, because he needed to concentrate on his work. After finding Jenny and Ben together, he’d screwed his way into oblivion for twelve months straight, and it had done nothing but cause him grief. It hadn’t filled the gaping chasm in his chest, nor had it quietened the critical voices in his head. So he’d become very selective about who he let into his bed. And even more selective about who he let into his life.

      But then this redhead had bowled him over and flipped everything on its head. Back on the balcony, he’d been powerless to resist her demands for more—and she wouldn’t even tell him her name.

      “I, uh... I don’t do this normally,” the redhead said.

      “Have a one-night stand?”

      “At least not without dinner first.” She drained the rest of her champagne. Looking for some Dutch courage, perhaps? He was tempted to remind her that he’d already brought her to orgasm once, so what was there to be nervous about? But he kept his mouth shut.

      “We had canapés, so that’s dinner covered.”

      She smiled, but it wasn’t seductive or sexy. She seemed...shy. “You know what I mean.”

      “No judgement,” he said, finishing his drink.

      Right about now he would have preferred a scotch—two fingers, neat—but this would do. Really, he didn’t want anything to dull this experience. Something told him that the redhead was special. That this whole crazy thing wasn’t going to be regular “good in the moment, but forget it the morning after” sex.

      “You don’t have to be nervous,” he said. “I want this, you want this. All we need to do is settle on a location.”

      “How about right here?” she whispered. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her mask, the pretty pink extending down her neck and colouring her chest.

      “In the car?”

      “Why not? As you said, your ticket paid for it.”

      He stifled a groan as she crossed her legs, the long slit falling open to reveal miles of creamy, pale skin. Knowing she wore nothing but a scrap of lace beneath had made him impossibly hard. He wanted her in his lap, legs spread, moaning his name. Now.

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