Unmasked / Inked

“Because imagining things is a waste of time. Why spend energy on something that isn’t real?” His hand slid around her back, pulling her closer.

“Life doesn’t always measure up to a fantasy.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thin and soft and unnatural. The rest of her body struggled to function with all the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“That’s sad, Ariel.”

“It’s the truth.” Not just that, it was the story of her freaking life. The world she’d created in her head—the world that matched the romantic stories she loved so much—was way better than reality. If real life truly lived up to her fantasies, then she wouldn’t be wearing a mask tonight.

His head lowered to hers, hovering for what felt like her life three times over, before he ended the torture. He crushed her to him, his lips landing on hers and opening in a hot kiss, delving and exploring and tasting. Making her head spin and the world shift beneath her feet.

God help her, she was done for. Ruined for all other men. For all other kisses.

His lips were soft and full, the taste of champagne and the scent of something earthy and male lingering in her senses. Heaven. Her hand found the back of his head and her fingers thrust into his hair, pulling him closer, hoping it might stop her from levitating in his arms. From floating up into the night air.

When his hand slipped up her thigh, parting the slit in her dress, her body sang out: yes, yes, yes.

She ached everywhere. In her head, in her heart, between her legs. For him. Because of him.

His palm was hot against her skin, his thumb moving in slow circles against her inner thigh. Inching higher, then retreating. Moving forward and back in a maddening, teasing dance that left her breathless with need. She tightened her grip while her tongue ran along his lower lip. She nipped at him, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. The sound rubbed her nerve endings raw, heightening her sensitivity.

He kissed her as if all of his pent-up lust and attraction and protective urges spilled forth at once. As if he’d fantasised about this for the past decade just as she had. This was everything she’d wanted, and holy hell did it live up to expectation.

“My God,” she groaned into his mouth, thrusting her body forward so their chests pressed together.

He backed her up against the railing, keeping one arm around her waist and pushing his other hand up higher so he could slide it around to cup her ass. Warm air caressed her everywhere, the tiny scrap of lace masquerading as underwear covering only the necessities. He moaned into her mouth as he grabbed bare flesh.

“You feel so damn good,” he gritted out as his teeth scraped along her neck. “And you taste like heaven.”

“Touch me,” she whispered into his ear. “Please.”

He traced the lines of her body, the curves of her hips, and felt for the heat between her legs. Pinpoints of light danced behind her shuttered lids as he finally brushed his fingers over her sex. The thin silk and lace of her underwear hid nothing. He crushed his lips against hers, kissing her rough and hard and dirty. With teeth and tongue. Ferocious. Demanding. Every cell in her body fired as if fighting for life. Fighting for survival. Fighting to hang on for that one moment of pleasure.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I need more.”

“The next step is you coming against my hand, princess.” The growl in his voice rippled over her skin. “Because once I start, I won’t stop until you’re shaking with my fingers inside you.”

“Yes,” she gasped as he toyed with the edge of her underwear, the back of his knuckle rubbing against her sex.

“Be sure.” His teeth were at her neck, scraping the line from her jaw to her collarbone.

“I am.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I couldn’t be surer. I am so sure right now.”

He chuckled against her neck. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“And I like a man who’s good with his hands.” She arched her back as he pushed her underwear to the side, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of the people milling below. But it was hard not to let the groans fall from her mouth as he stroked her. Played with her. His fingers pressed into her, dragging the moisture from inside her sex and rubbing it over her clit. Her whole body throbbed.

“That’s it.” He dragged one of her legs over his hip to open her further. “Let me feel how wet you are.”

His hand moved against her sex, his thumb strumming the swollen bud of her clit like he knew exactly how to make her fly. The edge of release rushed toward her, tremors starting in her thighs and spreading out, until it felt like she was going to fall. But his other hand held her steady, cradled her with a gentleness that belied the demanding fingers between her legs.

“It’s too soon,” she gasped, trying to hold on—to draw it out—but he knew her body too well. Way too well.

“It’s perfect, princess.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Don’t fight it.”

She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. Release rose up from her depths and blanked everything out—sound, sight, smell. It was all lost. Nothing but the electric feel of the orgasm rocketing through her.

Her hands clasped his head, her nails biting into his scalp as she tried so very hard to muffle her cries against his neck. His voice broke through as the intensity ebbed, soft and low. A whisper.

Princess.

She melted in his arms, liquid in the wake of her pleasure. But he had her. She wouldn’t fall.

“That was so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and bringing it down to his cock. He was like marble, hard and rigid beneath her trembling fingers. “You got me all worked up.”

She righted herself, smoothing her dress down with one hand and keeping her other on him as his body pinned her to the balcony railing. “I did?”

“Those quiet little cries as you came are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

She swallowed. This man...he was everything she’d known he’d be. Her body and soul were alive, filled with a satisfaction so vibrant, she wondered why she’d never realised that she was only half-awake before.

But when she opened her mouth to respond, the sound of footsteps froze her.

“Ahem.” Three men stood at the edge of the balcony, all in tuxedos and without masks. “Looks like we’re interrupting something,” the one in the middle said.

Lainey wanted to shout that they were and tell them to get lost. Her perfect moment with Damian had been interrupted, and for what? So these beefcakes could judge them? She had to fight the urge to slap the smarmy smirk off the middle guy’s face.

“Looks like you are,” Damian said.

“Can I see your ticket?” one of the goons asked.

Lainey’s heart leapt into her chest. She hadn’t counted on being asked for her ticket once she was inside the venue. Crap. How was she going to explain that issue away?

“We’ve had a report of someone sneaking into the event,” goon number two added. “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously.”

Damian slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed his invite over. Mr. Damian Edward McKnight was written in scrolled font across thick cream paper. Lainey would bet money they’d spent more on having the invites printed than she forked out for rent each year.

“Damian McKnight,” he confirmed. “My apologies to have to interrupt you, Mr. McKnight. I’m sure you understand that we have to take these matters seriously.”

Damian nodded. “Of course.”

Just as the goons turned to Lainey, someone came up behind them. This man was in a mask, so obviously he wasn’t one of the security staff.

“I thought I heard a familiar name,” he said. “I was coming up here to get away from the crowd, and it looks like you two had the same idea.”

“Mr. McPartlin.” Damian’s tone was flat.

As in Jerry McPartlin. The Jerry McPartlin. Lainey knew his name because her parents were huge fans of his first restaurant, Ora. They couldn’t afford to eat there regularly, but once a year on their wedding anniversary, they splurged.

“Are you going to introduce me to your lovely guest?” Jerry motioned to Lainey.

* * *

Fuck. Of course it had to be Jerry McPartlin who stumbled across him with a gorgeous, nameless girl in his arms in an area of the building they weren’t supposed to be in. He and the redhead had broken apart the second the security team had walked in, but why else would two people be hiding up here on a private balcony? Any hope he had of changing the man’s opinion had vanished into thin air. Unless...

An idea sprang to his mind. Hadn’t he been saying to Aaron that he needed to look like a family man? Like a guy who’d finally settled down?

This was either going to work brilliantly, or everything he wanted—needed—was going to come crashing down around him. Saying nothing would mean certain failure, and his motto had always been Go Big or Go Home.

“I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ariel.” He squeezed the redhead’s hands in what he hoped was a silent plea for her to go along with his plan.

“Your fiancée?” Jerry cocked his head. “You never mentioned that you were getting married.”

Damian glanced at the woman beside him, who’d stayed mercifully quiet. “Didn’t think it was a necessary part of doing business.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Jerry stuck out his hand, and the redhead hesitated a moment before accepting the gesture.

“Likewise. I’m a huge fan your restaurants, Mr. McPartlin.”

“Please, call me Jerry.” He kissed the back of her hand before looking back at Damian. “Charming and glamorous. Looks like you’re a lucky man.”

“Not lucky enough to secure your business, on account of my image.” He couldn’t resist the little barb, especially since it appeared as though his story had been bought. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to steal a moment away with his soon-to-be wife, can you?”

“Perhaps I was too quick to judge.” His gaze lingered on the redhead’s hand, which wasn’t wearing a ring. “Didn’t you propose with a diamond?”

Shit. His mind whirred again.

“We’re having something custom-made,” she said, her voice silky smooth as though she hadn’t been panting and breathless a few moments ago. “Damian knows how much I like things to be perfect.”

She knew his name? He turned to the woman and her face tilted up to him, her lips full and pink. They curved into a smile. Of course, the security staff had said it aloud when they’d checked his invite. At least that bit of detail could lend extra authenticity to their story.

“That’s my Ariel.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He sensed McPartlin’s eye lingering on her. “She knows exactly what she wants.”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” McPartlin nodded.

“We still need to check your invite, miss,” one of the security guys said.

The redhead stiffened beside him. Her hand tightened around his, squeezing in a way that told Damian she was exactly who they were looking for. No wonder she wasn’t keen to give up her name.

“I’m afraid Ariel’s invite met with an unfortunate end,” he said. “In the bathroom.”

The guards looked at one another, unsure how to handle that information.

“It’s my fault,” the redhead said, her voice perfectly pleasing and yet slightly breathy. “I was at the sink and my clutch got caught and spilled open.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.” He rubbed her back in slow circles, the role of doting fiancé taking him over fully. A wicked smile curved on his lips. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”

A small gasp sounded on her lips, but it was cut off by one of the guards clearing his throat. “Well, then. We should get moving.”

“It was great to see you again.” Damian nodded to McPartlin as he turned to leave, as well.

“Yes.” The older man looked them both over once more, as if trying to figure something out. “Enjoy the evening.”

Damian and the redhead stood close together on the balcony without saying a word until the men had descended to the ground level. Her relief was palpable in the evening air, and she sagged against him.

“So you’re a gate-crasher, huh?” Damian glanced down into her wide hazel eyes. “That’s a bold move. This is a very important event.”

“It certainly is,” she replied smoothly. “Oh, dear future husband of mine.”

He chuckled. Neither one of them was in a position to judge—they were both liars. Or both saviours, depending on how you looked at it.

“I guess this means I’m stuck with you for the rest of the evening, then?” she said, resting her head against his arm.

“Looks that way.”

He could think of worse ways to spend an evening—and at least having company would keep him from going crazy with all the snobbery in the ballroom. However, he’d put himself into a tight spot with Jerry McPartlin. While letting the man think he had a fiancée could work to his advantage, he’d have to make sure that Jerry McPartlin didn’t need to see his “future wife” ever again.

CHAPTER SIX

LAINEY COULDN’T BELIEVE her luck. Damian had practically done all the work for her—the whole thing about her being his fake fiancée meant they had to spend the evening together. And since he was the one who’d made that happen, she’d been able to relax and enjoy his company.

Or, more accurately, quietly freak out and enjoy his company.

They’d danced, eaten tiny, fanciful foods; she watched him bid on the silent auctions and talk to people whose names she knew from the papers. There’d been a lot of business talk, too. But he continued to introduce her as his fiancée, Ariel, and so that meant playing the supportive, doting future Mrs. McKnight. Of course, they’d had to explain the ruse to his friends, who’d eyed her with suspicion.

Now they were in the ballroom, and Lainey had her arms looped around his neck while his hand pressed into her lower back. It wasn’t dancing, per se. More like swaying in time with the music. But Lainey could have died right that second and been the happiest person on earth. Even in the whole Milky Way. This was the night of her dreams...but hopefully with a dirtier ending.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked.

“What?” She tilted her face up to his.

“We need to leave together.” He’d bowed his head, his lips brushing her ear as the gravelly words made her knees go weak. “In case people are watching.”

“Of course.”

Damian held her close, his hand smoothing over her lower back, exposed by her dress. “No protest? I could be anyone.”

“So could I.” Her fingertips found his jaw, tracing the hard angle softened by smooth skin. “But that’s the whole point of a masquerade ball. We get to be anyone we want for a night.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I was hoping to get swept off my feet.” She grinned. “But a fake proposal will have to do.”

“If memory serves me correctly, I literally did sweep you off your feet. I might even have saved your foot.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His forehead pressed against hers, mask to mask. Beads brushed her skin as she tilted up to him, her lips hovering a hairbreadth from his.

“What did you mean, Ariel? You wanted a man who was going to whisk you away to his castle and turn you into a princess?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I wanted a man who was going to treat me like a queen right now. A fantasy for one night—that’s all I want.”

Something stormy and electric shifted in his eyes, his lips tightening. But Damian wasn’t a man to hide his feelings. His hands shifted lower, cupping her behind and pressing her flush against him. He was harder than an algebra exam.

“One night?” he growled in her ear. “And nothing more?”

“I promise to turn into a pumpkin at twelve on the dot.” She dented her lower lip with her teeth, desperate to rub against him—to get the friction her body cried out for—but trying not to draw attention to them any more than they already had. This obviously wasn’t the kind of dancing the Carmina Ball was used to. “Then you’ll never hear from me again.”

“That’s really what you want?”

No. She wanted what he’d said—for him to whisk her away and make her his. For that proposal to be real. For the lust in his eyes to be something more. But Lainey was a pragmatist, if nothing else. And she knew there was no point wanting what she couldn’t have.

“Yes,” she lied. “That’s exactly what I want.”

His hands dropped suddenly and she stepped back, her body raging at the loss of contact. Her need chanted like a drumbeat in her bloodstream: more, more, more. The rushing sound in her ears drowned out the rest of the ballroom, her focus narrowing to him. Only him.

He was like a strange man-god hybrid in his black tuxedo and mask. The curve of the design highlighted his perfect nose—aquiline and aristocratic—the black leather making him darkly handsome. His lips formed a smile that sent a tremor through her. It wasn’t friendly, wasn’t romantic or caring or any of the other smiles she’d seen in the past. It was predatory. Delicious.

“Let’s go.” He held out his hand. “Now.”

Lainey glanced around the room—the ball was coming to an end. Guests were already leaving, though the waiters still lingered with drinks on their trays. “Now?”

“Right now. I’ve done enough business for one night.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to his side, his head dropping down to her ear. “And if we don’t finish this soon, I’m liable to drag you behind one of those potted plants in the next few seconds.”

“That could be fun,” she teased.

“I don’t like being quiet, Ariel.” Each word tugged on her nerves. He was playing her like a harp. “When I’m inside you, I want to make as much noise as I can so you know how incredible you feel wrapped around my cock.”

Her breath stuttered. Holy. Freaking. Shit. Damian wasn’t a man god—he was pure sexual divinity. That one sentence had taken her from being excited and warm on the inside to drenching her lacy underwear. He was right, they had to go now. Because that potted plant was starting to look like the perfect place to be.

“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.”