Книга - Unmasked

Unmasked
Stefanie London


Cinderella is about to get wicked…But can a naughty fantasy have a happily-ever-after?Lainey Kline has one goal before she leaves Melbourne forever: transform into a sexy siren, sneak into the season’s most glamorous masquerade ball, and seduce Damian McKnight. Only there's a teeny little problem—one deliciously hot night isn't nearly enough. Now Lainey wants more. But while getting naked is one thing, taking off their masks is quite another…







Cinderella is about to get wicked...

But can a naughty fantasy have a happily-ever-after?

Lainey Kline has one goal before she leaves Melbourne forever: transform herself into a sexy siren, sneak into the season’s most glamorous masquerade ball and seduce Damian McKnight. Only there’s a teeny little problem—one deliciously hot night isn’t nearly enough. Now Lainey wants more. But while getting naked is one thing, taking off their masks is quite another...

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author


USA TODAY bestselling author STEFANIE LONDON is a voracious reader who has dreamed of being an author her whole life. After sneaking several English Lit subjects into her ‘very practical’ business degree, she got a job in corporate communications. But it wasn’t long before she turned to romance fiction. After leaving her hometown of Melbourne to start a new adventure in Toronto, she now spends her days writing contemporary romances with humour, heat and heart.

For more information on Stefanie and her books check out her website at stefanie-london.com (http://www.stefanie-london.com) or her Facebook page at facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor (https://facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor).


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Her Dirty Little Secret by JC Harroway

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Inked by Anne Marsh

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Unmasked

Stefanie London






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07117-8

UNMASKED

© 2018 Stefanie Little

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Canada, thanks for letting me stay.


Contents

Cover (#ufb46a094-7397-5217-84ac-2f371e48ce1e)

Back Cover Text (#u7da87771-4b13-56ab-8dd0-b512813a9ef3)

About the Author (#u2153578f-80aa-5ad6-a45d-c4bee7f3b67e)

Booklist (#ud8f51b04-ee1f-5328-a72f-106f4564c317)

Title Page (#ub15db730-75c8-5e31-a451-592e7812a525)

Copyright (#u3786eddc-cace-5734-aa52-686ad2e44ce3)

Dedication (#u58f3f1c3-48a3-5f86-9a47-caaba6851182)

CHAPTER ONE (#udf78ff10-6be1-53f5-ba18-473487f07c51)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4ee5d9e3-1ee9-5a15-a17c-d8a4e512d41d)

CHAPTER THREE (#u60b09c36-5a50-5705-9312-1f25ba1141cd)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uca02ca91-ee9e-52b8-a64e-47678a73e0e7)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u344af6cc-d27f-5933-b186-a1b4ec4b1e0c)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ubfb2e989-4940-5c87-9866-93d80102b34f)

LAINEY KLINE STARED at the chocolate cake, which had the words sorry I’m leaving you piped in shaky white icing. Was an apology dessert over the top? Subtlety had never been her style, and announcing that she had secured a new job—and planned to relocate from Melbourne to London—required a special touch. A special chocolate touch.

Her two best friends, Imogen and Corinna, stared at her. “You’re breaking up with us via cake?” Imogen said. “Seriously?”

“This isn’t a breakup,” Lainey replied, trying her hardest to replicate the positive spiel she’d practised in front of her mirror. “I’m simply suggesting a long-distance relationship.”

Imogen shook her head. “A month is not enough time to say goodbye.”

“I can’t believe you kept it quiet for a whole week.” Corinna grinned.

The three of them sat at the picnic table in Corinna’s parents’ backyard. Even though Corinna had moved out two years ago, the three women still loved to congregate at the McKnight family home, especially during the summer. Their lush, sprawling garden was filled with native trees that attracted colourful birds like rosellas and galahs. Their song usually soothed Lainey, but not today.

“It wasn’t easy, believe me.” Lainey watched the bubbles race to the top of her champagne flute. “When I booked the flight, I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. But I had to tell you both at once, and you two are so difficult to coordinate.”

Between Imogen’s long hours and Corinna’s bustling social schedule, it’d taken a week to find a day where they were both free. But that was their deal—all news had to be shared as a group. Easier to avoid the whole “three’s a crowd” issue if there were no favourites. But it wouldn’t be like that for much longer. Worry stabbed Lainey in the gut. She knew her best friends would grow closer once she left; hopefully they wouldn’t forget about her altogether.

Hence the cake. Hard to forget about a person who piped her apologies in buttercream.

“So, hairdresser to the stars, huh? Maybe you’ll end up doing the royal family.” Imogen forced a smile, but her eyes glimmered with moisture. “Well, Prince Harry, anyway. Poor old Wills hasn’t got much left. He’s already in comb-over territory.”

“I doubt they’ll let me near the royals,” Lainey said, reaching for the big knife next to the cake and slicing straight through sorry. “Besides, I’ll be more focused on the social media side of things.”

Lainey had been a hairdresser ever since she walked out of school on her sixteenth birthday. Now she had eight years in the industry, which was by far the longest time she’d ever stuck to anything. Certainly longer than her failed attempts at reading tarot cards or working as a Red Bull promo girl. Two years ago, bored and desperate for creativity, she’d started posting her hairstyles on Instagram. Within a year, she’d amassed over a million followers and had brands foaming at the mouth to work with her.

Then she’d parlayed that into a gig as a social media consultant with a well-known celebrity hairstylist in London.

“But the contract is only six months, right?” Imogen asked as she handed a slice of cake to Corinna. “Then you’ll come back?”

“I’m hoping they’ll put me on permanently.” The finality of the move settled in the pit of Lainey’s stomach.

“Of course we’ll miss you,” Corinna said, shooting Imogen a look, “but I’m glad you’ve found a way to turn your passion into a job. This sounds like an amazing opportunity.”

With the scent of eucalyptus on the breeze and the late-afternoon sun beating down, Lainey wondered if she should have picked another location for her big announcement. There were so many memories here. And, as excited as she was about her new job, the thought of leaving her best friends behind made her feel ill. Like her body physically rejected the idea of them being apart.

It’s for the best. You’ve been miserable, and a fresh start is exactly what you need.

“I’m happy for you, too,” Imogen said, her words a little blurred around the edges. The girl was a total lightweight—two champagnes and she was already entering tipsyville. “But I do wish you’d been able to find such a cool job here.”

“I need to get away.” Much to her horror, Lainey’s voice wobbled.

Imogen frowned. “Get away from what?”

A confession hovered on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to blurt her secret, but what was the point? The decision was made. She was leaving in one short month, and Lainey made it a rule not to dwell on the negative.

“I just meant there are more opportunities overseas,” she said carefully. “I’m going nowhere here. Marsha didn’t seem to care that I resigned, since she thinks we’re all replaceable, and it’s not like I have a relationship to tie me down. Thank God.”

She hoped the booze would prevent Imogen from noticing how false Lainey’s voice sounded. Corinna raised a brow but mercifully didn’t press for more information.

“But you’re sworn to secrecy,” Lainey went on. “I want to tell everyone else myself.” She looked them both in the eye and smiled when they nodded. “I’d rather people hear it directly from me.”

Although the interview process for this job had been going on for almost two months, Lainey hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone until she’d signed a contract and booked her flight a week ago. Part of her hadn’t really believed it would happen. Even now, the whole thing felt a little surreal.

“Have you got a ‘before I leave the motherland’ bucket list?” Corinna asked. “There must be something you want to do before you go.”

Not something, but someone. Lainey’s move was as much about chasing her career dreams as it was about escaping the futility of her situation in Melbourne. She’d done something dumb. Idiotic. Monumentally stupid.

An action that might one day be documented in her memoir, under the title “Ways I Like to Torture Myself.”

Over the years, Lainey had developed a gigantic crush on the one guy who was totally and utterly out of reach. The one guy who wouldn’t look twice at her—Corinna’s big brother.

Worse, seeing Damian McKnight get married, divorced and then pimped out on Australia’s Most Eligible had torn her up inside. All her dreams for turning her adoration of rom-coms into a romantic reality had vanished. The only solution was to be somewhere else, so she could focus on the important stuff—like her career—and forget that she was doomed to have a miserable love life because she wanted the one man she couldn’t have.

“This is the perfect opportunity to go wild,” Corinna said. “You can do whatever you like here, then flit off to England without consequences. Surely there’s someone you’ve always wished you could have it out with. Maybe a crazy customer that you hate?”

“Or maybe I should tell your brother I think he’s hot,” Lainey said with a wink. Corinna pretended to stick her fingers down her throat, and the three women laughed.

It was a running gag—both Lainey and Imogen considered Damian McKnight to be the highest level of hotness—usually reserved for the Hemsworth brothers and Prince Harry. But jokes were the only thing keeping Lainey’s deep-seated attraction a secret—because the more she overplayed it, the less they believed it was anything serious. Therefore, she could hide in plain sight.

He was her Prince Charming, her Mr. Darcy, the Harry to her Sally. The Danny to her Sandra Dee. The only guy who’d ever truly known her.

“Speaking of Damian,” Corinna said, “did you know he scored a ticket to the Carmina Ball?”

“Wow.” Imogen blinked. “My sister’s stupid fiancé is going...without her, I might add, which has shocked absolutely no one.”

The Carmina Ball was something Lainey only knew about from drooling over red carpet dresses online. It was invite only and distinctly too upper-crust for lowly hairdressers like her.

“Apparently it’s five grand to attend,” Imogen added. “Five. Freaking. Grand!”

“I bet that’s a drop in the ocean to them,” Lainey said, rolling her eyes. “But still, Damian must be excited he scored an invite.”

“Who knows with him?” Corinna shrugged. “That guy seems to have a permanent scowl on his face these days. I told him to be careful—the wind might change and then he’ll be stuck with that ugly mug for the rest of his life.”

Lainey snorted. “I’d still do him.”

Imogen almost choked on her cake as Corinna visibly shuddered and said, “You guys are disgusting.”

“He’s cute, Cori. I know you’re related, but you have to admit it.” Imogen grinned.

“We are not talking about my brother,” Corinna said. “Besides, I want to know what the gossip is with your sister, Immie. You’re telling me Richie Rich couldn’t afford to get her a ticket?”

“He said that it’s going to be all business and that he’d rather spend the money to take her on a romantic getaway to some fancy-pants resort in Thailand than get her a ticket to the ball.” Imogen’s lips curled back into an uncharacteristic sneer. “But I think it’s because he’s cheating on her with someone who’ll be there.”

“Whoa.” Lainey held up her hands. “Since when is he cheating on her?”

“Penny said something that has been bothering me for ages. Dan goes to Sydney a few days each month for work.” Imogen toyed with her pearl earring. “Last month I was at the Boatbuilders Yard in South Wharf having drinks with people from work, and I saw him.”

“But he was supposed to be in Sydney?” Corinna asked.

“Yep, and I’d spoken to Penny that afternoon. She said he wasn’t coming back until the following night.” She gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know what to do. He was with this blonde and they looked like they were flirting, but I lost him in the crowd.”

“Did you tell Penny?” Lainey asked.

Imogen sighed. “I tried to, but she accused me of hating him from day one. She wouldn’t listen.”

“Perhaps he came home early,” Lainey suggested. “He might’ve been called back for a meeting. It could be completely innocent.”

“I can’t explain it...” Imogen sighed. “I know something is going on. I’m sure of it.”

“What are you going to do?” Lainey asked.

Imogen fished her phone out of her pocket and pulled up a photo of a woman wearing a mask. It was covered in pink stones, the colour of rosé. White feathers sprayed up from the top, and lengths of super-fine chain in rose gold hung down in elegant loops on either side.

“Is that you?” Lainey asked, and Imogen nodded. “I’m not following.”

“I’m going to sneak into the Carmina Ball. Then I’m going to catch him in the act and make sure my sister doesn’t walk down the aisle with the wrong guy.”

Lainey squinted at the picture, the intricate design of the gems and beads mesmerising her. It was impossible to see Imogen’s features. Add some dramatic makeup and a wig or change of hair colour, and her identity would truly be concealed.

“You’re crazy,” Corinna said with a shake of her head. Her phone buzzed and she snatched it off the table. “Sorry, ladies, it’s Joe. I need to take this.”

“Hi, Joe!” Lainey and Imogen chorused when she answered the phone, dissolving into laughter when Corinna rolled her eyes and headed into the house.

“Where’s the loyalty?” Imogen said as she reached for her champagne and sloshed a little over the edge. They were definitely getting an Uber home tonight.

“He does seem like a decent guy,” Lainey said. “She has better luck than me, that’s for damn sure. I haven’t been on a date in months.”

Imogen laughed. “That means your life hasn’t been unnecessarily complicated for months.”

“I thought you enjoyed hearing about my dating disasters.” Lainey grinned and scooped some icing off what was left of the cake. Her message was now an incoherent mess. “Solid entertainment value there.”

Disasters was certainly the right word. While Corinna always attracted cute, decent men, Lainey ended up in every kind of impossible, couldn’t-make-it-up dating scenario there was. She’d dated a guy who turned out to be as old as her father, two ex-cons and a circus performer who liked to watch her walk around wearing only a pair of mismatched socks.

“In a kind of masochistic way...yeah, I do.” Imogen forked some cake into her mouth.

“Why is it masochistic?”

“Because I know I’ll be picking up the pieces when it goes bad.” Imogen’s eyes sparkled as an amused smile formed. “What happened when that guy wanted you to move to the hippie commune in Nimben? I told you not to go with him.”

“I didn’t go with him...well, not all the way.” Lainey bit down on her lip to stifle a laugh.

Okay, so Imogen was usually the voice of reason. Which made her plans to sneak into the Carmina Ball all the more interesting. The thing was, if anyone was going to break the rules and do it properly, it would be Imogen. She’d have plans and contingencies and all the necessary details worked out.

“I drove all the way to the state border to drag your butt home,” Imogen said, crossing her arms. “And what about the time you decided to go camping in the middle of nowhere with that guy who got arrested and left you stranded?”

“I didn’t know the car was stolen.” Lainey shrugged. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Damian bailed me out that particular occasion.”

Imogen chuckled. “Speak of the devil.”

Lainey’s head whipped around. The object of her fantasies was in the doorway. Damian McKnight, in all his panty-singeing glory, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged his thighs to perfection. His blue checked shirt was open at the collar and rolled back at the sleeves, inviting Lainey’s eyes to linger on smooth olive skin.

“What were you saying about me?” he asked warily as he walked over.

As usual, Lainey gave him a saccharine smile, which he didn’t return. He might have been all biceps and close-up-worthy eyes, but Damian McKnight was the sworn enemy of all that was fun. Mr. Stick Up His Butt, she’d called him once.

It was truly baffling why she found his seriousness so damn appealing.

He used to be fun before Jenny broke his heart into a million little pieces. Maybe you need to show him how to have fun again...

Yeah, right. Damian had always acted like she was a little bug that buzzed around him, invading his space. Hanging around where she wasn’t wanted. And the one time she’d gotten drunk and tried to kiss him the year after he got divorced, he’d made it clear he wouldn’t go there with her, despite the fact that he’d been giving her eyes all night. She was twenty-one then, and fully aware of what she wanted with him.

“We were reminiscing about some of Lainey’s finer dating moments,” Imogen said.

Damian smirked. “Like that time you had to climb out that lawyer’s window because his other girlfriend came home early?”

“He told me he was single,” Lainey protested, reaching for her drink. “I would never have dated him if I’d known.”

He shook his head. He often did that around her...they all did. “Where’s your third musketeer?”

“Inside, talking to her lover boy,” Lainey replied.

“And what about you?” His gaze skated over her. “Any recent victims?”

Lainey drained the rest of her champagne and tried to appear as though she hadn’t noticed the searing look. Damian had the Blue Steel thing down pat, and she knew for a fact that women all over Melbourne would give their right arm to be on the receiving end of it. And since his stint on TV, the guy even had a fan club on Facebook. A freaking fan club!

“I love being single, you know that. But I might head out later, see if anyone takes my interest.”

His jaw tensed. Interesting. “If you do, be sure to give him my condolences.”

There was a strange undercurrent in Damian’s tone, a little hum of tension that sent ripples of curiosity through her. Was it because he didn’t care or because he didn’t like the idea of her chatting someone up?

She never could tell with him. He said he wasn’t interested, but his body language told a different story.

“And what are you up to tonight?” she asked.

“Not much. Mum needed a hand with the pipes in the kitchen, and Dad’s back is still giving him a hard time,” he said with a brisk nod. “I’m exchanging hard labour for lasagne.”

Well, damn if that didn’t make her insides melt. Despite his sharp rise in business and wealth, Damian never forgot where he came from or who was important in his life. He was dedicated to his family, always making himself available for his parents or his sister.

It still baffled Lainey why his wife had left. Who in their right mind would walk away from him?

Damian’s eyes flicked over her once more, and she felt it all the way down to her toes. “Anyway, I’d better get to it. Behave yourselves, okay?”

“Never.” Lainey had to contain a laugh as he rolled his eyes, walking away without a backward glance.

The man had an ass so perfect it should be in a gallery.

“So uptight,” Lainey muttered, her eyes locked onto the way his hips rolled as he disappeared into the house. “But so smoking hot.”

Imogen snorted. “I think you mean ‘so unattainable.’”

“Potato, po-tah-to.” Lainey tapped her nails against the table. “So, I want to know more about this whole Carmina Ball plan. I’m intrigued.”

“I was going to keep it a secret.” Imogen dropped her face into her hands. “But Corinna kept topping up my glass and then with the shock of your news, I...ugh. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” Lainey mimicked turning a key in a lock. “How are you going to get in without an invitation?”

“I know the caterer.” Imogen leaned forward. “I’ll arrive with her team and then slip off to change into my costume after the party starts.”

Lainey sucked on her lower lip. The plan was totally insane. Absolutely and utterly bonkers.

Speaking of Damian, did you know he scored a ticket to the Carmina Ball?

Corinna’s words rang in her head like a siren song, along with the teasing thought of being able to do anything she wanted before leaving for London. If Imogen could sneak into the ball in disguise, Lainey could, too.

What the hell will you do once you get in?

Anything. A wicked smile curved on her lips. She could do anything at all.

“I don’t suppose there’s room for a sidekick on this grand adventure?” Lainey asked.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

While Lainey was confident in her seduction abilities with men in general, Damian seemed to be her white whale. He resisted her where other men didn’t, and she had her suspicions it wasn’t due to a lack of physical chemistry. They had it in excess. Her body sparked whenever he came near her. And as for him...well, she’d caught him looking at her before with that heated blue gaze. But for some reason, he never acted on her flirty suggestions, never returned any teasing innuendo.

But the whole point of a masquerade ball was to have a little fun without revealing your identity, right? She could test her theory that they did have something between them.

Damian McKnight had a hold over her unlike anyone else. He was a man among boys. A total and utter fantasy.

In quiet moments, she’d wondered if he was the reason she chose to date flighty, flaky types. She could never have Damian, so she went for the opposite—the loose cannons and the jokers. The guys who would never tempt her into falling in love.

“Let me revise that,” Imogen said, narrowing her eyes. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Lainey admitted. Her eyes snagged on the empty doorway where Damian had exited a few minutes ago.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” Imogen asked, tracking Lainey’s gaze. “Not a good idea.”

“Please, Immie,” she said. “He won’t know it’s me. I’ll keep my mask on and I’ll get out of there if things go bad.”

“I thought you were only trying to wind Corinna up.” Her friend gripped her drink, her hand hovering in midair as though she’d forgotten about it. “Were you serious about him this whole time?”

“I was,” she admitted. “But he never treated me as anything more than a little sister type. Please. This might be my only chance. Once I’m gone...that’s it.”

After a moment, Imogen threw her hands in the air. “Fine. But I will not take sides if this blows up.”

Lainey bit her lip, trying to trap the excitement inside her. One night to see if her fantasies could come true. Then she’d move on and pretend it never happened.


CHAPTER TWO (#ubfb2e989-4940-5c87-9866-93d80102b34f)

DAMIAN’S WEEK HAD started bad and ended in a steaming pile of crap. Seeing Lainey over the weekend had distracted him with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts, which made him guilty and snappy. He was like Snow White’s rejected eighth dwarf.

Distraction he could handle. Failure, on the other hand...that was not tolerable.

“How’d the meeting go?” Aaron reached for his gin and tonic. They’d arranged to meet at their usual place, an older bar that was no longer trendy, which therefore meant you could get decent service. Plus, with the Carmina Ball happening tomorrow night, Damian was sure he’d need to store up all his energy. Parties weren’t really his thing, but getting an invite was akin to being accepted by people who mattered. And while everyone would be in masquerade dress, he’d been told a lot of business was conducted if you knew the right people and asked the right questions.

It all sounded a little secret society to him.

He grunted. “Don’t ask.”

“That good, huh?”

Damian tossed back his drink, trying to drown the sick feeling in his stomach. Tonight’s meeting was supposed to have been the start of a new era for his management consulting business. Another rung climbed toward the shining carrot dangling a hairbreadth out of reach. Validation. Retribution.

Instead he’d gotten a big fat face-to-face rejection. In under five minutes, which was salt in the wound. Not that Damian had ever been frightened of the word no. People had knocked him back left, right and centre when he’d first struck out on his own. But this client was different.

This client was personal.

“He said he didn’t want to have his family-friendly image associated with someone like me. Like I’m a fucking social pariah. It was one reality show, for Chrissakes.”

He regretted going on Australia’s Most Eligible more than any other cock-up he’d ever made in his career. He hadn’t been looking for love, like the show proclaimed—none of the contestants were. They wanted publicity. Name recognition. At the time, his PR person had assured him it would bring his fledgling Melbourne-based business to a national level...and it had. Damian had come across well on-screen, and his business had seen a hearty boost in attention after the show aired.

But mostly it was small stuff. And Damian wasn’t happy with bread crumbs—he wanted the whole damn loaf.

Only hard work had allowed him to take his business to the next level. He’d put in long hours and hustled to get clients. Now he was operating at a level most people could only aspire to, but his reality TV show days still hung around like a bad smell.

“And the damn thing is scripted. They turn you into a character—everyone knows that.” Damian shook his head. “But he said people who used ‘cheap tricks’ to get ahead were not the kind of people he wants to do business with. Oh, and apparently those kinds of shows are the reason our society is falling to pieces. Because nobody has ‘good, old-fashioned values’ anymore.”

“He sounds like a dick. Anyway, you always land on your feet,” Aaron replied with a shrug. “You’ll get another client.”

“Of course I will. But I want this one.” He turned the empty whisky glass over in his hands. “I just need to figure out how to look more family friendly.”

“You?” Aaron laughed. “No offence, mate, but you’re not exactly the family-friendly type.”

Irritation prickled under Damian’s skin. He knew that. Getting divorced six months before he turned thirty had put a sour taste in his mouth when it came to families. And relationships. Which meant he dated with an immovable expiry. It worked for him, kept things mess-free, but after his TV stint, more people took notice of his dating habits. Potential clients included.

“What company is it?” Aaron asked.

“McPartlin & Co.”

The company had started out with a single restaurant and now owned seven fine dining establishments across the country, plus another recently launched in New Zealand. The owner had also signed a lucrative deal with Coles supermarkets. They even had plans for expansion into Singapore, Hong Kong and Dubai, all within the next five years.

But the owner of the company was notoriously uptight and traditional. Hell, he’d fired one of the best chefs in the world for swearing in the kitchen, because “foul language” shouldn’t be tolerated. Given it wasn’t unusual for chefs to have a colourful vernacular, the news had made headlines.

“Jerry McPartlin’s company.” Realisation seeped into Aaron’s features. “Your old boss’s client?”

“That would be the one.”

“Okay, buddy. You need to take a breath and think about this.” Aaron put his drink down and planted a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I know you’re pissed about what happened, but—”

“He was screwing my wife, Aaron.”

That was what this was about. Revenge. The McPartlin & Co. deal had launched Ben’s boutique consulting firm into the big leagues. They were his flagship client.

And Damian was going to do everything in his power to take the business from him, the way Ben had taken something precious from Damian.

The memory made red flash before his eyes like a matador’s cape. “Then he had the audacity to tell me I’d never make it. That I’d never even come close to playing at his level.”

“He’s a prick, that’s a fact well established.” Aaron shook his head. “But you need to let it go. It was four years ago. It’s not healthy to hang on to this shit for so long.”

“Are you done, Oprah?”

“Sticks and stones, mate. I’m only saying this because you’re like a brother to me.” He sighed. “Have a few drinks, find a woman and forget about Ben. Forget about Jenny while you’re at it. They’re not worth the energy.”

Aaron was the only person outside his family who knew what’d happened with his divorce and his abrupt departure from Ben’s firm. Trust wasn’t something Damian had in large supply, especially these days, but he’d put his life in Aaron’s hands if the situation called for it.

However, the guy had married his teenage sweetheart and lived a life of sunshine and roses. He didn’t understand Damian’s need to settle the score.

“Having a few drinks and finding a woman is exactly why McPartlin & Co. thinks I’m wrong for them. I need a change of image.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Maybe I should get engaged. That’ll make me look like family material.” Damian drummed his fingers on the bar, his mind whirring. Searching for a solution. “I could be the guy who finally settled down for the right woman.”

Aaron looked at him like he was crazy. “And who would you get engaged to?”

“Someone I don’t care about.” In other words, someone who wouldn’t be able to screw him over.

* * *

“I’d always assumed if I was going to be in a barn naked, there’d at least be a sexy cowboy involved.” Lainey shimmied on the spot, pulling the dress over her hips. It was a touch too tight, but it was a loaner, so she’d have to make do.

“Are you saying I’m not good enough for a roll in the hay?” Imogen grinned. “Now, quit complaining and zip me up.”

Both dresses had come from a friend of Imogen’s who owned a boutique in Malvern. The sizing options for borrowed dresses had been limited. But since Lainey couldn’t afford to shell out a few thousand dollars for a fancy dress, she had to suck in her stomach and avoid eating. One, because the boning in the bodice wouldn’t allow for any expansion, and two, because the dresses could not get dirty under any circumstances.

And yet they were changing in a stable. Go figure.

Lainey reached for the zip at Imogen’s back and tugged. It stuck at the halfway point for a moment, then slid up. It was a snug fit, but it would do.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Imogen’s dress was all black lace and vampy satin—a far cry from her usually sedate approach to fashion. Her jewelled mask hid most of her face, and with a plummy stain coating her usually bare lips, Imogen was transformed.

“Incredible.”

“And you...” Imogen squealed. “That hair makes you look like a totally new person.”

Lainey had spent years trying to get her naturally dark blond hair to the perfect shade of Gwen Stefani platinum. But earlier that week she’d thrown years of careful bleaching and maintenance down the drain to turn herself into a fiery redhead.

The shade was a vibrant ruby colour that made her fair skin seem even more porcelain. It also warmed up her hazel eyes and gave her total Little Mermaid vibes. So much that she was starting to wonder why she’d never been a redhead before.

Imogen reached up to adjust the glittering fabric on Lainey’s dress. “You’re going to cause trouble for every man in that ballroom.”

The skimpy straps and plunging neckline left no room for a bra. And there was a slit up the side of the twinkling silver skirt, which made her feel all kinds of exposed. But that was exactly why she’d picked it. If she was going to do something stupid and reckless, then she was damn well going to look hot while she did it.

“One wrong move and I’m going to flash my boobs,” she said with a rueful grin. “Chances are Damian will totally ignore me and I’ll end up scandalising Melbourne’s society crowd.”

“At least you’re here for a positive reason,” Imogen said. She sounded stressed, though it was hard to tell with the mask covering her face.

“Everything will work out okay. You’ve thought this plan through. You’re looking after your sister,” Lainey said. “But you’re not doing anything wrong.”

Imogen nodded. “Exactly. I just want to get evidence that he’s cheating.”

“Wouldn’t you’d rather find out he’s not cheating?” Lainey raised a brow.

Imogen pressed her lips into a flat line. “Don’t judge my plans and I won’t judge yours, okay?”

“Fair enough.” Lainey held her hands up. “I solemnly swear not to mention it again.”

“Good.” Imogen nodded and scooped up the uniforms they’d worn to sneak into the venue with the owner of the catering company. “We can leave these here and Marie will pick them up later.”

Lainey nodded. “What’s she getting out of this, by the way?”

“I’m putting her on the preferred suppliers list at work,” Imogen said. “We use caterers all the time, so it would be a big chunk of business for her. We’re supposed to put all new suppliers through a panel vetting process, but I just told my boss we should use her and he said okay.”

“Privilege of being the CEO’s right-hand lady?”

“Exactly, and I know she’s amazing at her job so I don’t feel too bad about doing it. You know I don’t normally bend the rules, but I figure she’s going out on a limb for me...” Guilt flickered across Imogen’s expression, but she quickly refocused. “Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Knock ’em dead.” Lainey gave Imogen’s hands a squeeze and then hung back while her friend headed along the building toward the side entrance.

Imogen paused at the corner, where a path curved through the garden, and peeked around. She held up her hem, a handful of black lace and satin exposing some strappy silver sandals with a sensible midheight heel. Lainey smiled. So there was a hint of the real Imogen under her costume.

A second later, Imogen flashed Lainey a thumbs-up. And then she was gone. The plan was for Lainey to count to thirty and then make her way down the same path.

Digging into her clutch, she pulled out a round compact mirror. Unlike the sleek dress, fancy shoes and glamorous mask, the compact was rough around the edges. Well loved. The gold clasp was tarnished and the embroidered rose on the lid had seen better days. But tonight it was her talisman. The compact had belonged to Lainey’s grandmother, a woman who’d done fearless things in the name of love. Like giving up marriage to a wealthy aristocrat and forgoing a life of privilege, causing her family to cut her off and cast her out. She’d given it all up for him—her comfort, her security, her family.

She would understand why Lainey was doing something outrageous to have one night with the guy of her dreams.

“One cat dog, two cat dog, three cat dog,” Lainey murmured, forcing herself not to speed through her count using the technique her mother had taught her when she was little. “Four cat dog, five cat dog...”

Around twenty cat dogs, she couldn’t take it anymore. Touching her fingertips to the black lace mask, she stifled a nervous giggle. Glimmering beads brushed her cheeks every time she moved her head. Combined with the scandalous dress, it made her feel fiercely powerful. Sexy in a way she hadn’t ever experienced.

Lainey’s high heels made clicking sounds against the stone path. As she turned the corner, a courtyard opened in front of her. The area was large, surrounded by standard white roses and gardenia trees. The scent was intoxicating. Two large glass doors opened to the ballroom, and music spilled out into the air. Lainey’s stomach fluttered.

A waiter holding a tray of wineglasses passed by, and she flagged him down. She’d seen him earlier when they’d entered with the catering assistants. But his eyes swept over her without a hint of recognition.

Phew.

Lainey headed toward the open doors. She wanted to get the lay of the land—see how many people were inside and figure out whether it would be hard to find Damian. The Carmina Ball was in full swing.

Sucking in a breath so big it caused the boning in her dress to dig into her ribs, Lainey stepped into the ballroom. It was like something out of a movie—mysterious masked men in tuxedos, women in incredible gowns, the glittering chandeliers that looked as though they belonged in the castle from Beauty and the Beast. It was all her fairy-tale romance-movie dreams come to life.

Was it even real?

She brought her wineglass to her lips, revelling in the flutter of her heart against her rib cage. Yes, it was real. And tonight, she was going to bring her longest-held fantasy to life.


CHAPTER THREE (#ubfb2e989-4940-5c87-9866-93d80102b34f)

DAMIAN DIDN’T MIND wearing a suit. Hell, he didn’t even mind wearing a tux. But being forced to look like a cross between the Phantom of the Opera and an Eyes Wide Shut reject was pushing the limits.

The ballroom of Patterson House stretched out before him, resplendent with gold detailing. The building had been erected in the late 1800s, but the ballroom had been remodelled in the ’30s. It was a fitting location for such an event—heaving with history and old money, blue blood to the very core. The women were dressed in spectacular ballgowns and the men in tuxedos. Everyone wore a mask. Some were simple scraps of lace or filigree, leaving most of the face bare and recognisable. Others were more ornate, heavily beaded and elaborately designed, a feature of a person’s outfit rather than an afterthought.

He tugged at his own black leather mask. It had been designed to resemble a crow, and included sculpted satin feathers. Apparently, it made him look mysterious. That’s what he got for letting Aaron’s wife pick out a mask for him. But he’d made sure to ask her for one that only covered half his face. He didn’t see the point of attending without letting people know he was here, especially since an invite to the Carmina Ball was supposed to be life changing—acceptance from the people who “mattered.” A chance to get in with Melbourne’s power players.

But the invite had come with strings attached...to the tune of five thousand dollars for entry and expected participation in the night’s charitable events. Not that Damian had an issue donating to charity, of course. But he’d told his folks a little white lie about coming tonight so they didn’t worry he was frittering away his recently acquired wealth.

“Don’t you look handsome,” Jessie, Aaron’s wife, said as she placed a hand on his arm. “I knew you’d be a good addition to this circle.”

“Why, because you wanted some eye candy?” Damian smirked when she slapped her palm lightly against his bicep.

“Watch it,” Aaron said, sliding an arm around her waist. “You don’t need to worry about me getting jealous, but Jessie plots revenge in the way only a woman can. Hell hath no fury like a grammar girl scorned.”

Unlike Damian, both Aaron and Jessie had grown up as part of the elite, with expensive private school educations and safety nets padded with zeros. But regardless of their privilege, both were incredibly hardworking people. He’d met Aaron when they were in their early twenties as graduates at a big four consulting firm, doing grunt work and jumping every time a partner made eye contact. They’d learned the ropes together, climbing the corporate ladder in tandem until Damian left to work at Ben’s firm, and he and Aaron had maintained a valuable friendship ever since.

And it was because of Aaron and Jessie that he was here tonight, so he really should try to have fun.

“No denial, huh?” Damian said, nudging her with his elbow.

Jessie laughed. “They wouldn’t have put you on TV if you didn’t look the part.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Aaron muttered. “I had to find an extra ticket so his ego could attend tonight, too.”

Damian chuckled and scanned the room. “So, give me the lowdown. Who’s who around here?”

“That’s Arthur Wentworth and his sons, Parker and Ian,” Jessie said. “They own the Wentworth Group. Department stores, luxury vehicles, couture fashion—you name it.”

“They’re one of my clients,” Aaron added. “Don’t even think about poaching them.”

Damian smiled. Aaron had worked his way up to partner at that firm where they’d started their careers. Some days Damian wondered what might’ve been if he’d stayed there, too, instead of following Ben. Would he still have his positive attitude...or his wife?

“I won’t dip my hand in the cookie jar, I promise,” he drawled.

“Who else would be of interest?” Jessie clucked her tongue. “The Allbrook family is here—they own a huge architecture firm that does a lot of high-end residential towers in the city. We’ve got judges, politicians, CEOs, barristers, even a few celebrities. I heard a rumour that Cate Blanchett might be coming.”

“Excellent. I’ll ask for her autograph,” Damian said with a straight face.

Jessie looked horrified for a moment before she realised he was joking. “Damian, please.”

“Your South Yarra is showing,” he said. “You might want to cover that up.”

“Not here.” Aaron chuckled. “It’s practically a requirement for entry.”

Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed on, pointing out people across the room. “Oh, and my friend Amelia told me the restaurateur Jerry McPartlin is going to be here. I ate at his new place, Gilt, last week. It was absolutely divine.”

Damian’s ears pricked up, ignoring Aaron, who was giving him a stern look. “Really?”

Suddenly, the evening had gotten a whole lot more interesting. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to chat with the uptight family man in a social setting and try to figure out exactly what he needed to do to secure the guy’s business.

Did he need a girlfriend? A fiancée? Promise to give up his firstborn? Whatever it was, Damian was ready to sign on the dotted line. Snagging McPartlin & Co. would be the best possible thing he could do, because another big-name client was extra security. Relying only on one or two big fish meant your business balanced on a knife’s edge, and keeping the client happy often overtook the uncomfortable but necessary process of crafting the right solution for them.

The fact was, any big client would help him. But he wanted this one.

Signing McPartlin & Co. would give him the closure he needed to finally shut the door on his past. Or rather, slam it in the faces of those who’d broken his heart.

A while later, Damian stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. He felt like a kid at the zoo, his face pressed against the glass of the reptile enclosure. Everything happening in front of him was foreign. Alien. This wasn’t his world...yet.

Sure, he was rich by most people’s standards. He lived in a luxury hotel that cost more per week than what he’d spent on his first car. But that would be nothing to these people.

And he knew that an evening like this could make or break him. Get the right connections and his business would soar. Piss off the wrong person and...well, he could easily be back to doing grunt work for some asshole.

Damian clenched his fists and let the fantasy of punching his ex-boss in the face roll through him like a wave. The betrayal was no less raw today than it had been four years ago when he’d come back to the office late one night to pick up his laptop and found his wife spread-eagled on Ben’s desk.

The Carmina Ball was the key to it all. To revenge. To closure.

If only he could get close to Jerry McPartlin.

The man stood a few metres away, surrounded by a group of women who wore dresses so large they created a barrier around him. And it looked like he was loving the attention, too. Damian could wait. Patience and determination were two of his greatest strengths, and he would find the perfect moment to strike. Before the night was out, he would have a plan.

“I wasn’t expecting to find such good company playing wallflower,” a silky voice said.

A woman sidled up to him, her shimmering mask of white lace studded with gems that winked at him. Black hair flowed over one shoulder in stark contrast to a floor-length white ballgown. Her full lips were painted red and they curved into an inviting smile.

“That depends. What kind of company are you looking for?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Damian.”

“Hannah,” the woman replied. “You have a familiar face.”

Ugh. He could almost guarantee what was coming next, the one sentence that made him cringe every bloody time.

You’re that guy from Australia’s Most Eligible.

But instead she cocked her head, the gems on her mask shimmering, and said nothing.

He was about to respond when a blur of red stole the words from his mouth. Moisture soaked through Damian’s dress shirt and the sound of glass shattering pierced the subtle din of the ballroom. He’d been hit.

“Oh my God.” A woman with blazing-red hair reached out to touch his chest, her fingertips sending fire through his veins. “I am so sorry.”

Damian looked down. Wine streaked his chest, a slash of angry red against the crisp white cotton. The broken glass glittered in a pool of liquid on the floor, its stem rolling across the parquet.

“You got me good.” He brushed his hands over his chest in a futile attempt to clean himself up.

“Excuse me.” The redhead waved to get the attention of a waiter, but there was already a small army descending to clean up the mess.

Her silver gown was bunched in one hand, revealing a finely boned ankle encased in a strappy, high-heeled shoe. She tried to take a step but couldn’t shift her full weight onto her foot.

“You might have some glass in your shoe,” he said, reaching out to her. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She accepted his hand. Her mask was so detailed it was impossible to see much of her face—it covered her entirely from above her brows to above her lips. “I’m so sorry, my hem got caught...”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the sound of her voice. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Maybe she was a business acquaintance? Or someone he’d met during filming? She seemed the glamorous type who might be part of the entertainment industry. But without seeing her face, it would be impossible to tell, and there couldn’t be too many people he knew who could afford the Carmina Ball’s ticket price.

Plus, he was sure he would have remembered a woman with hair the colour of rubies. A woman whose touch stirred something impossibly primal and strange inside him.

He looped her arm around his neck and supported her slight weight. But a few hobbling steps later, when it was clear she was frightened to put pressure on her foot, he lifted her into his arms and strode through the ballroom with what felt like the whole city watching.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ubfb2e989-4940-5c87-9866-93d80102b34f)

BROKEN GLASS AND bloodshed weren’t supposed to be part of the deal. Not to mention the fact that she’d come precariously close to getting red wine on her borrowed finery. But it was the stupid dress that caused the problem in the first place. Who was tall enough for these damn dresses? Amazonians?

The fabric had gotten caught under her heel and she’d stumbled, the wine splashing across Damian as the glass escaped her grip. She was only supposed to slosh a little over the edge, just enough to interrupt him and the glamorous woman in the white dress who was about to go in for the kill.

But oh no. That would have been too easy, and Lainey never could seem to take the easy route.

So elegant, Kline. Like a drunk baby llama on roller skates.

But being weightless in Damian’s arms was more than she could have hoped for, at least within the first five minutes. Now all she had to do was cross her fingers that she hadn’t embedded glass in her foot.

“You okay?” he asked as they exited the ballroom and headed to the powder rooms.

The mask covered only half of his face, one eye and cheek, Phantom of the Opera–style. That was how she’d spotted him so easily. Tonight he was freshly shaven, his olive skin smooth. By the end of the night he’d have a shadow there, a hint of darkness impressing itself on his clean-cut image. Like a reminder that he was more than he appeared.

“I’m not about to pass out from blood loss, if that’s what you mean,” she replied in the voice she’d been practising all week. She spoke slower and breathier than normal, trying to disguise the very last thing that could give her away.

“I should hope not.” His tone was heavy with amusement. “I doubt they’ll take the tux back if it’s got blood on it.”

A five-thousand-dollar entry price and Damian had rented a tuxedo? For some reason that made her grin like an idiot. No matter how rich he got, there would always be a hint of where he came from lurking beneath. And damn if that didn’t make her heart swell.

No hearts, no flowers, no chocolates. Cut that shit out right now. This is a fantasy. Nothing more.

“At least you’d have a story to tell.”

“I have a lot of stories to tell. That’s not my problem.”

“What is your problem?” Her heartbeat kicked up a notch when his eyes shifted down to hers. With the black surrounds of the mask, the sharp blue of his irises was even more stark and breathtaking. “Maybe I can help.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You’ll do the opposite of that, I’m afraid.”

“Try me. You never know when a stranger might be exactly what you need.”

A little seed of guilt unfurled in her stomach. She was no stranger and everything about this encounter was for her own selfish gain—to appease the fantasy that’d plagued her for years.

You’re not forcing him to do anything. If this goes somewhere, it’ll be because he accepts your offer, not because you held a gun to his head.

They reached the private powder rooms. There were no cubicles for the guests of Patterson House, that was for damn sure. Each powder room was spacious, with a single private sink and toilet. Lainey thanked her lucky stars for the diva-like needs of the rich, because it would afford them some privacy.

Holding her, Damian nudged the door open with his foot and let it swing shut behind him. The click of the automatic latch was like a single firework in the quiet room, the sound echoing off the tiles and rattling around in her brain. He set her on the marble countertop. Lainey glanced around. The room was like no other bathroom she’d ever seen—the taps were gold and ornate, and fresh flowers sat in a vase that was most likely crystal. They even had a fancy hand soap dispenser that resembled a Fabergé egg.

“Let’s have a look at the damage.” He crouched in front of her, pushing her dress up so he could get to her foot. His fingers made quick work of the strap on her sandal, and with one hand bracing her ankle, he slipped the shoe off.

The action was so soft and caring that Lainey’s heart caught in her throat. The warmth of his fingers was like an aphrodisiac, potent. Intoxicating. Her blood hummed at the contrast of it all—the firmness of his grip mixed with the careful, tender touch.

“I think you can keep the foot,” he said, his tone serious. But the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

It appeared Damian did still have a sense of humour, much to her delight.

“You think?” Lainey peered down and wriggled her toes. The light glinted off the shimmery black nail polish she’d chosen because it reminded her of the stars against a night sky. “The word think isn’t something I want to hear when we’re discussing amputation.”

He chuckled and lifted her foot higher to inspect the sole. “I’m going to rub my thumb across the ball of your foot. If you feel any pain, then there could be glass under the skin.”

She nodded, her breath stuttering like a car engine failing to turn over. Lainey wasn’t sure she’d be able to detect pain—or anything else—as Damian inspected her. For an encounter that shouldn’t have been in the least bit sexual, every nerve ending in her body was singing as though it was Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve and every other damn holiday all at once.

“Do you feel anything?” He looked up.

Seeing a big man like him on his knees, looking up at her through that sexier-than-sin mask, touching her as though she were the most precious thing in all the world...

“I think I’d be a statue not to feel something,” she said, her voice low and soft. “But I’m not in pain.”

He held on to her foot for a moment, his eyes fixed on her. Her calf was cradled in his palm, the heat from his skin working its way through her, turning her veins to threads of fire. Thank God she had a mask on so he couldn’t see her face heating up. They stayed there—locked in that moment, frozen by intimacy—until he cleared his throat and slipped the shoe back onto her foot.

“So I’ll be alright, Doc?”

“Better than alright.” He stood. The tuxedo fit him perfectly, hugging his shoulders and tapering down to his waist in a line so mouthwateringly divine, it stole Lainey’s breath. The only thing ruining the effect was the red wine stain. “I’m glad we checked—the last thing you want is a glass splinter.”

“Exactly. Cinderella had glass on her feet, and look how that turned out.”

He raised a brow. “She got the prince, didn’t she?”

“The prince had to rely on the fit of a shoe.” Lainey shook her head. “What she got was a dude with a bad memory and a foot fetish.”

Damian chuckled. “Not into fairy tales, then?”

“Oh, I am.” She swung her feet, relishing the swish of the beaded material around her ankles. “But Cinderella isn’t my favourite. What woman wants a man who can’t remember her face?”

“Good point.” He pulled a hand towel out of a small basket beside the sink and ran it under water. “They’re all kind of messed up when you think about it. Sleeping Beauty, especially.”

“I prefer my romances a little more grounded in reality.” Lainey swallowed as Damian dabbed at the stain on his shirt, turning the fabric damp so that it clung to his chest muscles.

If bodies were supposed to be temples, his was the Parthenon.

Maybe if you’d been able to recall that kind of crap during exams instead of checking out a hot guy, you would have done better at school.

“Do you mean the kind of movies where the woman splashes the man with red wine and seduces him in a bathroom?” He caught her gaze in the mirror.

“I haven’t seduced you yet.”

“Yet.” His smile turned from amused to wolfish, his lips revealing a perfect set of white teeth. “So there’s still hope.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

* * *

No, he didn’t know her name. And he was supposed to be focused on seducing his client, not a mysterious redhead. But having her alone, feeling her energy sparking all around him put him in his element. Not like out there, where he was an anomaly.

If she’s here, then she’s one of them. A rich princess type who’ll be more trouble than she’s worth.

Just like his ex.

But something gave him pause. There was an inkling, more the potential for a feeling than a feeling itself, that said he was wrong. When she’d dropped her glass, the first thing out of her mouth had been an apology—not an excuse or accusation. When he’d offered her help, she’d graciously accepted. And now she was teasing him. Playing with him.

The redhead was like him, an outsider looking in. He knew it.

“Maybe I can guess your name,” he said, giving up on the stained shirt and throwing the face towel into the basket below the sink. “Wasn’t that in a fairy tale?”

“Rumpelstiltskin. It’s not a very romantic one.” Her legs swung back and forth over the edge of the marble countertop. Though they didn’t know each other, she seemed completely at ease. “But you can try. I’ll give you three guesses, and if you lose...” She tapped a finger against her chin. “You have to share a drink with me on the balcony upstairs.”

He braced his hands against the countertop, leaning toward her. She smelled like vanilla and peaches. The black beads on her mask glittered, reflecting his hungry expression in miniature, over and over.

“How many names are there in the world? I’d be a fool to take such a bet.” He grinned. “Do I get any clues?”

“You don’t look like a man who needs a clue.”

“Some might argue that,” he said drily. Damian himself thought a clue would be good right about now—one that would give him the hint to leave this woman alone and head back out to the ballroom so he could corner Jerry McPartlin.

She turned to look in the mirror for a moment. “My name has nothing to do with my hair colour.”

“So not Ruby or Scarlett or Rose?”

“Nope.” She tucked a strand of fiery-red hair behind her ear.

“That doesn’t really narrow it down. Can I get a letter?”

“This isn’t Wheel of Fortune.”

His lip quirked. “How about a year of birth?”

“Tsk, tsk.” She waggled a finger at him. “That’s the one thing you should never ask a lady.”

He thought for a moment, cycling through some options that would be appropriate for someone in her age group—which was tough to narrow down without being able to see most of her face. But from the smooth, unblemished skin and the way she sat, comfortable and swinging her feet...he’d put her at her midtwenties. Maybe less, although he didn’t want to think about her being over a decade younger than him.

“You’re holding all the cards.”

She grinned. “Which is exactly how I like it.”

“You’re not a negotiator, are you?”

“No. I’m a romantic and a dreamer.”

“Ah, so you’re unemployed?”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound striking him right in the chest. But it cut off before he could grasp hold of something that flickered out of reach. A memory.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, looking closer.

“No.” The answer was immediate, her reaction drawing a line between them that made him curious as hell.

“Will you take your mask off before I guess?” He cocked his head. “Help me even the playing field a little?”

“Tonight is all about the mystery, don’t you think? Strangers without faces.”

Ah, so she was looking for something anonymous. He wasn’t sure why that unsettled him—hell, he’d looked for exactly that on countless occasions. No names, no phone numbers. No repeats.

And certainly no fucking regrets.

Maybe it was because Jerry McPartlin had gotten Damian’s head all messed up, but he accepted her terms. “Okay, three guesses it is.”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, as though stifling a grin. The mysterious redhead knew she was going to win, little minx. She held up three fingers. “Go on.”

“Is it...Samantha?”

One finger curled down toward her palm. “Strike one.”

“How about...Natalie?”

She shook her head. “Strike two.”

“Lucky last guess.” He blew out a breath, enjoying the way she shifted on the countertop, a faint flush colouring her chest. “Amanda?”

She made a buzzer noise and dropped her hand down. “You owe me a drink now.”

He wanted something else. No doubt she would taste better than the top-shelf stuff they were serving in the ballroom. A drink seemed far too tame for her lush, full lips and creamy skin. For that bold, flaming hair and the dress that was cut to a deep V at her chest. For the slit that flashed a shapely leg and hinted at sex and sinfulness.

He stood in front of her, his hands falling to the countertop on either side of her thighs, hemming her in. He watched her pupils flare—no fear, just desire. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breath, and her lips eased open a fraction. Taunting him. Inviting him in.

Lust battled with logic—telling him to stay and kiss her. To leave and go after Jerry McPartlin.

A series of thumps rattled the door to the bathroom, frantic and quick. “Excuse me? Is anyone in there?”

Damian stepped back and helped the redhead down from the countertop. “Looks like that’s our cue to go. Can you walk okay now?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He opened the door, allowing the redhead to exit before him. A man in an elaborate gold mask bounced up and down on the spot, clutching his stomach. He pushed past Damian and the redhead with an angry huff. “You know these bathrooms aren’t for fooling around. Some people have to use them.”

Giggling, the redhead grabbed his hand and pulled him down the corridor, away from the ballroom, to a grand curving staircase. “Come on, this way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything up there, Ariel.”

“So that’s my name now?” The hazel of her irises shifted in the light, making the small amber flecks look like gold dust. “Ariel?”

“Seems fitting. Long red hair, mysteriously showing up out of nowhere.” His eyes dropped down. “Great legs.”

She laughed and tugged him farther along. The back of the corridor was deserted, but the sound of clanging grew louder. Just before they hit the staircase, a waiter exited from a swinging door, his uniform crisply pressed. The redhead marched right into the kitchen, as bold and brazen as anything, and plucked two champagne flutes from a silver tray that was waiting to go out.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she breezed back into the hallway as though it were totally normal for ball gown–clad guests to steal drinks.

“There’s no service upstairs.” She handed him a flute. “Come on, you promised me a drink on the balcony.”

Damian looked toward the entrance to the ballroom, where a group of men in tuxedos were gathered. Their rich, booming laughter floated down the hall, the sound of stuffy voices discussing boring things ringing in the air.

Last chance. Go back in there and work on your plan. Or be the man McPartlin thinks you are.

The redhead leaned in close, the beaded strands on her mask brushing his cheek. Warm breath whispered over his skin as the scent of her perfume grabbed hold of his heart. “You know you want to and I know you want to.”

He turned, his face so close to hers he could have captured her mouth. “Fine,” he said. “One drink.”


CHAPTER FIVE (#ubfb2e989-4940-5c87-9866-93d80102b34f)

LAINEY’S HEART HAMMERED like a toddler beating tin pots together, the feeling vibrating through her body right down to her thankfully uninjured toes. That moment in the bathroom, where Damian had asked if they knew one another, she’d thought it was all over.

James Bond she was not.

But her response must have satisfied him, because his suspicion had drained away.

Holding her hem tightly in one hand, she lifted the fabric as they ascended to the next floor of Patterson House. According to the little sign at the bottom of the stairs that politely directed guests back to the ballroom, the balcony was supposed to be off-limits. But Lainey figured if they really wanted people to stay downstairs, they would have roped it off.

In any case, she needed to get Damian in private again. He’d been about to kiss her before that bumbling idiot and his digestive issues had interrupted them. She was sure of it. And that kiss was dancing in her head. She wanted it. Bad.

As they stepped out onto the balcony, warm air swept over Lainey’s skin, reminding her how much she had on display. A shiver rippled through her.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Damian said.

“It is.”

The balcony was as ornate as the rest of the building. White fretwork closed the balcony in while letting light filter through. The sun had started to set, and shades of orange and pink streaked the sky, making the greenery of the Patterson House gardens seem all the more vibrant. Lainey felt like a star waiting for nightfall.

“Cheers.” Damian held his glass up, and she clinked her own against it. “Here’s to masked strangers and wayward wineglasses.”

“And fairy tales and guessing games.” She sipped her drink.

“I notice you haven’t asked for my name,” he said.

Shit. She’d been too busy worrying about protecting her own identity that she’d momentarily forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to know him.

“You’re awfully hung up on names,” she replied, walking to the edge of the balcony and peering down at the garden below.

“And you’re awfully evasive.” He smiled, his head tilted slightly. She recognised that look; he was trying to figure her out.

“Let’s just say that being able to wear a mask was the reason I decided to come here tonight.”

The scent of gardenias floated past on a breeze. The balcony overlooked the garden rather than the courtyard, and she could see two people stealing away.

Was it Imogen? Lainey tried to get a better look, but the haze of dusk made it hard to tell.

“Are you hiding from someone?” he asked. “Or pretending to be someone else?”

“A little from column A and a little from column B.” She took another sip of her champagne. “And that’s the truth. I’m not trying to be evasive.”

“You can still be things even if you’re not trying.” His lip quirked. “Tell me, Ariel. If you’re not yourself tonight, who are you?”

He was close. So close she could smell the cologne on his skin and the bare hint of his soap underneath. He’d used the same sandalwood soap since forever. The clean, woodsy notes were burned into her brain—and never ceased to shock her with a mix of memory and fantasy.

The visuals played like a film reel in her head, flickering images from that day years ago when she’d been studying at Corinna’s place. She’d watched him strip down to his board shorts and dive into their pool. She’d imagined what would come next. Following him into the water, pulling him close, running her hand over his naked chest...

“I’m no one.”

He reached for her champagne and placed the two flutes on a table. Then he did the same with her clutch. It was like being stripped down, and her empty hands felt naked without something to do. “You are most certainly someone.”

“Maybe I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“I hope not.” His voice lowered, the sound rough yet silky. Like satin dragging over gravel.

Her breath hitched as his fingertips came to her waist, confident and firm. With the dress sucking her in, his hands looked enormous against her. He could overpower her, control her. She wanted him to.

The voice in her head shouted at her to press against him, but she wanted to draw this moment out. Stretch it like toffee and give her brain time to soak in every minute detail. This moment would have to sustain her for the rest of her life and become the thing she could cling to late at night. Her fantasy come to life. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush it.





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