The Chase

“Did we just go back a hundred years?”

“We’re trying to maintain a low profile.”

I wanted to be ready for him, for them, but fear threatened to incapacitate me.

He took my hands. “You look beautiful. Do this and I’ll reward you well.”

“Like, with a bonus?”

He smirked. “Don’t push it. I’m already getting you a new phone, remember?”

I frowned, wondering how else he’d reward me, then.

He neared me and tipped my chin up. “I’ll make it up to you in more ways than you can ever imagine.”

My body trembled with this growing need of arousal and I bit my lip hoping I didn’t dampen my panties, my breaths short and sharp.

The pad of his thumb rested on my lower lip and he freed it from my bite. “Just do as I say.”

“I’ll try.”

As though lost in thought, his eyelids closed for a beat. “Mr. Wilder?”

He stepped away and walked over to his glass, and took a sip. “Let’s get this over with so we can get you home.”

His hand rested at the arch of my back as he led me out. Swooning at his touch and trying not to show it, I reminded myself I could leave at any time.

And, after all, I was wearing a mask.

Back within the vast foyer, the chill hit me again. Whoever had decided that women shouldn’t wear clothes needed a punch. It was bloody cold, and with a quick glance down I was horrified to see my areolae were not quite covered. Instinctively, I reached up to hide my breasts.

“Zara,” Tobias warned.

My arms flew to my sides as though I’d already stepped into the role of lover. “Next time I’m picking my own bra and panties.”

His lips quirked in a smile. “I’ve had the unusual pleasure of glimpsing a sample of your personal knicker collection back at The Otillie. Quite the experience. My new favorite color just so happens to be eggshell blue.”

I gave him a “you’re a cheeky bastard” glare. “Not that there’ll be a next time,” I clarified.

“Okay, then.”

We strolled down the dimly lit hallway.

Music carried along with laughter, clinking glasses, the revelry of a party.

Tobias spoke with two intimidating-looking bouncers guarding a large double door. He sounded fluent in the Italian words he shared with them, and I sensed it was a password.

They both reached for their respective doorknobs.

So many questions. How did he know about this place? Who was Ruby Ryan and what was his relationship with her?

A woman who was obviously into this—

Inside a fluorescent red room, topless burlesque dancers were performing, with one twirling on a pole, another blowing fire out toward the awestruck crowd, the others swirling sensually on chairs. Garish theatrical music flooded the room.

A few hundred tuxedo-wearing men watched the performance, all of them with skimpily clad women by their sides, who mirrored what I was wearing. Their luxury lingerie hid nothing. A few dared to go topless. This could have been a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot. The variety of stunning lingerie was breathtaking.

A rich man’s playpen.

Booze flowed from silver trays carried by thong-wearing waitresses, who offered fresh flutes of champagne or golden spirits that were no doubt the very expensive kind.

The music changed to sultry French lyrics, setting the scene for arousal. The atmosphere crackled. I’d lost track of time and wondered how close to midnight we were.

Tobias led me to the far corner of the room, right up to the large mantel where a hearth burned brightly, orange logs sparking and exuding the kind of heat these old houses desperately needed. Rising out of those flames burst the scent of pinecones and rosemary.

I turned to face the marble mantel and warmed my hands against the dancing flames.

Glancing left and then right, this was also a perfect vantage point to view the other guests, and despite their masks it was obvious the men came from wealth and the women with their tall, slender figures were merely trophies, perhaps some of them coming from money themselves.

“Turn around,” Tobias whispered.

I did so with a huff of rebellion and nudged up against him. His palm rested against the arch of my lower spine, sending shivers up it.

“I’d love to visit your gallery,” I said. “The one in LA.”

He dipped his head to my ear. “We’re wearing masks for a reason. Let’s not give any clues to who we really are.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

I raised my chin. “You’re not. Forgiven, that is.”

His hand slid lower and he gripped the back of my thong—and tugged.

I gasped when my thong rubbed my clit and it ignited in a shock of bliss. My sex thrummed with pleasure.

He smirked. “Something wrong?”

“You’re not allowed to do that,” I said in a rush.

“Clearly I am.”

“No, we’re merely pretending to be lovers.”

“Lovers?”

“Well, whatever the kind of relationship these people have—” I swept my hand into the crowd.