Chapter 1 - The Mask
The mask itches against my cheeks, but I do not take it off. Not here. Not in this glittering ballroom where every guest hides behind silk and sequins and the kind of money that makes the air smell expensive.
I adjust the black lace over my eyes one more time and force my shoulders back. The invitation said the fundraiser for the children’s hospital was black-tie and masked. It did not say I would feel this out of place among the people who actually belong.
My bakery is three days from foreclosure. The bank letter sits folded in the pocket of my borrowed dress. I came tonight because the host promised silent-auction proceeds would go to small businesses hit by medical debt. My father’s debt. My problem now.
A waiter passes with champagne. I take a glass just so my hands have something to do.
That is when I see him.
He stands near the tall windows, tall and broad in a perfectly cut black tuxedo. His mask is simple, matte black, covering the upper half of his face. The lower half is all sharp jaw and a mouth that looks like it rarely smiles. He holds a glass of something amber and does not drink it. He just watches the room the way a man watches something he already owns.
Our eyes meet across the crowd.
Heat slides down my spine. I look away first.
I tell myself I am only here for the auction. I tell myself I will leave as soon as the bidding ends. I tell myself a lot of things while my pulse does something stupid and loud in my throat.
An hour later the auction is over. My bakery did not make the list of beneficiaries. Of course it did not. I am already halfway to the coat check when a low voice stops me.
“Leaving so soon?”
I turn. It is him. Up close he smells like cedar and something darker. His voice is quiet, controlled, the kind of voice that does not need to raise itself to be heard.
“The night is over,” I say.
“Is it?” He tilts his head. The mask hides everything except the curve of his mouth. “I have a suite upstairs. No names. No expectations. Just one night.”
I should say no. I should walk out into the rain and go home to the empty bakery and the unpaid bills.
Instead I hear myself answer, “Lead the way.”
The elevator ride is silent. His hand rests lightly at the small of my back. The doors open onto a private floor. He unlocks the suite with a keycard and steps aside so I can enter first.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, everything changes.
He turns me, presses me against the wall, and his mouth finds mine. There is nothing careful about the kiss. It is hungry and deep and tastes like the whiskey he was holding earlier. My mask stays on. So does his. That is the rule we never speak aloud.
His hands slide under the skirt of my dress. I gasp when his fingers brush the edge of my underwear. He pulls the fabric aside and strokes me once, slow, like he is testing how wet I already am.
“f**k,” he mutters against my lips. “You’re soaked.”
I answer by reaching for his belt. The zipper lowers. He is hard and thick in my hand. I stroke him once, twice, and he makes a low sound that vibrates through both of us.
He lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist. In two strides we are on the bed. He shoves my dress up to my waist, tears the thin lace of my panties, and sinks into me in one long thrust.
I cry out. The stretch burns in the best way. He holds still for a second, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard behind the masks.
Then he starts to move.
Hard. Deep. The headboard knocks against the wall in a steady rhythm. One of his hands pins my wrists above my head. The other grips my hip hard enough to leave marks. Every thrust drags against a place inside me that makes my vision blur.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I do. Dark eyes behind black silk. A mouth that looks almost gentle when it is not speaking.
He f***s me through the first orgasm, then rolls us so I am on top. I ride him until my thighs shake. He sits up, mouth on my throat, hands guiding my hips, and comes with a rough groan that I feel all the way to my bones.
We do not speak after. He pulls out carefully. I lie there for a few minutes listening to his breathing slow.
When I am sure he is asleep, I slip out of bed, find my dress, and leave the suite without looking back.
The elevator doors close on the empty hallway. My body still aches in places that remind me exactly what I just did.
I touch my stomach without thinking.
Nothing has changed yet.
But by the time the taxi drops me at the bakery three hours later, something already has.
