Captivate Me Read online

  Tonight she was masked, so there was a layer of anonymity...protection. Enough to make her feel safe. Or maybe that was the thought of being in his arms again.

  As far as risks went, the situation actually held very few. The biggest one being the level of her own craving. It scared her how much she wanted this man. This stranger. How much she burned for his touch.

  On the bright side, maybe if she went through with this, the irrational attraction she had for Kayne would disappear.

  That alone made the danger worth it.

  Decision made, she grabbed the silver handbag Megan had found in her closet and sauntered to the door. In the heels with straps so fragile she feared they might disintegrate right off her feet, and a dress she was afraid would swirl up at the barest hint of a breeze and reveal every feminine secret she possessed, she couldn’t do anything but saunter.

  Slipping the mask on, she grabbed the wings. She didn’t want to crush them in the cab so wouldn’t put them on until she got there. Pushing out onto the sidewalk, she was surprised to see a man clad in a white shirt, black suit and chauffeur’s cap.

  “Ms. Vaughn?” he asked politely.

  Alyssa simply nodded.

  He led her to a dark car parked around the corner. She wasn’t going to ask how he’d gotten through the Fat Tuesday crowd. Opening the car door, he gestured her inside and waited expectantly.

  She was in trouble. Serious trouble.

  A girl could get used to this. And get her heart crushed when the spellbinding fable crashed back into drab reality.

  7

  HE KNEW THE moment she arrived. And not just because James, the driver he’d hired for the night, had texted him when she’d left the car.

  The air shifted. Growing heavier, it pressed against his chest with the weight of anticipation and uncertainty.

  He had no idea what she’d do when she figured out who he was. Would she run? Yell? Helplessly melt against him?

  He was hoping for option three, but was prepared for the other two. They were more likely.

  He couldn’t envision Alyssa Vaughn simply accepting a complication like this with calm silence. She was going to have to work through it, but he needed her to know it was him behind the mask.

  Three nights later and he still couldn’t get the taste of her off his tongue. She was constantly there, sweet and sharp. And the feel of her hands running over his chest...

  Last night it had taken everything inside him not to follow through on what he wanted. She’d been in his home. In his bed. Warm and willing.

  But if that had been hard, seeing her this morning had been torture. Especially knowing what he already had planned for tonight. She’d been rumpled, her skin flushed warm, and her eyes had been blessedly clear, the drug purged from her system.

  However, her restless awkwardness had kept him on his side of the kitchen, doing nothing more than watching as she sucked down a cup of black coffee. Letting her walk away had been agonizing.

  From his position on a balcony overlooking the entrance to the ballroom, he watched her enter. It was a good thing he was already holding on to the railing, because the sight of her nearly sent him to his knees.

  Her heavy hair had been pulled to the crown of her head in a mass of curls that begged him to thrust his fingers in deep and send the silken mass tumbling across his hands. Most of her face was hidden, but her mouth was pink and glossy and eminently kissable.

  The need to taste her again whipped through him, punishing and relentless. His fingers curled around the hard edge of the wooden barrier, anchoring him in place. He needed to get a grip. Engage his head before he did something stupid and screwed up everything.

  One wrong move and she’d bolt. He’d had enough of a glimpse inside that complicated, intriguing mind of hers last night to realize that if that happened it would be all over. She wouldn’t give him a second chance.

  The body she loved to cover with those conservative business clothes was clearly on display. He’d known the dress was perfect for her the moment he’d seen it. It wasn’t the most daring outfit that would grace the masquerade, but it was enough to unsettle her...and if he’d read her right, set her heart racing with heightened awareness and arousal.

  Alyssa Vaughn had an exhibitionistic streak that made him ache. And he was going to enjoy proving to her there was nothing wrong with giving in to the fantasy. Starting tonight.

  She moved several feet into the room, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. At the moment it was staid. Later in the evening—after alcohol had flowed freely, inhibitions had been dropped and desires rose to the surface—things would get crazy.

  Stopping on the fringes of the crowd, she paused to take everything in. He’d attended his first ball when he was in his early twenties, his contacts in the club scene gaining him entrance.

  Trying to remember back that far, he wondered if he’d had the same wide-eyed, innocent reaction that not even Alyssa’s mask could hide. He didn’t think so. Perhaps he’d already been too jaded by then. Tonight she gave him a gift she wasn’t even aware of, letting him experience the moment through her.

  The room was bathed in candlelight, the guests preferring the shadowy atmosphere it provided. What little light there was shimmered off crystal and gold chandeliers. Everywhere things sparkled. Jewels, costumes, champagne flutes, gold-rimmed plates and inlaid silverware.

  Eyes followed her as she pushed through the crowd, heading for the balcony rimming the room. She’d apparently realized the best vantage point would be from up high.

  He’d chosen this spot purposefully. Surely what they’d started on a balcony should be finished on one, as well.

  Weaving through the bodies, she left a trail of men staring in her wake and was completely unaware of her effect. Several of them waited for a single sign that she was open for approach, but when none came they turned away. One or two of the bolder men ignored her silent signals, brushing against her, holding her in place and leaning close to speak.

  He tried not to let the way she instinctively pulled away from their advances matter. But he couldn’t stop a flood of satisfaction.

  Slamming back the last of his Macallan, Beckett placed the empty glass on a table. Positioned at the farthest end of the balcony, he melted into the dark shadows and waited for her to come to him.

  Blue and purple flashes, and glimpses of the skin beneath, tempted him as she walked slowly down the length of the balcony. It took everything in him to stand still and watch.

  Up here, the sumptuous decor continued: flickering candlelight; plush, wine-red carpeting; glinting gold fixtures and gleaming wrought-iron and dark wood railings. Columns were interspersed along the space, holding up the ceiling and providing a few pockets of privacy.

  She drifted past him, her eyes trained on the crowd beneath her instead of at the darkness behind. The moment her scent—something sweet and subtle but undeniably hers—assaulted him, it was all over. The last shred of his resistance shattered.

  It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull and not expecting him to charge.

  She reached the far end of the balcony and paused. On silent feet, he approached. His hands settled on her shoulders as he turned her to face him.

  Instinct had her moving to jerk out of his hold, but the moment her gaze met his, her body stilled. Then she leaned closer into him. That, more than anything, settled the nerves rippling through him.

  She ran her fingers over the mask he wore. Stark black silk that matched his suit, it was different from the one she was used to.

  “I thought you weren’t wearing this tonight.” Her voice was low, sultry, a murmur just for his ears.

  “Everyone wears a mask tonight.”

  Her pale-green eyes stared straight into him. Unblinking and unwavering. There was no hesitation, only a dull flash
of disappointment. She wanted to know who he was. At least, a part of her did, although he knew there was also something that excited her about not knowing. She rode the edge of the conflicting urges.

  Slowly, her fingers trailed along the mask, over his cheekbones, the upper curve of his ears and into his hair. Her fingertips smoothed the string holding his mask in place. Tight knots squeezed harder in the pit of his gut, but he didn’t make a move.

  This was her choice.

  * * *

  ALYSSA STARED UP into stormy blue eyes. His body was still, although she could feel the coiled tension filling each of his muscles.

  Did she want to know? Or did she want to give in to the mindless need storming her? And deal with the rest later.

  She knew what her body wanted, even if her mind was shouting at her to be smart. But she’d spent so much of her life being careful. Making sure she said and did the right thing because she was afraid one mistake would destroy the little security she had.

  But being perfect hadn’t saved her from the pain of countless small slights and verbal cuts. What had she missed out on, constantly worrying about how her decisions and actions might reflect on her father?

  There was no reason to hesitate, not anymore.

  Tonight was for her and her alone. To hell with what anyone else thought. Anyone aside from her masked stranger.

  This man made her feel alive in a way no one else ever had. She wanted him. This. The way he made her feel, whole and right and free. Some instinct told her that the moment his mask came off everything between them would change. The fantasy would disappear and she’d have to live with reality.

  She wasn’t ready for that. But she also wasn’t willing to just fold like a house of cards.

  The man had dressed her up like some X-rated doll and then let her wander the ballroom, waiting for him to materialize. She’d felt the weight of his eyes on her, watching, letting her nerves wind higher and higher as she searched him out in the writhing crowd.

  She wasn’t one for games, but that’s all they’d been doing together. Although, she had to admit, he wasn’t the only one playing. Hadn’t she done the same thing their first night?

  She should snap the string and end this. But she just...couldn’t.

  “Turn around,” he said, his deep voice melting over her like the best hot caramel. Just like ice cream, she could imagine herself melting into a gooey puddle beneath the weight of that voice. Especially if he used it to growl naughty things in her ear as she came.

  Not that she did what he’d asked.

  Alyssa desperately tried to find her sense of self-preservation. She obviously never should have put on this dress tonight. It had drained her of all inhibitions.

  As if he could read her thoughts, a dangerous glint sparked inside his dark blue eyes, shielded by shadows and the mask. There was something about them...something familiar, but before she could pinpoint the niggling thought her attention was drawn to his mouth.

  His lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she breathed out, inexplicable alarm clamoring through her. The ghost of sneering laughter whispered across her mind. Nasty words. Tramp, slut, whore.

  Her body went tense. She tried to pull away, to hide, but he wouldn’t let her.

  The heat of his hold shifted from her shoulders, trailing softly down over her back to settle just where her spine dipped in. He didn’t haul her closer, instead he held her steady and came to her, invading her space surely and completely.

  His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear and a sharp tingle lanced straight between her thighs.

  “Absolutely not. There’s nothing about this that’s funny, Alyssa. You have me tied in knots. At your mercy. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

  His words and touch soothed her, although they couldn’t completely banish the terrible thoughts, now that they’d invaded. Apprehension, a little late to the party, flowed through her. From somewhere far away she heard her own voice whisper belated words of sanity, “This is a bad idea.”

  “Hmm,” he said, the vibration of the sound trembling through her.

  With nothing more than a shift of his body, he rubbed against her, delicious friction that sent tingles scattering across her skin. She was tall and with the high-heeled shoes she’d been practically at eye level with most of the men here tonight. But not him. Oh, no. He had her beat by at least three inches.

  And he knew how to use them, looming over her and leaving her no choice but to arch back.

  His mouth touched her ear and a ripple of goose bumps spread across her neck and chest. “I’m curious to discover, Alyssa, did you follow instructions?”

  She sucked in a hard breath. The room seemed to spin, the only thing keeping her up the anchoring weight of his palm pressed between her wings. Something soft brushed her thigh. It took her several moments to realize it was his fingers, not touching her, but slowly gathering the gossamer skirt into a bunch.

  Her concentration cracked. She could think about nothing else as he wound the material higher and higher on her thigh. In a moment he would expose her, the wall of his body the only shield to keep anyone from seeing.

  Why did that knowledge send the passion rioting through her into a frenzy?

  His heat suffused her, enveloped her. Overwhelmed her. She wanted more. Needed to feel the slide of his fingers over her, not just through the barrier of her dress.

  After days of wondering and fantasizing he was so close....

  Anticipation sparked just beneath the surface of her skin.

  His lips trailed across the line of her jaw. Her fists bunched his stark white shirt, clinging to anything that would keep her upright. Her legs trembled.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. She was drowning, unable to make the smallest move to save herself. All she had to do was step away from him. But she couldn’t.

  He teased her, kissing her nose, her eyes, both cheeks and the dimple at the center of her chin. He nibbled each corner of her mouth and licked the dent just above her upper lip.

  God, she wanted him to kiss her. Her lips parted. A soft whimper slipped out.

  At her back, his fingers spasmed, going wide and then contracting hard as if he couldn’t get a tight enough hold on her.

  Right before he gave her what she wanted, he growled against her mouth, “Are you wearing only what was inside the box?”

  It was an assault—the kiss, his wicked words. They worked together, spinning dangerously. Building her desire and dismantling her defenses.

  Her mind emptied of everything but the way he made her feel.

  Hot. Desperate. Exposed.

  There was nothing soft about the kiss. It was an all-out invasion. His tongue thrust deep inside, demanding. She parried and tangled. Nipped and groaned. Plucked at the shirt beneath her hands, trying to find a way inside.

  His own hands roamed across her body, never settling in one place long enough to soothe the ache building inside. In some tangled corner of her brain, she registered his nimble fingers pulling at the bands connecting the wings to her back. She didn’t realize the weight of them until they were gone, simply discarded at their feet and abandoned.

  She forgot everything, especially that they were standing in an occupied ballroom. Nothing mattered except touching him. More of him. As much as she could get at.

  He was the one to pull back. She moaned a protest.

  She was dazed. Reeling. Unable to do anything but stare up into his dark eyes. The intense heat staring back at her should have blistered her skin. She could feel the energy of his need vibrating just beneath the surface. His jaw was tight, his muscles hard, his control held by the thinnest thread.

  And all she could think about was what it would take to snap it. To make him mindless
and desperate...just as she was.

  But before she could form a plan, she was spinning. Her waist pressed against the balcony railing. His body settled behind her, the heat of him spilling into her senses. His palms, placed beside her own, curled around the wooden edge, caging her in.

  Her mind fuzzy, she stood there, desperately trying to make her world stop spiraling, when a horn trumpeted through the room and her entire body jolted.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, a little dazed.

  “The thiasus. The procession. The masquerade is a tribute to Bacchus,” he said, with a shrug she could feel more than see, as if that explained everything.

  “Watch,” he whispered against her skin.

  Although he didn’t touch her, the warmth of his body did, overwhelming her. His scent, something sharp, masculine and clean, filled her lungs. She could feel him. So close, and yet not close enough. Her lips tingled, remembering his touch and wanting more than the powerful caresses he’d just given.

  Swallowing, Alyssa tried to ignore her reaction and concentrate on what was happening below. Megan would pump her for info tomorrow so she needed to pay attention. And use these moments to try to recover her sanity.

  A wide line had been cleared through the center of the ballroom. For the first time, Alyssa noticed a huge dais at the far end of the space. Would a band be playing later? If so, she didn’t see any instruments or equipment. Instead, there was a single, high-backed chair with elegant scrollwork. An array of large pillows littered the floor. There had to be at least twenty or thirty in every shade of the rainbow.

  There were tables, several of them, groaning beneath the weight of platters of food. And in the center, placed right next to the throne, was a large fountain, deep red wine flowing through it.

  But before she could think about it more, a round of applause erupted through the crowd. It started at the far end and swept across the room. The air seemed to shift, excitement rolling up at her.

  Dancers pranced out into the open. Alyssa watched them move, their bodies lithe and graceful. Arms waved in large, grand gestures. Feet pointed. Legs kicked high. Small leaps. Intricate turns. Backs arching and then sweeping forward. Hips rolling. They were gorgeous, all twelve of them.