“I always arrive precisely when I intend to.” I stared at her unapologetically, enjoying the way she squirmed. But then I smiled, pulling down the mask again. “Forgive me. I am afraid a daunting business schedule has caused my social graces to suffer. Missus?”
“Miss Davies,” she sighed, clearly relieved. Clearly single.
“Ah. I would be grateful if you would lead the way, Miss Davies.” I copied her inflection, putting an emphasis on the ‘Miss’ and held my arm out to her. Her cheeks grew pink, and she straightened her posture to better display her God given talents. I was no stranger to this response. It was... tiresome. Though, I used it to my advantage any time I needed a physical release. Sexual interaction was as important as emotional intimacy. As important as eating and breathing. We are all just animals, driven by base desires and coated in surface dreams.
“How did you arrive? I thought for sure I’d know the second your limo pulled up. Everyone’s been waiting.” She prattled as we walked, shooting furtive glances in my direction.
Eager. They were all usually so eager. One eye on my body. One eye on my money.
“I didn’t arrive via the main entrance.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sure the reporters were disappointed.” Her features fell, perhaps wondering if she’d get a lashing for not ensuring the main event arrived in proper style.
“The reporters can get their pound of flesh elsewhere. Besides, it means that your photographer for the gala can get exclusive shots; surely those can be sold to the papers as part of the fundraising efforts.” I dripped charm now; it oozed out of my pores. This was the man I had to be in public. The man that dismantled Montego Arms and rebuilt the pillars of the family business from the shaky ground up. I had to be the good man, the charitable man. Anything to keep the scent of blood from my trail.
Her face lit up from within. “That’s a fantastic idea! With you sneaking in, we won’t have quite as much exposure in tomorrow morning’s papers which might dampen the mail-in pledges, but the photos will make up the difference.”
“Anything to help fight crime in this city,” I commented casually, like every other rich man with deep pockets who didn’t do anything that might get their hands dirty... unless the ink pen busted while signing checks. I was glad that Balthasar was no longer listening in. He’d have given me shit over this woman also accusing me of sneaking into the hotel.
“I do wish you’d come to events more often, Mr. Montego. Your father and mother used to be staples of the charity circuit. They kept the lights on when some foundations were at their darkest.” Translation: we miss all the money your parents used to give us.
“Yes, my mother wishes the same. But I will more than make up for my past absences tonight, Miss Davies.” Smiling darkly, knowing my eyes were acid green pools that stayed flat and undisturbed by the curving of my mouth, I patted my jacket over the inner breast pocket where my check book rested. “I have come prepared, ready to sign my fortune away for the greater good.”
She blushed, not because she was flattered, but because she realized that I meant money and she was embarrassed, even though she was obviously hinting at my family’s past generosity. My words hadn’t been the gentile response. Truly wealthy people from old money generally weren’t so crude, but I was done with the simpering small talk, buttering me up for something I was going to do anyway.
“Through these doors, Mr. Montego.” She pulled her arm away from mine, nodding her head a little. “We really do appreciate you coming.”
“I am happy to be here,” I kept the smile across my face, trying to breathe joy into my eyes. I failed. And I could see that she recognized the emptiness of my expression. She blinked slowly, staring at me for a moment, before thanking me again and scurrying off.
I needed to mind my manners. Needed to stay focused.
But the enjoyable part of the evening was over. Justice had already been served like a fine wine. The rest was pure fucking agony and I felt it to my marrow. I was going to have to work extra hard to keep my billionaire bachelor game face on.
Pushing through the double doors, fresh smile plastered on my face, I entered a world I hated and prepared to be miserable.
*
Ten minutes later...
The woman’s dress fell away from her leg, the split running so far up that I could see the promise of black lace. And the smallest peek of tattoo. Stems. Thorns. Roses, if I had to hazard a guess. I swallowed, curiosity flooding my system.
She froze, her body language stiffening. And then she seemed to decide that she meant for so much of her body to be exposed to a complete stranger.
“I don’t normally wear stilettos. Or heels of any height really. I’m not the most graceful in them, so I figured not dancing would be safer for everyone around me.” She blushed, cheeks below her mask becoming a brushfire.
“But you want to dance?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow though she couldn’t see it past my own mask. I wanted to move closer, but I wasn’t like that jackass Victor. Besides, I knew how to reel a woman in without using my body.
“I love to dance.” She sounded breathless, but I instantly felt the smack of a lie in her words. She wasn’t a dancer. In fact, her current surroundings were so outside her comfort zone that I was surprised she’d made it this long without running out of the hotel.
“You hate to dance. I have a talent for sniffing out lies.” I moved a heartbeat closer to her, watching her pupils dilate.
She tilted her head, a subconscious movement, and told the truth. “I’d love to dance with you.”
I smiled at that, loving the way her crimson painted mouth looked as she spoke. Taking her hand, I pulled her slowly to the dance floor. She seemed to have no idea who I was, yet the rest of the room knew despite my mask. They moved away as we came closer, giving the woman and me a wide berth.
When we faced each other, I noted that we both were decked out in black and red. She matched my aesthetic. Midnight vibes with blood red pops of color. I wanted to yank her back off the dance floor, lead her up to my normal penthouse suite, and have my way with her.
Her legs over my shoulders.
The red stilettos clawing at my upper back.
She’d melt for me, but not give herself over completely to my domination. She had fight in her, that much was clear with the way she’d nearly knocked Victor’s lights out. Normally, I went for submissive women. I liked to be control, in and out of the ‘playroom’. But there was something about this woman. She was magnetic. A warrior behind the slinky black dress. She could be an equal.
“We do look like we’re together. Black and red.” She murmured the words absentmindedly, touching her finger gently to my tie and tracing down it until the button of my jacket blocked her path. Her gaze was faraway, her lips slightly parted. This wasn’t the sensual foreplay before we escaped to a hotel suite and ravaged each other. This was an intimacy I did not like, or want.
I reached up and gripped her hand softly. She blinked, lashes fluttering.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, blushing once again. “I just punched a guy over trying to touch me and then I basically do the same thing to you.” She tried to pull away from me, but I pressed my hand harder against hers.
God, there was something about her.
A broken butterfly behind carefully built walls.
“I don’t dance in public. You can’t leave me on the dance floor.” I gazed at her, willing her not to flee. I commanded her with my gaze. Our hands were hot against one another.
“How could I abandon my knight in designer armor?” She spoke breathlessly as I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to me. A new song began to play over the speakers, a haunting Viennese Waltz. “It would be bad manners after he rescued me from an angry white dragon.”
“It would be bad manners indeed.” I began to move her gently, guiding her body in time to the music.
At first, she was unsteady in the heels, leaning heavily against my body f
or support. But soon she relaxed, giving herself over to the melody and to the feel of my gentle pushes and pulls. We glided across the dance floor, her dress like an oil slick under the lights.
She’d be a sub in the bedroom.
Play it tough for a while, get my blood boiling, then fall into the rhythm of doing as she was told.
This woman was made for the Dark Room.
7.
Juliette
I was never a good dancer, passable at best, but holding onto the stranger and letting him lead me across the dance floor felt almost natural. He spun us gently, leading us back towards the center of the room. As the music swelled to a close, he dipped me low. My hair fell in loose dark waves to the floor, tips of my curls caressing the polished tiles. I closed my eyes briefly as he lifted me up again, pulling me tightly to his body.
I blinked, bringing the world back into focus, and all I could see was his mouth.
Thick, gorgeous lips.
I leaned closer, breathing him in, not expecting him to move in tandem.
But he did.
Decimating the space between us until our lips brushed against each other, he took my breath away.
His cologne and natural scent mingled with a slight hint of top shelf whiskey.
He tasted of sin. And in the black and red, he looked of it too.
My instincts took control, or perhaps my lust and the hunger of my body. It had been so long since I was this close to a man. The sensation of his muscles pressing against my breasts caused my nipples to harden and heat to build in my groin. Pangs of expectation made my most intimate parts throb. Through the thin dress I could feel him harden.
I was not the only one that was burning in this moment.
We were both on fire, devouring each other and forgetting the crowd of people around us.
A new song came to life, blanketing us in a fresh melody. This one equally as haunting as the last. The kiss ended and I waited for him to lead me from the dance floor or to release my body and walk away, but he did neither.
He urged me to move once again, his figure cutting through the crowd and bringing me along like we were knitted together and could never be separated. Not by enemy or friend. Not by angel or demon. If he were in hell, and I were in heaven, I would fall from that paradise to be with him inside the inferno.
Magic. That was what it had to be.
The way I felt linked to the stranger, the way I felt changed.
After the second song, he did lead me off the dance floor and into a dark corner, pushing me up against the wall and kissing me again.
This wasn’t like me.
Giving myself over to a stranger like this.
But losing control, for once not caring about the consequences, was a blinding freedom. And I never wanted it to end.
His hands worked over my curves, and all I could do was ride the wave.
Our little piece of wall couldn’t stay private forever. I knew that rationally. I also know that I would judge the shit out of a girl making out like this in public. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Not while his strong fingers dug into my body, trying to get to the very center of me. Time was rendered meaningless. We were in a changeless sphere of our own making, shielded in a fog of lust.
The lights began to brighten above us, reality crashing inward. I pulled from him, lips tingling, and looked up at the ceiling. My heart began to race even faster.
The big reveal was coming... and God, I hadn’t escaped in time. But I couldn’t leave now. I was tethered to this man. Even if it was only for tonight, here in this ballroom, I belonged to him in an aching way that made piercing loneliness strike my heart.
I gazed back at him and found a pair of brilliant green eyes. Not dark, not nearly black. They were mesmerizing, the most vibrant chartreuse, unlike any I had ever seen. They were made even more neon by his pale skin and smokey slate hair.
I wanted to see the rest of the face that went with those eyes, those lips, that striking jaw line... even though I was scared to reveal my own in turn.
“Now let us see those beautiful faces and find where our guest of honor is hiding!” A woman in a coral dress stood behind the podium on the small stage erected for the fundraising gala.
I hadn’t planned on being here for this; hadn’t planned on seeing the son of Roman Montego in the flesh. I still believed my theory that it was impending street war which had led to my mother’s death. A martyr for the masses. A victim worthy of political attention. And Montego Arms was culpable in the aftermath; their unapologetic greed sending weapons into violent hands. I didn’t care that Roman was dead, or that his son had taken over the business and tried to make things right. I hated the Montego name, because it was the only real thing I had to blame until I hunted down The Rose Killer.
I hadn’t planned on being here for this; hadn’t planned on seeing the son of Roman Montego in the flesh. I still believed my theory that it was impending street war which had led to my mother’s death. A martyr for the masses. A victim worthy of political attention. And Montego Arms was culpable, their unapologetic greed sending weapons into violent hands. I didn’t care that Roman was dead, or that his son had taken over the business and tried to make things right. I hated the Montego name, because it was the only real thing I had to blame until I hunted down The Rose Killer.
Masks began to come off, faces upon faces beaming with delight when they discovered their dance or conversation partners.
I turned to the stranger. I needed to leave, I had to leave, but I wanted to see his face first. I wanted to know his name.
His dark eyes stared at me through the simple black mask, as if he hadn’t heard the announcer.
“I need to leave, but first... who are you?”
“You have to leave?” He met my question with one of his own. “Have I spent the evening with Cinderella?”
“Far from it,” I shook my head. “Definitely not a fairy tale princess.”
He trailed gentle fingers up my spine, making me shiver against him.
People were laughing and chattering around us. The woman at the podium was still speaking, but I could care less what she was saying.
I didn’t want my time with this mystery man to end. I wanted the lights to dim once more and the music to build back to life. This stranger had irrevocably altered my feelings towards dancing. With him, I could dance forever.
“At least tell me your first name.”
“Tell me yours first,” he breathed out, hands leaving my back and journeying to my mask. His fingers pressed gently against it, and he lifted upwards slowly. My brain screamed at me to stop him. I didn’t want to be recognized again, not tonight.
He pulled the mask completely away from me until I felt fully exposed. He lowered his hands to his sides, a thumb and index finger continuing to grip the mask. He studied me, and I waited for that look to pass through his eyes. The same look anyone got when they realized who I was. And there was a hint of something in his expression, but it was not the curiosity or sympathy I’d come to anticipate.
It was a fresh spike of desire.
He wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more.
So did I.
“Tell me your name.” He pushed closer again and I hated that his mask was still on. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to restart the passion that had blossomed so quickly between us. Only this time, I wanted the full glory of his face.
“Juliette.”
“Juliette,” he repeated, voice a low growl. “How would you feel about getting out of here?”
I bit my lip, worrying the skin so fiercely that I’m surprised I didn’t make it bleed. But then I was nodding, without even consciously deciding to do so. He shoved my mask into his pocket and took my hand, pulling me towards the exit. It was on the other side of the room.
“Mr. Montego, come out of hiding!” The woman in the coral dress spoke into the mic again, her voice booming throughout the event space.
The stranger’s he
ad dipped, his mouth a hard line.
“Oh, Mr. Montegoooooo.” The women sing-songed. “Don’t leave us in suspense any longer!”
We were nearly to the middle of the dance floor, all of the people around us turning in circles trying to find the guest of honor. I didn’t care where he was. Fuck Romero Montego. Fuck his family. His company. His billions. Fuck this fundraiser that glorified the son of a dirty businessman that facilitated hundreds of deaths.
“There you are!” The woman now shouted in glee, and suddenly spotlights were shooting across the room.
They terminated on top of me and the stranger, hot white light pouring over us and creating a white circle of brilliance. My mask was still off. Everyone was looking at me now.
I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
“Best laid plans,” he murmured, sighing. And then I watched as he transformed into someone else.
He released my hand, and stood tall, mouth opening to reveal bright white teeth, before stripping off his mask and beginning to walk toward the stage.
“Romero Montego, everyone!” The woman again. So happy, so excited. “Without a doubt one of our city’s saviors! Not only has he helped rid our streets of thousands of illegal weapons, created jobs with his new business endeavors, donated millions to our infrastructure, supported numerous shelters and provided truckloads of food to the needy, but he’s also this year’s most eligible bachelor!” She clapped enthusiastically and the entire gala echoed. The sound was shattering.
Hundreds of hands slapping together.
Hundreds of faces smiling.
Yet I felt like I was being torn the fuck apart.
I’d just danced with a man who represented everything I loathed—capitalism above all else, above common fucking decency. I’d just kissed the son of a man I hated for being an immoral vulture and taking advantage of my mother’s death. Hell, I’d almost left the gala and gone who knows where with him. I’d probably have slept with Romero if his identity hadn’t been revealed… God, what was wrong with me!
Her Villain: A Dark Bully Romance (Aqua Vitae Duet Book 1) Page 5