Unmasked

by Stefanie London

She swallowed. They’d be able to pick her out like a cheap knockoff among rows of the real deal.

  “Mr. McKnight, what a pleasure.” The maître d’ greeted him warmly, her hand gravitating to his arm as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Good to see you, Marcella.”

  “We’ve got our best table reserved for you. Mr. McPartlin and his wife will be joining you shortly.”

  Marcella’s eyes swept over Lainey, curiosity apparent. With a warm smile, she gestured for them to follow her into the restaurant. Large light fixtures created a twinkling ambience, though the overall effect was still darkly intimate and sensual. Gold trimmings tastefully adorned the walls. The vast area housed small round tables and was lined with booths in dark wood and rich, plum-coloured velvet.

  Lainey followed, still clutching Damian’s arm, and held her breath as they navigated the tight space between the tables. The last thing she needed was to trip and make a fool of herself. History told her the chances of that happening were as likely as the sun rising tomorrow.

  “Relax.” Hot breath caressed her skin as Damian whispered into her ear. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

  “I’m fine,” she said tightly, the words sticking in her chest.

  They reached a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. Ornate fabric hung from the ceiling. It looked like a curtain that could be closed for privacy if needed. She ran her hand down the silk, her fingertips grazing over the faint gold embroidery.

  “I’ve got our most experienced server looking after you tonight,” Marcella said. “But please reach out to me if you need anything at all.”

  Lainey’s jaw clenched automatically. Marcella looked exactly like the kind of woman Damian should be dining with. Articulate. Smooth. Polished. All the things that Lainey had given up hope of mastering.

  “Of course.”

  Damian motioned for Lainey to take a seat and he watched as she slid into the booth awkwardly, the tight fabric of her dress and towering heels making her feel like a circus performer on stilts.

  “She’s got it for you bad,” Lainey observed. “Do you know her?”

  “She’s a friend.” He removed his jacket and hung it on a little hook at the entrance to the booth before sliding into his seat with easy grace. “But I don’t want you thinking about Marcella or anyone else tonight. I need you on your A game.”

  Nodding, she wound a strand of hair around one finger, watching the light catch on the vibrant pigment. Her nerves jangled, and anticipation swirled through her. With the mask on, she’d felt confident and in control. But now she was exposed. Maybe Damian was right. Sex with someone you cared about stirred up a whole mess of emotions, and she was unprepared. Woefully so.

  But that was no excuse. Lainey might have come to rely on her friends to bail her out, but she didn’t shy away from her decisions.

  You’ve made your bed—now you have to lie in it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE DINNER PROGRESSED better than Damian had expected, despite the fact that McPartlin steered the conversation away from business every time it came up. However, the older man seemed to have lost his suspicions, mainly thanks to Lainey’s brilliant performance.

  She’d brought the mask with her and spent a good ten minutes cooing over the design with McPartlin’s wife. Every so often, her eyes would flick to Damian and something would pass between them. A ripple of tension, electric with the force of her energy. It was like she wanted to communicate, and though he didn’t know exactly what she was thinking, the heat in her expression had his whole body lighting up. Crying out for more.

  Crying out for her.

  The dress he’d bought for her looked incredible. The dark fabric clung to her curves the way his hands had that night. The zip was mostly done up—less than an inch remained open at her bust. It didn’t reveal a thing, but it did make him think about undoing the dress and tracing the line of the zipper with his tongue.

  He didn’t know what had gotten into him when he’d bought that dress. He’d only planned to send her the details for the dinner—but he’d walked past the boutique and handed his credit card over before he knew what he was doing.

  “I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep the engagement a secret,” Jerry’s wife, Sandra, said as she raised a gold-trimmed coffee cup to her lips. Her red lipstick left an imprint behind on the white china. “The media is relentless with stuff like that. How did you do it?”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Lainey said, placing her hand affectionately on Damian’s thigh and leaning closer to him. Her expression was as sincere and sweet as apple pie, but under the table her hand inched higher.

  She’d been testing his boundaries all night—touching him, planting sweet kisses on his cheek and smiling as she swiped the lipstick mark away with her thumb. Playing the doting fiancée with aplomb.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’ve made the whole thing up,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. “I haven’t gone to many events with him, but the masquerade ball was the perfect opportunity since I could keep my face covered. We could be together without anyone knowing who I was.”

  “Sometimes I felt like I didn’t even know who you were that night,” Damian said drily.

  Lainey squeezed his thigh, the top of her finger precariously close to where he was doing his best to will away a burgeoning erection. They really needed to stop talking about the ball, because he was struggling to keep the image of Lainey straddling him out of his head. He wrapped his hand around hers, interlacing their fingers and guiding them away from his crotch.

  “You’ll have to go public at some point,” Jerry said. “People talk.”

  “To be honest, I don’t want a life in the spotlight anymore.” Damian shrugged. “My company is where I’m focused. I had my fifteen minutes and frankly hated every bloody second of it.”

  Jerry laughed. “It certainly has its ups and downs. But you do have a face for television, I’ll admit that.”

  “I have a mind for business,” Damian corrected. “Television didn’t really work out for me. All it did was give me a reputation that I’m not proud of. I’m not fame hungry, and I’m not a womanizer.”

  He couldn’t blame McPartlin entirely for having a low opinion of him. While Damian had come across well on the show, the people who made Australia’s Most Eligible knew exactly how to interview contestants and edit the footage to tell the story they wanted. They could create villains and heroes out of ordinary men. Or, in his case, men who would do anything to get ahead.

  He’d watched half of the first episode the night it aired and had cringed the whole way through. The Damian on that show wasn’t him.

  “Ah, yes. Well, even those in the industry fall prey to believing what they read.” That was as close to an apology as Jerry was ever likely to give, but Damian would take it. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think people today don’t value the sanctity of marriage like they used to. Monogamy is a wonderful thing.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Damian said, reaching for his wine in the hopes of washing the bitter taste from his mouth.

  Sandra shot Damian and Lainey a look. “He also thinks today’s music is abominable. I’m sure when time machines are invented he’ll go back to the ’50s and never leave.”

  “Nothing wrong with having morals,” Jerry huffed.

  “Well, now that he’s on his high horse, it’s probably time we leave.” Sandra shook her head. “One glass of wine and he gets philosophical.”

  Damian stifled a laugh. He’d once thought of Jerry McPartlin as intimidating, but it was clear his wife was the one running the show behind the scenes. For some reason, it made him think of Lainey. On the outside she appeared one way—flighty and silly and a little bit crazy—but on the inside she had a fierce determination to go after what she wanted. As much as he disliked her methods, he had to a
dmire her resourcefulness.

  “I need to check in with the kitchen,” Jerry said, pushing up from the booth. They were seated near a set of doors that led into a high-tech kitchen, which had allowed not only privacy for their dinner but meant Jerry had been able to keep an eye on his staff all night.

  “Always working,” Sandra commented, shooting Lainey a look. “I suppose Damian is the same.”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded. “He’s so dedicated. It’s inspiring.”

  Jerry stuck his hand out to Damian. “Enough with the hard sell already. I’ll give you a meeting, but I’m not making any promises. You need to prove you can offer me more than my current firm, which is going to be tough. And at a better price, too.”

  “It won’t be tough.” Damian gripped the older man’s hand.

  “Cocky.” Jerry laughed. “There’s another problem with young people today.”

  “All right, grumpy old man,” Sandra said as she slid out of the booth behind him, shaking her head. “Time to go.”

  “There’s a VIP bar through the doors over there,” Jerry said, pointing. “Marcella has your details if you’d like to go in for a drink. It’s very private, so you don’t need to worry about people bothering you. But you can stay at the table as long as you like.”

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you.” Lainey smiled, and the room felt as though it’d brightened by a million watts. She stayed seated by Damian’s side, blocking the entrance to the booth and waiting until Jerry and Sandra had left the area. “Would you like to get a drink?”

  He shouldn’t encourage bad decisions—or rather, a repeat of bad decisions. “I should take you home,” he said.

  “Should?” She raised a brow. “Come on, it’s one drink. You’re trying to get this guy’s business. It would be rude to decline.”

  “One drink,” he said, giving her a firm look. “And that’s it.”

  Looking far too much like the cat who’d got the cream, she slid out of the booth and headed toward the VIP bar without waiting for him. He stared after her—admiring the curve of her shapely behind through the tight fabric of her dress.

  His cock stirred and Damian cursed himself. Normally, it was easy to maintain platonic relationships. In fact, not a single one of the women in his circle had ever made him think twice about his “no sex between friends” rule. Not a single one had even come close to tempting him. But Lainey had him hot and bothered like nothing else.

  “Get your head in the game,” he said to himself as he followed her.

  In the VIP area, the lights were dimmed, a soft glow emanating from the bauble-like chandeliers that hung around the room. The atmosphere held a pleasurable intimacy, perfect for secret sharing and arm touching. He recognised a few of the patrons—a local politician, a TV host he’d met during his time on Australia’s Most Eligible. No one even looked in their direction. Damian let out a breath.

  Lainey headed to the bar and ordered a drink. When it arrived she traced her finger around the rim of the shot glass, the movement slow and languid. It was all too easy to imagine her circling the tip of his cock like that.

  “Drink up,” he said. “Then I can get you home.”

  “I meant one drink for you.” A smile quirked on her lips. “I’m not going to limit myself.”

  He sighed. “What are you doing?”

  “Having a drink with my fiancé.” Her eyes were piercing, like polished amber. “You invited me—the least you can do is let me enjoy a few drinks.”

  “We’re not having this argument again,” he grumbled. “You set these wheels in motion.”

  “That’s the adult version of saying ‘you started it.’”

  “You did start it.”

  “And you finished it. Three times.” She smirked. “Always the overachiever.”

  A few strands of her hair slipped seductively over one eye. She dipped her pinkie into the shot glass and sucked it clean. The creamy liquid moistened her lips, and Damian felt his mouth run dry. He reached down to adjust himself, finding his cock fully hard and pressing against the zipper of his pants. Christ, how did she manage to do that?

  “What are you drinking?” he asked, forcing his mind away from the cleavage peeking out of the top of Lainey’s dress.

  “Buttery nipple,” she replied with eyes wide and purposefully innocent.

  Heat flooded his stomach, and he felt his cock clench in response to her full lips wrapping around the shooter’s name. And she was doing it on purpose, the devil. She brought the squat glass to her lips and tilted her head back in one liquid movement. Desire blanked out Damian’s senses so that all he could see was the ivory column of her neck and the thrust of her breasts as she threw her head back.

  “Delicious.” She licked her lips. “You should try it.”

  Stifling the impulse to reach out and pull her into a kiss, Damian pressed his hips against the bar in an attempt to dispel his throbbing hard-on. But all it did was give him the friction he craved and bring him another merciless inch closer to Lainey.

  “Are you drunk?” He pulled on his arsenal of big-brother interrogations to force some distance between them.

  “Not yet.” She grinned, and he could see the tip of her pink tongue between her teeth. “But I could be.”

  “Behave yourself, Lainey,” he warned, though it was more for himself than it was for her.

  She rolled her eyes and blinked her long, sooty lashes at him. “Learn to have a little fun, Damian.”

  He had to get out of there. If he watched her down another shooter, he might be tempted to kiss the flavour from her lips, and who knew where that would end up. It was impossible not to notice her body or the sexual energy that swam thick in the air around her.

  And now, knowing how sweet she tasted...

  “Your brand of fun is a little too over the top for my tastes.” He nodded to the bartender so he could order a drink. Something stiff, which seemed fitting. The quicker he downed it, the quicker he could leave. “Why don’t you call it a night? I’ll get you a cab.”

  Lainey reached for his wrist, her fingers burning him as she angled his watch toward her. “It’s only gone eleven—the night is young.”

  “Don’t underestimate the value of sleep.”

  Bloody hell, he sounded like an old man—and compared to her, he was. The extra decade had made him jaded, untrusting. And she was like a ray of fucking sunshine, so happy and optimistic it terrified him.

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she replied with a wink.

  His scotch arrived and Damian snatched it up, sending a good portion of it down his throat in one gulp. The warmth burned pleasantly in his chest.

  “I’m leaving soon,” she said, suddenly.

  “Good,” he said. “I want you to text me when you get home, though.”

  “No, I mean leaving. As in, the country.” She ordered another drink, this time a glass of champagne. “For good...probably.”

  “Probably?”

  She looked up at him. “Hopefully.”

  The word socked him in the chest. A few weeks ago he would have sent her off with a wave, wished her the best. But now...things were different. “Why?”

  “I’ve got a job in London, doing social media for a celebrity stylist.” She smiled, but not happily. “I felt like it was time for a change of scenery.”

  “Congratulations.” The word stuck in the back of his throat like cactus prickles. He tried to swallow but found a lump there. “Have you told Corinna and Imogen?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I leave the week after next.”

  He should have been breathing a sigh of relief—the source of his temptation would soon be gone. But it felt like something had shifted beneath his feet, unsettling him. Throwing him off balance, because what he should have felt in no way described the outcry in his head.

  “That’s not
long.”

  She shook her head. “Nope.” When her drink arrived, she raised it to his. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

  “And old friends.”

  She sipped, a strange expression passing over her face. “Are we friends? I always thought you saw me as some annoying little sister type.”

  “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  She swatted him. “So you do think I’m annoying?”

  “Well, you are the girl who insisted on telling everyone in which order they could open their Christmas presents.”

  He remembered it vividly—Lainey as a loudmouthed ten-year-old telling him and his friends who could go first for their Bad Santa present swap. She hadn’t even been invited to the event. But along with Corinna and Imogen, she’d crashed into his family’s lounge room and demanded to be part of the festivities.

  “Well, I never had any of my own siblings to boss around.” She grinned. “You were the next best thing.”

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, the words flying out before he could stop them.

  She stared at him, her eyes intense and focused. Something flickered there—a hint of emotion? Not positive. But Lainey was as good at hiding her weak points as he was.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” she said.

  “You’re not planning to come back?”

  “Nope.” She cocked her head. “So that means you’ve got two weeks to make use of me as your ‘fiancée’ before you need to make up an excuse as to why we broke up.”

  The idea of making use of Lainey in any capacity filled his bloodstream with the snap, crackle and pop of anticipation. Maybe an expiration date would be good for them. Insurance against things getting out of hand, because how much damage could two people do in two weeks?

  A lot. Don’t kid yourself.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with some reason for why I screwed our relationship into the ground.”

  “Maybe you were unable go with the flow and my free-spirited heart couldn’t take all that rigidity.” She grinned. “Or perhaps you simply couldn’t keep up with me in bed.”