Cynthia Bellows watched the activity in the crowded ballroom from behind the huge silk fichus tree in the shadowy alcove. But she wasn’t hiding. She was doing reconnaissance.
As she observed the array multi-colored, extravagant costumes, electric currents zinged through her stomach. When would he get here? She refused to admit her scheme of seducing the hot, new junior partner of Moody Advertising Agency wouldn’t work. It had to.
She adjusted the decadently low bodice necklace of her “Bo Peep” costume and schooled herself to be patient. Everything she’d done over the past two months--every mystery note, every single red rose, every thong left on his desk--had been building to this night.
The zaps in her belly moved lower to tickle her clit. She clenched her thighs together, relishing the mini-orgasm. How many times had she masturbated herself to shattering climaxes just imagining the possible outcome of tonight? She drew a confident breath. Never before had her efforts failed, and they wouldn’t fail this time.
The three-quarter, bejeweled, feathered mask only slightly obstructed her vision as she continued to observe the occupants in the convention room. Each year, the Moody Halloween masquerade party was the city-wide event to attend. And by the looks of it, every city resident was in attendance.
Cynthia checked her watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Uncertainty wiggled between her shoulder blades. The festivities had started at seven and could go well into the morning hours. Nothing to panic about. Plenty of time for him to get here.
A sudden jolt charged through her. She pivoted right as an impressive figure filled the double wide door entrance. Her knees weakened.
Even from a distance, he looked impossibly tall, or maybe it was just an illusion created by his satin top hat. The matching cape hung to his narrow hips, but couldn’t conceal the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders. She didn’t have to see his features to know lush lips and a chiseled jaw were exposed below his scarlet mask; the only dash of color on his otherwise black costume.
He moved his head in a slow, methodical manner, watching the party-goers in the room. She shivered in anticipation. He was looking for her.
Then, like magnets, their gazes collided. Cynthia’s breath stalled in her throat. Her pulse stopped, literally, before stuttering back to life. Her nipples tightened as her pussy muscles jumped.
Tipping his head in a covert acknowledgement, he skirted the perimeter of the dance floor toward her. She couldn’t take her gaze off his eloquent, yet virile walk. Each stride dripped potent power and supreme confidence. He looked neither left nor right, but straight at her.
For the first time since setting her sights on him, concern that she may have taken on more than she could handle dried Cynthia’s mouth. Maybe this time, her true identity would be revealed. She drew back her shoulders.
Still, she had to force herself not to steal into the darkened alcove as he approached. She refused to balk even while she worked to calm her erratic heartbeat and slow her rapid breathing. She would be the picture of aloof composure, even if it killed her.
He stopped directly in front of her. Not so close that they touched but close enough that the faint, spicy scent of musk swirled through her senses. It dizzied her. She resisted the urge to lean into the ornate molding for support.
For the span of countless heartbeats, his hypnotic green eyes peered at her through the mask. They held her captive.
The single word, spoken in a rich baritone timbre, brought forth visions of dark chocolate and red wine. Sophisticated and alluring and wholly sinful.
Cynthia commanded her mouth to curl up. “Yes, you are.” Could he hear her heart thumping in her chest?
She brushed past him. “And I want to dance.”
He snagged her wrist in a firm grip, one she couldn’t easily escape from. “Lady, I didn’t come here to dance.”
Tremors of excitement rushed through her veins as her pussy quivered in time to her hammering pulse. She angled her chin in mock defiance. “And just what did you come for?” Try as she might, she couldn’t contain the slight breathless quality of her voice. She yanked to free her hand.
His grip tightened. “You know damn well why I’m here.”
She barked a laugh, grateful for the loud music and that they were mostly sheltered from prying eyes. “I know? Really?”
Cynthia wrenched again to dislodge herself from his grasp. She knew if she really wanted him to, he’d release her. The thought never crossed her mind. “Maybe you should tell me.”
He hauled her flush to his body, expelling all the air from her lungs in a startled gasp. Every inch of his solid muscled physique pressed against her softer curves. Her vision blurred and she struggled to breathe.
Stay tuned for more...
If you enjoyed this excerpt, Lynda has a short story available at Amazon. Click here to purchase.
One woman. Two men. Why choose?
Piper Vaughn has known Mark Lundgren since she was a kid and always figured they'd end up together. That is until she meets Domingo Cardoza. Now two incredibly virile men are vying for her affections. How can she possibly choose between them? Can't they all just get along...together?