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Chapter One
“I hope you’re happy, Brian,” Alicia Forkes whispered under her breath, eyeing the crowded nightclub. This was so not her scene. She preferred a glass of wine, her cat kneading her lap, and Netflix that played for so long it asked her whether she was still watching, while silently judging her when she clicked yes. “I’m trolling for dudes because of you and your stupid bucket list.”
She fidgeted with her sequined clutch and stood at the side of the bar, feeling increasingly out of place with each passing moment. If not for the naughty bucket list her best friend had given her burning a whole through her pocket, she’d be out of here so fast there would be a faint blur as she busted through the crowd at Flash-like speeds. She was at a hot nightclub in the tiny foreign country of Randovia, surrounded by people she didn’t know, who all were wearing masquerade masks and downing shots like there was no tomorrow.
And she was completely, utterly lost.
When her company sent her to this foreign country to observe cultures and then report back to them, she’d been less than thrilled about it. Baker, Inc. wanted to create weapons and train officers for the Randovian Navy, and to do that, they needed information.
And while she was here?
She was going to nail this bucket list. Brian had challenged her, and she wasn’t a woman who backed down from something like that.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
“You can do this,” she whispered to the crowded barroom, giving herself one last pep talk. “One item down, four to go.”
Nodding to herself, she scanned the room. The club she’d chosen was called the Ballroom, and their gimmick was masquerades every night. People could bring their own masks, or they could be purchased at the front door. It was all covered in anonymity. Even the staff wore masks. The couple next to her moaned, the man’s hand disappearing under the woman’s short skirt. Alicia turned her head so quickly she was worried she had given herself whiplash.
Yeah. Nope. She couldn’t do this.
Time to go.
Glancing toward the side door, she mentally mapped out her route, because this was so obviously a mistake, but the tall, brown-haired man standing by the bar wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask caught her attention before she could take a step forward.
How could he not?
What girl hadn’t fallen for the sinister anti-hero at some point in her life? What had Christine been thinking when she picked Raoul, anyway? He didn’t have the same deep, dark depths to him that the Phantom had. He didn’t love as passionately. Feel as deeply. Of course Raoul didn’t kill people, either…
But still.
This version of the non-violent Phantom was over six-foot tall, judging from the way he towered over the other men in the club. He was eyeing her. The mask only covered half of his face, giving him a hard, dangerous look.
What would it be like to have his hand up my skirt?
Her heart picked up speed when he tilted his head toward the bar, motioning to the empty seat beside him. She twisted around to find the incredibly tall, gorgeous, supermodel woman he must have been after. But there was no one behind her.
He motioned at the stool again. Never one to assume the hottest guy in the room was inviting her to sit with him, she pointed to her chest and mouthed, “Me?”
His lips quirked up into a half grin, he gave a small nod. The man even managed to make such a simple, mundane gesture freaking hot as hell. “You,” he mouthed back.
“Uh…” She gulped down a deep breath and made her way across the crowded bar. When she reached his side, she forced herself to meet his eyes. To act as if she wasn’t always the girl who didn’t belong. “Hi?”
“Is that a question?” he asked, his question tinged with amusement. His voice was deep and rumbly, with a sexy accent that was almost half British, half French, and it reminded her of that Benedict Cumberbatch guy that made all the girls—herself included—make unintelligible sounds whenever they heard him speak.
“N-No,” she managed to squeak, lowering herself onto the padded stool. She adjusted her black mask and folded her hands awkwardly in her lap. Too bad Brian’s bucket list hadn’t come with the game required to pull off something like this. “Of course not. It was a greeting.”
He gave her a once-over, starting at her red stiletto
s and working his way up at his leisure. “That’s one hell of a greeting, if you ask me.”
Not one to back down from a challenge, spoken or silent, she checked him out from head to toe, much like he’d done to her. His lean frame consisted of nothing but hard muscles. His biceps strained against his button-up shirt, making her wonder if he had a hard time finding jackets that fit him properly. His dark pants hugged his hips and—
Well, the rest of him with picture perfect clarity.
