“Happy New Year.” A deep, familiar voice greeted her.
Lexi went rigid, her eyes widening with shock. No, it couldn’t be.“Quentin?”
Slowly he reached up and removed his mask. A kaleidoscope of bright colors flashed across his wickedly handsome face—a face Lexi knew almost as well as her own.
She staggered backward, stunned and shaken. “Wh-what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Wishing you a Happy New Year,” Quentin murmured.
“You couldn’t do thatwithoutkissing me?” she cried in exasperated disbelief.
Another burst of fireworks illuminated the devilish gleam in his hazel eyes. “Come now,” he drawled. “What’s a little kiss between old friends?”
Lexi gaped at him. There’d been nothing remotely “little” about that kiss. Good Lord, her knees were still knocking together!
“That wasn’t some chaste peck on the lips, Quentin,” she said darkly. “YouFrench-kissedme.”
His eyes glimmered with amusement. “We’re in France.”
“So what!”
One broad shoulder shrugged. “When in France…”
Lexi shook her head, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on his face. “Have you been drinking?”
“No,” Quentin said with a laugh, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. He looked like a million bucks in a classic black tuxedo that fit his body like a dream.
“What’re you doing here anyway?” Lexi grumbled. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”
“Things changed.”
“Like what?”
Instead of answering, he took a step toward her.
Alarmed, Lexi backed away until she came up against the stone balustrade. Trapped, she stared up at him, afraid he might try to kiss her again. “Quentin—”
“Relax.” He reached out, gently pulling her mask off her face. She’d completely forgotten she was wearing one, and now she felt utterly exposed without it.
Quentin set the mask down on the banister. His lazy gaze raked over her, taking in the low neckline and cinched waist of her strapless white gown before sliding back up to her face. “You look beautiful, Lex,” he murmured.
“Thanks.” She inhaled deeply, appalled by how uneven her breath was, how hard it was to draw air into her lungs. “Asha had gowns designed for me, Reese and Samara. I really lucked out by having a close friend whose stepmother is a famous fashion mogul.”
Quentin’s eyes glinted wickedly. “That was one helluva toast she made. Words to live by.”
At the memory of Asha’s admonition to her guests to have “plenty of hot, mind-blowing sex,” Lexi flushed deeply—a reaction that confused her. Normally she would have laughed and made some quip about Quentin’s notoriously overactive sex life.
But tonight she could only manage a noncommittal “hmm.”
Inside the ballroom, the orchestra was playing an extended version of “Auld Lang Syne” as the unmasked partygoers milled around laughing, shaking hands and exchanging good wishes. Some had drifted toward the French doors to watch the fireworks display. No one attempted to join the two occupants of the terrace.
Lexi dragged in another deep breath, striving for composure. “When did you arrive?” she asked Quentin.
“About half an hour ago.” Smiling, he touched her face. “I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
