“What are you supposed to be?” asked Ophelia. She giggled at his ridiculous pants while admiring his form. His dark skin glowed, and the physical urge to touch him, to lick him, returned. He ran his hands through his black hair, strands falling beautifully into his face.
Mateo laughed. “I have no idea,” he said, throwing his arms up. “I’m making do with a random Mardi Gras costume as well. You ready?”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Surprise and awe appeared on Ophelia’s face. “Is that the party?”
Mateo knowingly grinned. “Yes, wild one.”
“Jesus.”
The party was only a couple of blocks away. As they approached the house, Ophelia could see the lights and people gathering on the front lawn of a great mansion.
The mansion was three stories tall with a wrap-around porch and floor-to-ceiling windows. Ophelia thought it must have been built in the late 1800s. The front lawn was covered in ferns and flowers that looked as if they had been brought in especially for the party. Fairy lights were scattered throughout the trees, creating a feeling of euphoria. Vines from planters dripped from the second-story balcony onto the porch awning. Hand-painted ornaments featuring tiny fruits and fairies hung in every plant.
Mateo led Ophelia down the walkway, which was covered by a canopy of vines with streams of multi-colored roses reaching for the tops of the party-goers’ heads.
“What is this party?” she asked, utterly bewildered by the lush and lavish decorations.
“A fellow artist owns this home, and yeah, she really enjoysthrowing extravagant parties. Family money.” Mateo shrugged nonchalantly as if to brush off the grandeur of it all.
As they reached the front porch, a man dressed as what can only be described as a sexy gnome greeted them. “Hiya, Teo,” said the sexy gnome. “Come on in.”
Mateo placed his hand on the small of Ophelia’s back and guided her into the house.
“Can I get you a drink?” His smooth voice rumbling into her ear sent shivers down her neck. “I think there’s a bar at the end of the porch.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. She was completely entranced by the splendor of the house. “I’m going to look around.”
As Ophelia walked through the lush mansion, she was greeted with sweet floral smells from fresh, crushed gardenia petals scattered across the hardwood floors. In the parlor, a grand piano was being played by an alto-voiced woman wearing an elaborate headdress made of different bits of sparkle and feathers. Her buttery voice floated through the room with an old ragtime tune, and guests in costumes tapped and bobbed to the music while leaning against the piano. Ophelia let the music guide her through the room as she admired the original paintings on the walls and antique trinkets scattered on the shelves.
Clambering, coming from another room, stole her attention from the music. Through a swinging door was a man dressed in a full tuxedo, attempting to build a champagne tower on the kitchen island.
“Need help?” asked Ophelia, examining the wreckage of pots that had fallen on the floor.
“Yes! Drink the champagne!” he said as he popped the cork and poured the champagne. Ophelia watched as the champagne flowed and bubbled down the crystal glasses. She squealed with delight and grabbed an overflowing glass from the top.
Balancing her full drink, she floated through the kitchen into a hallway where she stopped to admire a massive vintage mirror that leaned against the wall. One glimpse of herself, and she was startled by how she looked—as if she had been transported toanother realm. After only one glass of wine and a sip of champagne, she already felt drunk, enraptured by the place, the party. She lingered, staring into the mirror, admiring the scenery surrounding her—twinkly lights, wistful movements from people dancing, brilliant colors from costumes, a magical blur. Then Mateo’s image appeared.
“Whatcha looking at?” he said, grabbing her waist and pressing her back into his chest. He flattened his palm against her lower abdomen.
“I uh…I just can’t get over this party,” she said breathlessly. Their image reflected was enthralling. He was a golden ruler who had captured a garden nymph.
“I’m glad you like it, and I’m glad you found a drink. I was having trouble locating the booze.”
Mateo did it again, that longing stare that lasted too long. Her body responded without her consent, and she arched her ass into his pelvis. Her body was searching, wanting. Mateo groaned, and she watched them in the mirror as she let her head fall to the side, offering her neck to him.Good God, what am I doing? He is just so hot. So intoxicating.Without taking his eyes off her in the mirror, Mateo dipped his head and nipped at the sensitive flesh of her neck.
The smell returned, assaulting her senses.Not again.
Ophelia straightened. A flicker of confusion showed on Mateo’s face again. She was sending him all sorts of bizarre messages. Fiery hot, then ice cold.
“What else is at this party?” she asked, deflecting.
“Let’s see,” he tsked. “Should we check out the jazz band, get a massage, or have our tarot read?”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “A tarot reader?” The serial killer’s last victim had been a tarot reader. A chill went through Ophelia’s body. Lauren Cash might have worked at this party if it weren’t for the Cutthroat Killer. She might have loved this magical place as much as Ophelia did. They might have even met and become friends.
A cacophony of horns began to sound, and Mateo grabbed her hand. “Band first. Tarot later,” he said.
