Page 27 of Filthy Twisted Devil

“Are you crazy?” Ryan groans. “I can’t go up to the Rangers goalie when I’m dressed like a giant mouse!”

“Yet you had no problems cutting a movie star in the snacks line so you could snag the last mini-quiche,” Beau notes.

“Hey, you know I’m serious about my mini-quiches.”

The group around me laughs. I’m only half paying attention to the conversation, if I’m honest. I’m too busy taking notes on the excellent job James’s event planners did setting up the masquerade party.

I can’t believe how perfectly they transformed an office floor into a haunted ballroom with strategically employed velvet curtains, smoke machines, and fake cobwebs. An elaborate dry ice display completely obscures a copy machine. I’m definitely asking for a list of their vendors, because the cocktails are exceptional, elaborate-looking and expensive enough to please the celebrity guests, but quick enough for a bartender to expedite in under a minute.

The best part, of course, are the costumes. The guests are decked out in over-the-top disguises, from Marie Antoinette with a three-foot-tall wig to giant Pikachu with glowing fake electric bolts emerging from its cheeks.

Our group looks pretty great, too. Cat and Nate are the Bride and Bill from Kill Bill, to accommodate her pregnant belly. I assumed the costumes were Nate’s idea, but I’m surprised to find out that Cat has a secret soft spot for absurdly violent action movies. Beau and Brinley are dressed as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, which started a lively debate about Firth vs. Macfadyen. James simply didn’t dress up, wearing his usual suits, a burnt orange tie his only nod to the holiday. Since Maura stayed home to rest, he apparently had no interest in dressing up.

Luke and I chose something more classic—the evergreen sexy vampires. We weren’t lazy about it, though. When he sent me a picture of the deep red velvet suit he bought ages ago, I immediately scoured eBay until I found a corset-style gown in the same shade. It’s a little small on me, which in practice means it makes my breasts look fantastic. Luke’s Phantom-style mask covers half his face, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw. The little line of fake blood dripping down the edge of his mouth keeps drawing my eyes to his lips.

It might not be the most creative costume in the world, but we look insanely sexy.

The hockey player Ryan’s been staring at sets his empty glass down on a table and heads toward the dance floor. Pippa’s face brightens.

“Now’s your chance!” she exclaims, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go.”

Ryan looks alarmed. “I can’t just walk up to him! That’s insane.”

“You’re not going to walk up to him. You’re going to dance up to him and shamelessly eavesdrop on everything he says. Then I’ll act like the crazy fan and ask for an autograph, and you won’t have to say a word.”

“We’ll go with you,” Cat offers. “Nate and I will help buffer.”

“Yeah! With our help, that goalie won’t even know you exist,” I add, making Luke chuckle.

“Fine,” Ryan groans. “But we’re all doing shots first, except for Cat. No other exceptions.”

After a round of tequila shots, we’re all on the dance floor, following Pippa’s lead as she carefully maneuvers us closer to Ryan’s hockey idol.

“Is this guy really that good?” I ask Luke, my voice barely carrying over the music blasting from the speakers.

Luke puts his hands on my waist and pulls me closer. “Oh, he’s good. He might be the best guy currently playing his position.”

“So why aren’t you fangirling like Ryan is?”

“Because I know that guy is obsessed with Twisted Devil. He’d probably kill for an advertising partnership, which means he’d be more impressed by me than I would be by him.”

“So your starstruck level is proportional with how much they love your whiskey?”

“Exactly.” He spins me in his arms so my back is against his chest. “Oh my god, look.”

It doesn’t take long for me to figure out what he’s talking about. “Is Ryan’s hockey crush hitting on Pippa?”

Luke’s chest rumbles with laughter. “Sure looks like it.”

We sway to the music, watching as the hockey player tries to chat up Pippa and as Ryan’s mancrush quickly shifts to loathing. Ryan possessively pulls Pippa back to him. I’m so busy watching that it takes me a few minutes to realize exactly how closely we’re dancing.

The music grows slower and more sultry. Luke’s hands move from my waist to my hips. As more people join the dance floor, he pulls me even closer until my body is flush against his. His breath grazes my ear, sending goosebumps up my arms.

His fingers flex against my hips, pressing in, then deliberately loosening, like he keeps catching himself wanting more than he’s allowed. Somehow, that restrained half-inch of pressure is hotter than any man’s hands have ever been on me.

It’s all for show. That’s the only explanation I give for why I grind back against him. Why I close my eyes to inhale his lush, woody cologne. Nothing could be more convincing than fully giving into Luke holding me.

Except when I open my eyes and catch Brinley looking at me, I’m not sure exactly who I’m convincing here.