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Granted, my costume had created a fervor from the moment I’d walked into the senator’s exquisite mansion. I had to admit I adored channeling Aphrodite, using creative licensing in selecting my scandalous attire. The bustier was form fitting, accentuating my hourglass figure in all the right places. I especially loved my jeweled mask, which allowed me to indulge in pretending I was a delicious creature. I said nothing, curious if the newcomer would ask the same kinky questions as the others.
“Do you partake in what’s depicted on the canvas?”
“Does the artist ever use you as a model?”
“Are you interested in expanding your horizons?”
I rolled my eyes as the prattled words shifted back and forth in my mind. Every person in this room would laugh if they knew how vanilla I was. Some people would say conservative, but I had an open mind for most things.
Prickles tickled my skin, and I dared dart a single look at the stranger. Holy hell. Even hiding behind a black mask, the man took gorgeous to a new level. My heartrate skyrocketed, my mind suddenly fuzzy. Tall, dark, and handsome was the perfect way to describe the man in the obsidian attire, complete with a two-day scruff across his strong jaw. He was certainly more interesting than any of the other guests.
Calm down. He’s just a man.
True and I wasn’t prone to getting excited about anyone easily. It had taken me a long time to finally carve out a life of my own, refusing to either succumb or atone to my uncle’s wishes.
Even if he’d salvaged my life from blood and ashes.
Besides, Zorro was undoubtedly some arrogant asshole, a friend of Senator Campbell. If I had to guess, I’d say he was rich, not only pledging money to the senator’s upcoming political campaign but able to provide the money needed in order to win a bid on any of the items up for auction.
I purposely walked closer to the painting, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. Maybe a small part of me wanted to see if the mystery man would close the distance, which was strange given I’d had the feeling for the last few days I was being watched. There was no reason, especially since more than half the people in the crowded streets were already wearing costumes. There could be a thousand serial killers or other wretched criminals walking the streets and I wouldn’t know it.
Only seconds later, he’d moved closer, his gaze locked on the painting. Even so, hairs stood on the back of my neck.
He remained silent for at least two minutes, but with every passing second his erotic scent drove tingles closer and closer to my pussy.
When he finally spoke, my mouth watered from his husky tone and deep vibrato, the Spanish accent sensual.
“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, passion derived from a single languishing touch. When an artist envisions an event so provocative, it steals away time, creating a blissful abyss. I can only imagine how invigorating it would be to paint something so bold and fresh.”
I held my breath when he was speaking for no other reason than to try to prevent goosebumps from tickling my skin even more. I failed in my attempt, the tiny bumps dancing along my arms visible even in the dim lighting. Even though he flanked my side after a few seconds, I didn’t bother looking in his direction. I knew his type, self-centered and arrogant. While I was used to dealing with wealthy men with dark proclivities, this one personified filthy sin.
“I daresay the artist has an intense penchant for sadism.”
He was obviously amused by my rebuttal, chuckling under his breath. “Then God bless him.”
“For partaking in the acts, or his depiction? And you’re certain the artist is a male? I’m curious as to why.”
“Both. No one can provide such incredible detail if they’ve yet to indulge in the pleasure.” He turned slowly in my direction, allowing me to experience his heated gaze even without looking directly at him. “And there is no doubt the artist is a dominating male, a man used to getting what he wants. If not, he takes it.”
Why did I have a feeling he was directing his last comment to me?
“I suspect you’re correct.” I wasn’t certain where this conversation was going, but my instinct told me nowhere that I was prepared to allow it to go. It was at that moment I realized I was in over my head. I’d accepted the invitation at the insistence of Senator Campbell, the purchaser, hoping the costume would allow me to feel comfortable when facing the wealthy, influential New Orleans crowd. Instead, I felt like a lost sheep, the costume doing little more than reminding me that I didn’t associate with the same kind of people the senator was obviously comfortable with.
At least my excuse was pertinent, a charity auction with all proceeds going to feed the hungry. I’d already witnessed several of the exhibition pieces going for ungodly amounts of money. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder as the stranger suggested, the people who’d written checks needed vision correction.
“Trust me, Aphrodite. I wouldn’t steer you wrong about a topic near and dear to my heart.”
Sighing, I finally found the courage to turn in his direction, amused he’d chosen the character of Zorro for his required costume. While the stunning onyx silk shirt and matching trousers created a dark and dangerous appeal to his masked face, I wouldn’t consider his choice gothic by any means. Rugged and sexy, yes. I found myself allowing a single gaze down the length of him, my nipples fully erect as a wave of desire tore through me.
His jaw was chiseled to perfection, the dark wavy strands resting against his collar silky and thick. The mask itself was also made of silk, tied around his head, the black felt fedora highlighting his long eyelashes and the most stunning pair of sapphire eyes I’d ever seen. Even the color of his full lips drew my attention, rosier than normal, although it was obvious he wasn’t wearing any makeup. As my gaze fell to the whip strapped on one hip, a jeweled sword on the other, my imagination got the better of me, the vision of him on a black stallion creating flutters in my stomach.
My God. Did the mask hide his scars? My instincts told me otherwise. Whatever the case, there was no mistaking his dangerous persona. It was almost as strong as his sensual cologne. His answer was a reminder that I was a walking beacon of sin. While my bestie would be thrilled given the ribbing I’d gotten recently for my work ethic, I was beginning to think I’d made a huge mistake in talking to him. I wasn’t the kind of girl to take risks, and just by looking at this man, I sensed he craved them. At least I was impressed he’d guessed right about my regalia.
“Zorro. What a clever choice. Did you ride Tornado on the way here?”
He laughed, his eyes sparkling in the dim light, which caused another series of flutters. “Perhaps I should have. I have owned an Andalusian, an incredible beast.”
“But you are wrong. While the horse was referred to as an Andalusian in the movie, Tornado was actually a Friesian.”
