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The one he’d plucked from her mask that fateful night.
The one he’d slipped along her wrist, riveting her attention.
The one he’d slid down her body to stroke her clit.
Her heart had thudded such a rapid tattoo she’d gone lightheaded. At that moment, she hadn’t known what to do but run and hope her colleagues and their guests couldn’t see the severe flush of red across her face. She’d been in front of a boardroom full of investors—serious, stern-faced men and women who held her career in their palms—and never felt a hint of heat in her cheeks. She’d been berated by superiors, interrogated by consultants, questioned by coworkers, and had always remained cool, calm, and collected. And yet just one flash of a feather and she’d grown breathless, dizzy and mindless, just like some silly schoolgirl facing her crush.
Or a woman aroused by the escort who had gone down on her like he was starving for her.
Jay.
Although she doubted that was his real name. Just like the color of his eyes, it had only been part of the fantasy.
She’d never thought she’d see him again. She’d thought he was lost to the night. Hidden from her forever behind a gold mask. But now she’d seen him without his mask, and somehow, his olive skin was more flawless, his cheekbones more prominent, his jawline more chiseled. The green eyes from the Masquerade Ball were gone, but somehow his dark blue eyes were sharper, brighter, more intelligent. And even though she could see more of him, he seemed even more of a mystery to her.
And that drove her wild.
That night, as she was running down the stairs toward the mansion’s exit, she wondered if she had cried out the safe word and stopped the session because of loyalty to Rex. In a way, she’d wanted to cling to that notion. Because if it was true, then everything could remain the same. She and Rex would remain engaged. The wedding would be large but not ostentatious, well-appointed but not opulent. Members of her firm and Rex’s would attend the wedding, and the New York Times would write about it. She and Rex would go on to have two point five children, a summer cottage in the Hamptons and season passes to the Met, and vacation in Bali. They would be the power couple in New York.
And she would be miserable.
No. She hadn’t run because of loyalty to Rex.
But she still wasn’t sure why she had. She’d told herself it was so she wouldn’t think of him when she was with Rex, but that no longer rang true.
Later that night, when she’d arrived home, she’d packed a bag and moved into a penthouse at the Plaza. Within a week, she found a lovely brownstone in the Upper East Side and had all her belongings moved there. Rex hadn’t complained. Hadn’t tried to get her back. Hadn’t really cared.
Neither had she.
She was finally returning to a life fully in her control, one in which she wasenough.
She’d been a fool to think she could have anything lasting with a man.
She’d been a fool to believe there was any man who could give her what she needed.
Not lust but love. Or even better, both lust and love.
She’d been a fool for a time, thrown off course, drifting away.
Never again.
Not for Jay. And not for any other man.
13
One of Hardy Priese’s minions stepped in Skylar’s path, trying to get her attention, but she ducked her head and pushed by. She was in no shape to speak with anyone. She needed to take the precious few minutes she had to gather her composure. The press meeting she had scheduled in a few minutes was an important one. It simply wouldn’t do if she arrived flushed and discombobulated. Time for her to pull up her big girl undies and collect herself from the shock of seeing Jay.
How did the man, a virtualstranger, get under her skin so easily?
And yet the word “stranger” didn’t feel correct. There was a knowing that had passed between them that night. A connection that had slipped underneath their masks to penetrate their cores.
Why was he here?
Most likely, he was working. He’d escorted someone here, and later, he’d fuck her. Maybe he’s already given whoever it was an orgasm or two.
More unlikely . . . he’d come looking for her. Why?
Had he guessed that she still thought of him? Could he sense he lingered in her dreams, night after night? Did he know that each night she slipped between her silk sheets and closed her eyes, and it was always him she saw? Earlier, when he’d dangled that feather between his fingers, could he see how she’d wondered again and again what would have happened if she hadn’t pushed him away?
