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“Polly cut his hair. I hope you don’t mind.”
I don’t mind in the slightest. Quinn actually looks hotter—something I believed wasn’t humanly possible. “Not at all. It suits him.”
“She said it’s called a faux-hawk or something. I have no idea what that is.” Cynthia chuckles, reaching for two glasses filled with orange juice.
“You don’t drink?” I ask, accepting the flute glass.
“No, not really, it messes with my medication,” she confesses, looking happily around the room, obviously pleased with the sight before her.
Medication? This is news to me. I wonder what she’s on. But this isn’t really the time nor the place to ask.
I suddenly see someone who no doubt has to be Polly. She’s wearing an extremely tight ball gown, resembling Belle’sBeauty and the Beastgown. However, while Belle’s dress is yellow, Polly’s is a deep, fiery red.
She looks beautiful.
Her hair is styled into a messy twist, but long curls drop down from the elegant weave, shaping her face and long neck. The dress has about four hoops underneath it and is so wide she has a permanent barrier of about four feet around her. But with her frame, it makes her look majestic. The bodice has silver jewels encrusted across the neckline and scattered sporadically throughout the skirt.
A young suitor reaches for her gloved fingers, kissing her lightly on the back of the hand. Polly flutters her long eyelashes underneath her red mask, loving the attention.
“Cynthia,” an older gentleman with a curly mustache says, reaching for her hand. “You look ravishing.”
That’s my cue to excuse myself because I need to find Quinn and make out with him like yesterday.
I search the wall he stood against but am greeted by an older couple eating canapés.
Disappointed, I do a quick sweep but come up empty.
Deciding to take a walk and look for him, I enter a few rooms, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I start to panic. Has Polly locked him away in her bedroom? Just as I begin to envision every possible kidnapping scenario, a familiar pair of warm hands lace around my middle, drawing my back to a very taut, divinely scented body.
I instantly sag when I press against him. My body tingles in all the right places.
“You look so beautiful,” Quinn whispers against my ear, his lips tickling my lobe.
I need to turn around and face him, but his grip implies I’m not going anywhere. He drags me to a darkened alcove.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter, my eyes slipping shut when his lips trail delicate kisses along my arched neck.
My skin instantly heats from the delicious contact, and my body demands I smash my lips to his and never let go. I turn, and thankfully Quinn loosens his hold as we both dive for the other, pawing the shit out of our fancy clothes, which are an unwanted barrier.
Quinn reaches for my mask, ripping it away, as the stupid thing is making it hard to keep up with his frenzied kisses. I run my fingers through his hair and am happy to feel there is still a little length for me to grab onto and pull.
He moans into my mouth, and holy shit, the sound hits me just the right way.
I want him like I’ve never wanted him before, and as his hand creeps under my skirt, caressing my bare ass cheek, I dare say he feels the same way.
I’m breathless as we recklessly kiss, but I need to pull away before I pass out from lack of oxygen.
“I want you,” I whisper, unashamed by my blatant confession as I stare into his eyes.
Quinn’s hand slips out from under my dress, and he takes a calming breath, slipping off his mask. “Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands to myself? You’re driving me crazy, and then you go and say something like that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I know it is, and that’s what makes me the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.”
I smile at his openness, as I love that we can talk freely like this and not be embarrassed or ashamed.
Back home, Quinn and I weren’t like this. Quinn had some notion he had to stay away from me because of Tristan. He thought it best at the time, but now I can’t imagine not being this way with him. To have to hide my feelings for him feels almost unnatural and wrong.
