“Wait!” A woman’s voice. “Don’t! Please!”
I jerk to a halt as if pulled by a string. That voice came from Princess Bride. My jaw twitches. Control, man, control. Taking deep breaths, I roll my neck as I count to ten, then twenty.
Prince Rolex is an abusive dick who thinks he can get away with hurting women.
Like my father.
The first time I witnessed his rage, I was five. I’d been on a field trip to the zoo and couldn’t wait to tell my mom about petting a giraffe. I walked in the kitchen, and my father had her pinned against the wall as he hit her. Later she found me under my bed and told me everything was fine, that she loved him more than anything, that I was her sunshine, that I had to keep smiling—
Nope. Not going to think about it.
I rub my scruff. I’m cool; it’s over.
My father’s voice snakes in my head. You’re just like me, boy. Rage lives inside you.
It doesn’t! I shove that idea away and walk to the girl, my eyes scanning her body for injuries. I take off my suit jacket and drape it around her shoulders. “You all right?”
She swallows thickly. “Yeah.”
Before we can say anything else, an attendant arrives, and I give him the rundown. Then I tell him that they’re doing a piss-poor job if they care about consent. The attendant’s head bobs as he dashes off to look for Prince Rolex.
I focus back on the girl, pushing my anger away. She’s tiny and delicate, maybe five-five in heels, her head barely reaching my pecs.
She weaves on her feet. “I said hello to him once—once. Then he tried to dance around me, not with me because I wouldn’t let him, but it didn’t matter; that’s all it took for him to, ugh, think I was into him. I tried to report him—I looked for my friend, but . . .” Her voice trails off.
“You don’t have to explain. Wasn’t your fault. Hopefully he’s out of here by now.”
Her fists clench. “He got aggressive. Wanna know why?”
I expected more of a damsel in distress, but . . . “Tell me.”
She points her index finger as she enunciates her words. “Because God forbid he feel emasculated by a woman’s rejection.”
“May he rot in pantyhose hell. Bastard.”
Her shoulders dip, and she lets out a husky laugh. “Funny. I like you. Oops. I think I called you a pervert earlier. Was that you? Yep, it was. I remember that mask. Sorry. I’d been avoiding him; then I bumped into you and spilled my tequila . . .” Her lush lips form a pout.
I guide her back to the bar. “There’s plenty of tequila here. Let me get you one.”
She says she’s warm and takes off my jacket and hands it back to me with a murmured “Thank you,” then eases down on her stool, placing her hands firmly on the bar. “First, water. A full glass every hour is the rule.”
“Bad hangovers, huh?”
“Migraines. Big. Huge.”
I settle into my seat and order us both waters from the bartender.
“It’s going to leave a bruise,” I say, my hands flexing as I stare at her shoulder.
She brushes at the fingerprints, then shrugs. “I’ve seen worse. You, my friend, were awesome. Strong. Fierce. And I’m not saying that because I might be a tiny bit drunk. Thank you so much—you’re, like, really muscled and hot. Oops, I didn’t mean to say that. By the way, if you saw me crying before, don’t tell anyone. I don’t cry. I really don’t. Yes, my eyes leaked, but it was allergies.” She glances back at the dance floor and frowns. “Dammit. That’s a lie. I did cry. The stupid DJ just had to go and play ‘All of Me.’”
“Let me guess. Wedding song you’d picked out for the big day?”
She turns to me, her rosebud mouth parting like petals unfurling. Her cheekbones are high, her raven hair thick and heavy as it falls to the small of her back. There’s a perfect widow’s peak in the center of her hairline, creating a face that’s heart shaped.
“How did you know?”
“You’re in a real wedding dress, and your, um, eyes leaked. Something ended your engagement? Today was your wedding date? Am I close?”
“It sucks that I’m that predictable. Yes, today’s the day.” She weaves a little on her seat, and I slowly ease her back.
“I’ve got you.”
“Thanks.” A long exhalation comes from her chest as she toys with a gold locket around her neck. My brow furrows as I gaze at it. The thick chain, the square design, the bird etching on the front. There’s something familiar—
“Let’s forget about my cheating ex,” she declares, stopping my train of thought. “You slayed the pantyhose dragon. You’re my knight in shining armor.” She reads my name tag, then waves her hands around in the air and claps her palms together horizontally. “We need a redo. Take two: when Princess Bride meets Prince Player. A naughty nighttime story about a masquerade ball. Ready?”
I laugh. “Sure.”
She cups her chin with her hand and smiles. “Hi, handsome. Nice mask. Love the feathers. Suits you. You come here often?”
“My first time, I’m a guest, and my friends chose the mask.” I stick my hand out, and her small one takes mine gingerly, a hum going down my spine as our fingers graze. “Nice to meet you. So what do you do, Princess Bride?”
“Um, I wanted this night to be anonymous, so . . .”
A girl after my own heart. “I shouldn’t have even asked. We can guess about each other,” I offer. “We don’t have to confirm if it’s true, and it might be fun. Wanna play?”
She turns on her seat to face me, her legs fitting in between my thighs. “Yes, I’m very creative.”
And hot.
I graze my eyes over the neckline of her dress, the skin shimmering with some kind of glitter that accentuates the creamy rise of her tits. They’re small enough to fit in my hand. Do her nipples match the deep red of her lips?
One step at a time, Tuck.
First, you flirt. Then you fuck.
“Okay, let’s warm up by using people here,” I say.
“Got it. We’re gonna make up stuff about people we think is true. You go first.”
I glance around the room, and my gaze lands on Deacon and Snow White as they come back into the club area.
“Not the guy,” she says, her gaze following mine. “The girl.”
I study Snow White for a few beats. There’s a confident air about her, a sense of power. “Hmm, she’s an executive who gets her kinks out in the dungeon. She loves the beach, jazz, and pumpkin spice lattes.”
She giggles, but come on—what girl doesn’t enjoy the beach, jazz, and fancy coffee? Plus I know they left the bar area to visit the dungeon.
“Fine. You try,” I say.
She studies Snow White while I drink her in. When she bumped into me earlier, I didn’t have the chance to appreciate her. She’s not the soft-and-sweet pretty I usually go for; she’s striking.
My body buzzes, feeling drawn to her.
Perhaps it’s the contrast of her hair with the white mask and dress. Maybe it’s her fire. Maybe it’s the fact that even though I can’t see her entire face, it’s easy to imagine how beautiful she is.