My Secret Life. Lori Wilde
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flutes of fizzy champagne. The music was so loud she could barely think, and the hum of hundreds of voices was even louder.
Where was Richard?
For one brief moment, she thought about going home, but then quickly reconsidered, recalling how much money she’d spent on this seduction. She reached for a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and took a big swallow to ward off her building nervousness.
The decadently arousing song “Ooh La La” by the British group Goldfrapp came over the speakers, oozing glam sex with a throbbing bass. She found herself twitching her hips in time to the seductive tune and scanning the crowd for anyone she knew.
But the disguises had done their jobs. She recognized no one. Feeling giddy at the weirdness of all her friends looking like strangers, she finished off the champagne and set her empty glass on a nearby table.
Body tingling with taboo sensations, Katie winnowed around Spider-Man chatting up Cleopatra, slipped past Mickey Mantle talking about the New England Patriots with Elvis Presley and then put a hand to her waist-long auburn wig to make sure it was still on straight.
The eyeholes of the wide mask that covered more than half her face were too narrow and she was having problems seeing much of anything in her peripheral vision. It was stifling hot, even though there wasn’t much to her costume, with so many people sardined into the room.
She looked for a side exit. Maybe Richard had stepped outside for some fresh air. It might take her an hour to find him in this madhouse.
Disheartened, she settled her shoulder against the doorjamb leading into the room where the buffet was laid out. The next time another waiter circled in front of her, she reached for a second glass of champagne.
Could Richard have already left the party?
For the first time she noticed that men were brazenly staring at her. Lots of men, in fact.
Katie took a quick peak down at her costume. Good gosh. When she’d dressed so hurriedly at Sharper Designs she hadn’t realized exactly how low the neckline dipped. Her cleavage was practically spilling out of her dress.
Flustered, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from the buffet line, only to find more ogling men. She hurried into the ballroom, heart thumping with anxious excitement.
Apparently a French-maid was every man’s fantasy. She was accustomed to masculine attention, but not this intense. Men with cloaked identities lusting after her.
Where was Richard?
Tanisha was right. Pursuing Richard at the party was a bad idea. Go home.
“Don’t panic,” Katie muttered under her breath. “This is a costume party. They don’t recognize you any more than you recognize them.”
And then that’s when she saw him.
Mayor Delancy sweeping through the crowd with his bodyguards, headed toward the front door. Even in his cowboy costume it was impossible to miss the larger-than-life mayor.
But standing in the mayor’s wake was the man she’d been searching for. The very Caribbean pirate she’d come here to seduce.
Resentment pummeled Liam’s stomach like a heavyweight boxer finishing off his wobbly-kneed opponent. Reflexively, he curled his fist around the birth certificate autographed by his biological father. The desire to punch something was so strong he could taste it.
Raw, bitter, black.
For the last twelve years he’d worked toward this moment, worked and waited, and Delancy had pulled the rug right out from under him. What should he do now?
You’ll go at him again. You picked the wrong time, the wrong place, that’s all.
His mother had never wanted him to do this. She was happy now, married to a great guy and living on a farm in upstate New York. She thought he should just forget about Finn Delancy and be proud of everything he’d accomplished without his old man’s help.
But it wasn’t that simple for Liam. He couldn’t let it go. Anger twisted him up inside. The place was filled with privileged blue bloods, no doubt many of whom thought they could treat people any way they wanted and get away with it.
Liam blazed a hard gaze around the room. Frivolous, pampered rich people throwing silly costume parties. If they really wanted to give to charity, just write a check and don’t waste money on lavish celebrations.
You’re richer than most of them.
Yes, but he’d gotten his money the hard way. He’d earned every penny of it, not had it handed to him on a platinum platter.
Adrenaline, anger and frustration coursed through him. He needed to dissipate these feelings. Needed to get a firm grip on his emotions. Exercise. He needed exercise. A run in the park never failed to give him back his sense of control.
He had to get the hell out of here.
But then something caught his eye that made Liam forget everything except the fact he hadn’t had sex in almost a year.
There, on the other side of the ballroom, stood a gorgeous vixen in a French maid costume and she was staring straight at him, as if he were the man of her most forbidden midnight fantasies.
Coyly, she tossed her auburn wig.
Liam drove his hand through his own wig.
She licked her lips.
Drawing in a ragged breath, he hooked his thumbs through his belt loop.
Her eyes widened, and he saw a telltale red flush spread from her generous cleavage up her long slender throat.
His body hardened and he shifted, widening his stance, pointing his boots in her direction.
She lowered her eyelashes, dropped her hands. His gaze fell to the creamy inside of her wrist, and then tracked up her smooth, delicate skin to her shoulders. She peeked at him again and then slyly winked. Even with the barrier of her black mask cloaking most of her face, he was absolutely certain she was winking at him.
Boldly, Liam winked back.
Why the hell not? Sex was better than jogging for blowing off steam and after what had happened before with Delancy, he could certainly do with the distraction.
And she was one fine distraction with those shapely legs encased in lust-arousing black fishnet stockings. He could easily imagine himself tugging that silky material over the curve of her calf.
She angled him a long, lingering look.
He caught it, held it.
Quickly, she looked away again, but there was no mistaking her invitation.
Come play with me.
His blood revved hot.
She turned and walked away.
The thundering in his veins intensified. Curiosity grabbed him by the short hairs and hung on tight. Who was this mysterious woman? Did he know her? Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
She made her way through the crowd, hips rolling seductively, as aloof as the blue-blooded princess she undoubtedly was. When she got to the doorway, she paused. Her long fingers stroked the door casing as she tossed him a glance over her shoulder. She looked damned provocative, even in a room chock-full of people dressed in suggestive garb.
Follow me, her eyes whispered.
Normally, Liam wasn’t the type of guy who allowed his libido to overrule his common sense. But he was horny and desperately needing something to salve his battered ego, and she was hot and willing.
Why not go for it?
You shouldn’t let your anger at Delancy drive you to casual sex with a frisky member of the Ladies League simply to prove you can bed the social elite.