Cutting Loose. Kristin Hardy
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time. She’d never been to a party quite like this one. The hours floated by in a haze of laughter. Every time she stopped moving, she was drawn into conversation. Men smiled, flirted, and it didn’t matter that she was too nervous to talk much because they did the talking for her.
And always, always when she looked up, the Marquis was watching her with that enigmatic smile. Somehow watching him watch her made her savor it all the more. Would he approach? she wondered. Just a matter of time, the words rose in her mind, and she laughed. Whenever she’d heard women say that, she’d wondered how they could be so absurdly confident, how it was that they didn’t understand how capricious romance could be. Suddenly, though, half intoxicated with her own power, she understood.
Trish raised her sake cup to her lips and tasted only air. It was empty, she realized. Turning to the table that held the carafes of different sake, she studied the information cards and reached out.
“It’s bad luck to pour your own sake.”
She knew it was him before she saw the blue brocade at her elbow. Somehow she’d known he’d have a voice like that, deep, with just a faint whisper of roughness. It was the kind of voice that could mesmerize a woman, the kind of voice that put her on her guard. Taking her time, Trish moved to face him.
And saw the sea green of his eyes.
When she’d been in fifth grade, Trish had gotten hit in the stomach during a dodge-ball game. It had been like this, that sudden, helpless sense of all the air rushing from her lungs, that shocking, indisputable contact. From across the room, he’d intrigued; this close, he riveted. His eyes should have been cool, with their mix of blue and green and gray. Somehow, though, they shone with an intensity, a heat that left her staring helplessly back.
Then they crinkled in humor and released her.
Trish gave a shaky laugh and handed him her cup. “I’ll pour yours if you pour mine,” she said lightly.
“At your service, mistress,” he said, with a bow. “And which would you like? We’ve got bichu wajo, if you like herb overtones,” he read off the information card. “Or how about koi no kawa? That translates as ‘love river,’ by the way,” he added, lifting the carafe temptingly.
“How could I say no to a name like that?” she asked, hit with a sudden, almost unrecognizable urge to flirt.
He poured a tasting into her cup. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”
It was strange being so close to him, Trish thought, and yet somehow familiar, perhaps because they’d been watching each other since she’d arrived. The mask focused her attention on his mouth, which was taut enough to make her certain he was strong, enticing enough to make her wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.
And wonder what his face would look like uncovered.
She sipped the wine and nodded, holding out her cup for more. She watched as he filled her glass. Sandy-brown hair, maybe, or blond, she thought, judging by the Vandyke and the light hairs on the back of his wrist. He had the long fingers and corded tendons of some artisan skilled with his hands, and he passed her the sake with a careless grace.
Trish raised her eyes from her cup to his face. “And you, my lord? What would please you?”
“Choosing just one thing would be the trick,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw. “And will you obey my command if I do?”
Butterflies tickled her stomach. “A dominatrix serving the Marquis? It’s sort of like an irresistible force meeting an immovable object, isn’t it?”
He considered. “Something of an impasse, it’s true.”
“I suppose we could arm wrestle.”
“Hardly seems fair to you.”
“Don’t be too sure,” she disagreed. “All that whipping keeps me in shape.”
His smile widened. “So I see. Maybe I’ll just settle for talking you into pouring me some sake and coming out on the deck.”
She felt a little self-conscious as he watched her choose a cup and pour the wine, but there was pleasure in being the object of his attention. “Your drink, my lord,” she said, inclining her head.
A corner of his mouth twitched as he took the cup she offered and clicked it against hers. “To unexpected pleasures.”
Trish flushed. “Unexpected pleasures,” she echoed.
Outside, the air was faintly cool with the first breath of fall. The dark water of the canal that ran along in front of Sabrina’s house reflected the stars. The trees glimmered with fairy lights, the same winking dots that outlined the curved stone bridges that crossed the water. “It doesn’t seem real. It’s like a little slice of Italy, isn’t it?” Trish leaned on the railing. “Only in L.A.”
“Land of play-acting?” he asked, walking up to stand beside her.
“Indeed.” He was taller than she was, Trish realized, even though she was wearing heels. She caught a whiff of something clean that might have been cologne, or perhaps just soap. Whatever it was, it smelled all male. Adrenaline sang in her veins. “And are you play-acting tonight, Marquis?”
“No more than you. You wear it well, by the way. It almost looks real.”
She sipped her sake and gave him an amused look. “Maybe it is.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe I worked late and didn’t have time to change.”
“So you came straight over here exhausted from all that whipping and getting your feet kissed?” Behind the mask, his eyes gleamed with humor. “Just lost track of time, did you?”
“You know how it is,” Trish said flippantly. “When you love what you do, it doesn’t seem like work.”
He studied her, his head tilted to one side, then shook it briskly. “Nope, don’t buy it. I don’t see you getting off on spanking some balding, overweight CEO.”
“Ah, but that’s just it. You just don’t know, do you?” She propped a hand on the wide, wooden railing and slid the other down the curve of her waist. “’Neath this quiet exterior could lie the soul of a committed disciplinarian,” she said, riding the giddy rush of fun. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the mask that set her free. If she could see his whole face, he’d probably be the kind of good-looking guy who would make her freeze up. Dressed as he was, he was just a pair of hot eyes and a silky voice, a presence in the night. “Just wait until you’re in my clutches and don’t have a choice.”
Immediately, he seemed much closer. “Oh? Am I going to be in your clutches tonight?”
Her breathing tightened. “I suppose that’s up to you.” A beat went by.
“Mmm. The Marquis de Sade as a submissive? No, there would be riots in S&M land.”
Amusement bubbled up and quickly the tension evaporated. “You could tell them you’re finding your feminine side.”
The Marquis laughed. “I’d prefer your feminine side.”
It felt different, Trish realized abruptly. She wasn’t uncomfortable, she wasn’t tongue-tied. She wasn’t miserable and hoping she could leave. She was actually having fun.
And she was turned on.
“Does that mean you’re asking me to take you on as a client, after all?”
“Brings us back to that irresistible force problem, doesn’t it?”
“No dominatrix worth her salt would let a client wear a mask without her permission. Take it off so I can see your face, and then I’ll decide.”
“You want me to take it off?” He set down his sake cup and raised one hand toward his face.
Anticipation had her pulse thudding