CORINNE
Did… did he just call me a kitten?
Kitten?!
The remote in my hand practically begged me to press the button as I glanced back at the door, already mapping out an escape.
I reached for the wall switch instead and dimmed the lights even more, letting the shadows swallow the room.
It took real effort not to scoff.
After all that stiff, high-and-mighty act, who would’ve thought Lucian Delacroix was this desperate for a little excitement.
This beautiful piece of information could fuel a week’s worth of headlines.
There’s no way he would know it’s me.
Not as long as I keep my mouth shut.
The lighting is terrible now, barely enough to make out shapes and the mask does a solid job of hiding half my face.
Exactly how I need to be.
I’ve been running through ways to get into Lucian Delacroix’s space without setting off alarms.
Maybe I don’t need some elaborate plan after all.
Maybe the answer is standing right in front of me.
All it’ll take is a little alcohol, a little charm and a lot of patience.
Get him drunk enough to forget himself and then sit back and listen while he spills his guts and all his dirty secrets.
As I moved deeper into the room to get to the sound system, I pretended not to see his eyes on me the entire time I raised the volume.
When I moved to the center of the room, I wrapped my hand around the pole planted there and finally looked at him.
Earlier, his voice had been teasing, amused even.
Now, his face was unreadable and stone cold.
The bar to his left gleamed with whiskey, vodka…enough to knock him off balance if I played it right.
I shoved the thought aside and tried to find rhythm, twirling around the pole.
I didn’t even make it to a full minute when he stood.
The sheer size of him made the movement impossible to miss as he crossed the room in long strides and reached the sound system.
Before I could react, he yanked the cord out of the wall.
The music died instantly, throwing the room into a deafening silence.
“What are you—” I started, then stopped.
Fuck.
What happened to not speaking.
He didn’t look at me as he walked back to the couch.
He sat down back like he’d never moved at all then lifted a finger and pointed to the single armchair opposite him.
“Have a seat.”
Like hell I would.
I softened my tone immediately, coating it in sweetness and praying it would work.
“I was sent here to entertain you.”
”No, you were sent here because I paid for your presence.” He said flatly.
“I never said anything about dancing.”
I muttered a curse under my breath then slowly moved forward until I dropped onto the couch, keeping just enough distance between us to breathe.
But instead of talking, he just stared at me, like he could see past the mask, past the act, straight into the one thing I couldn’t afford for him to notice.
My fingers twisted in my lap before I could stop them and a cold bead of sweat slid down my spine.
I needed to do something.
Anything.
“Let me get you a drink,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice as I stood.
“That’s kind of the point of tonight, isn’t it?”
Before I could move, he spoke.
“Why do you wear the mask?”
My hand lifted on instinct to the said mask, brushing its edge.
“What?”
He leaned back slightly, eyes locked on me.
He knew I’d heard him.
I let out a laugh that sounded so fake the second it left my mouth.
“I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of mystery?” I shrugged trying to sell it.
“Isn’t that the appeal?”
He didn’t answer.
Just hummed.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Probably filing my answer somewhere I couldn’t reach.
The scrutiny of his gaze was getting to me and my palms were becoming clammy.
I stole another glance at the door, my mind already running numbers.
How many seconds would it take me to reach the door?
How fast could I move before he stopped me?
I was too focused to see him move.
One second I was standing there, the next his hand closed around my wrist and yanked.
I stumbled forward and landed hard in his lap, a sharp yelp tearing out of me as my hands slammed into his chest.
Too solid.
Too warm.
“What the hell—”
The words died in my throat.
Up close, everything about him felt amplified.
The heat rolling off his body.
The steady rise and fall of his chest under my palms.
The dark and intoxicating scent clinging to him, like aged wood and leather with a faint trace of spice that lingered just long enough to make my head feel light.
For half a second, I forgot where I was and why I was here.
Then reality snapped back into place.
Panic surged and I tried to pull away, bucking against him but his grip tightened instantly, fingers locking around my wrists like steel.
This was wrong.
This was very wrong.
His hand lifted for my mask and my breath caught…if he touched it, if he pulled it off, everything would be over.
But instead of reaching my mask, he placed the back of his hand against my forehead.
I froze.
“What…what are you doing?” I whispered.
His sharp eyes searched my face, measuring something I couldn’t see.
Then he pulled his hand back and glared at me.
“It feels normal,” he said in that annoying monotone voice.
Normal?
What was that even supposed to mean?
My skin prickled with confusion as I stared at him.
Normal how?
Normal compared to what?
I was about to knee him in the balls when he let go.
One second his grip was iron, the next he shoved me off his lap and stood up like nothing had happened.
I stumbled back on the couch, barely catching myself.
Before I could even process it, he was adjusting his coat.
Completely unfazed.
And then he headed for the door.
Is he seriously just leaving?
I was still trying to get my balance when he stopped with his hand rested on the doorframe as he glanced back at me.
“Ahh, lest I forget,” he said calmly, pausing at the door.
“That shoulder throw earlier?
Clean execution.
Bravo.”
Then he walked out and shut the door behind him.
I sat there in bewilderment with my heart racing and hands trembling.
What the hell just happened?
Was I…was I just played at my own game?!