Erin My father often joked there were only two guarantees in life, death and taxes. Now I'm certain misery can be added to that list. Although I'm not in the mood to be here, I decided to face this last demon before I start my new life. Neil opens the limo door and I climb out, grateful I've earned the right to at least see the exterior of the structure the masquerade is being held at. It's a Victorian. An imposing three-story home with an asymmetric shape and Mansard roof with gables facing in different directions.

"Where are we?" I ask.

He smiles, tightlipped. "I can't divulge our location, Ms. Covington."

"I know." It was worth a try.

"May I suggest putting your mask on now?"

Yes, I must help preserve that coveted anonymity most Lazarus members cherish. After tonight, I'll relinquish my membership. But until then, why not enjoy the opulence? My silvery Columbina metal and macrame half mask with blue and gold crystals is a work of art. I position it on my face and Neil ties the silk ribbons behind my head. My black lace mini dress ends just below the knee and leaves little to imagination. I chose it with purpose. The complete seduction of Jeffrey Whitmore.

I spin around. "How do I look?"

His smile is answer enough. "Ready?" he asks.

I follow him up the stairs and through the main entryway. The reception area has been transformed into a scene from the Carnival of Venice. Stone and granite fountains grace the middle of the room, the cascading water illuminated by soft white lights. The only other source of light is from the dozens of bronze candle stands.

A small stage is located near the fireplace and several people dressed in white togas are preforming, entertaining a large crowd. The other side of the room is dedicated to ballroom dancing and I'm immediately captivated by the orchestra and waltzing couples.

"There's a casino in the next room," Neil points out as he escorts me toward the library. "And a buffet is set up on the patio."

Once again I find myself standing in front of the library door. Neil knocks and Dr. Mallory greets me with a warm smile. "Welcome, Ms. Covington." He gives a formal bow. "Thank you, Neil."

Kevin is wearing a black tuxedo with a scarlet bowtie. Understated elegance, but his physique is so incredibly attractive I couldn't imagine him in anything else.

"Happy Halloween," I say, stepping inside.

He closes the door and I find my way to the same stiff wingback chair I occupied at my first party.

"Care for a brandy?" he asks.

"I'd prefer champagne."

"Ah," he says. "Feeling festive tonight?"

Should I share my intentions now? "Hard not to be. The reception area is gorgeous."

"As are you." He hands me a crystal flute, and I take a delicate sip.

"Before we join the celebration, I thought it best to inform you that your suite is ready. No detail was overlooked."

Heat rushes into my cheeks. My fantasy come to life. I'm confident it's beautiful, although wasted on me.

"However . . ."

I look at Dr. Mallory.

"Jeffrey Whitmore will be late."

I swallow my champagne, nearly choking. Hearing his name does something strange to me. Although my connection with Jeffrey is purely physical, knowing he was going to be here provided some comfort. Dr. Mallory is a wonderful ally, but he's more of a mentor, not the type of person I can talk to on a personal level, not as friends.

"Are you all right, Erin?"

"Yes," I lie, emptying my gla.s.s. "Excited about the party."

"Good." He approaches and offers his hand. "May I have the first dance?"

"Yes."

We leave the library together, but I catch a familiar whiff of cologne or incense, and my mind is suddenly preoccupied by Foster Wagner.

Foster Nothing could have prepared me to see Erin after our argument yesterday. I'm leaning against the wall near the fireplace in the reception room dressed in the same cla.s.sic white mask, black cloak, and tricorne hat I wear every year. She won't recognize me. My face is completely covered. I watch as she leaves the dance floor, a brilliant smile on her face. She's awe-inspiring, and if I have my way before the night ends, her clothes will end up on the floor in my bedroom.

She belongs to me. Those perfect legs should be locked around my waist while I f.u.c.k her into nirvana. I walk to the bar and pick up a gla.s.s of champagne and head to where she's standing with Kevin.

He gives me a serious look before he turns to Erin. "One of many admirers I don't get the privilege of introducing to you tonight. Enjoy the evening, Ms. Covington." He turns to go.

"Wait." She rests her palm on his arm and leans close. "You're going to leave me with a complete stranger?"

"I am sworn to secrecy tonight, Ms. Covington. Although I know this man's true ident.i.ty, unless he chooses to reveal himself, I am unable to help."

Erin looks at me. "How can you drink if there's no mouth hole in your mask?"

I offer her the champagne and she smirks. "I suppose you're going to remain silent, too?"

I nod.

"Great." She takes a long sip. "Do you speak sign language? Are you a mind reader?"

I grin. There's the sharp tongue I've grown to admire over the last few weeks. Mind reading isn't necessary. I know she loves me.

"This isn't what I expected," she says. "The decorations are amazing and all the women . . ."

I follow her gaze. She likes the ballroom. I offer my arm.

"Are you asking me to dance?"

I nod again.

"Do you always wear a mask?"

I shake my head. G.o.d I want to kiss her.

"Will I ever get a chance to find out who you are?"

Instead of answering, I place my hand at the small of her back and gently guide her through the crowd. As we approach the dance floor, the orchestra begins to play "Shostakovich Waltz No 2," a Russian piece I'm very fond of. I immediately lead her into the box step, complete our first quarter turn, then we swing and sway in perfect unison. I haven't danced with her since our winter ball in high school. She's incredibly agile. I'm sure Thomas will get endless opportunities to hold her this way, but he'll never appreciate her, never love her the way I do.

I dip her, bringing her back up a little too abruptly, holding her too close and too tight for a mere stranger. She doesn't reject me, but repositions her hand behind my shoulder, following my lead, keeping perfect step with the tempo, head held high.

We complete two more dances together before she fans herself. "Thank you." She's flushed. "I'm ready for a break."

I escort her back to the main room.

"Where did you learn to dance like that," she asks, sitting on a nearby chair.

I can't say anything or she'll guess who I am.

"Sorry, it's easy to forget the no-talking thing." She smiles. "Would you flag a server? I need a gla.s.s of water."

I spot a waiter a few yards away and leave to get her drink. Kevin is waiting for me.

"Everything running smoothly?" I ask.

"Perfect," he says. "I have a message for Ms. Covington."

I lift my mask. "Whitmore?"

"He agreed to skip the party."

"Good."

"However, he did have this note delivered."

Kevin shows me a sealed envelope. "Did you read it?"

"I'm many things," he says, "but opening a lady's personal correspondence is something I refuse to do."

Sometimes I think Kevin was born in the wrong century. "I appreciate your discretion. Please deliver the letter and this gla.s.s of ice water to our beautiful friend." I pull my mask down. "I want to check-in with the security team before I re-join Erin."

Chapter 23.

Erin "Not coming?" I know I shouldn't be upset. Something important must have come up. Jeffrey doesn't strike me as the kind of man to miss out on anything. "Is he okay?"

"We had a brief discussion on the phone. But he felt it important enough to have this delivered." Kevin hands me an envelope. "Perhaps this is the right time to visit your suite."

"My suite?" I click my tongue, humiliated by the notion I'm here for nothing. Imagine what it feels like attending a s.e.x gala with no one to sleep with. Of course I wasn't going to f.u.c.k Jeffrey, but I have my pride. "A party of one."

"I'm truly sorry," Dr. Mallory says. "If you are in need of companionship . . ." He studies me for a moment. "No one knows."

"You do."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. Jeffrey Whitmore is a personal friend. This is highly irregular. He's a devoted member."

I can't stifle my laughter. Devoted? Jeffrey just likes to f.u.c.k. "I understand."

"Your room is on the second floor."

I follow him upstairs, admiring the artwork and expensive furnishings along the way. We stop at the sixth door on the right. He pulls a key card from his breast pocket. "If you need anything, dial zero on the phone or use the intercom. I'm only seconds away."

I wait for him to make it halfway down the hall before I brave going inside. My stomach is in knots. I'm still tormented by the fight I had with Foster. My s.e.x G.o.d cancelled our date. And Thomas Kingsley is about to become my fiance. I close and lock the door. I drop Jeffrey's note on a table by the door. Later, I don't want to know why he stood me up right now.

I explore the room as if it's a museum, pausing in front of each piece of furniture, noting every detail. The king-sized panel bed with an arched woven rattan headboard is covered with a plush white comforter that matches the thick cream-colored carpet. I'm shocked to find metal O-rings attached to the sides. The bed is reinforced by a metal frame. I turn on the lamp on the nightstand, then kneel on the mattress, peeking behind the headboard. Oh G.o.d. Straps? Although Catalina unleashed my appet.i.te for kink, I'm unsure what my limits are.

I've spent weeks studying hard and soft limits. Dominates and subordinates have their own language and live in a world I'm not ready to be a part of yet. But light bondage intrigues me. The idea of being restrained with soft cuffs definitely turns me on.

Overstuffed pillows are arranged on the floor in front of the lit fireplace. I gaze into the flames, consumed by similar heat, wishing my unhappy circ.u.mstances were different. Beyond the fire is an en-suite bathroom. I flip the light on, loving the modern interior, light-colored granite flooring, a roman tub and standalone shower, double sinks, and a separate toilet.

I return to the bedroom, ready to focus on the centerpiece of my fantasy, the eighteenth century copper tub near the hearth. I dip my fingers into the steaming hot water, Dr. Mallory must have had it filled right before he encouraged me to come upstairs. It's perfect. White and pink rose petals are floating on top of the water. I don't care how indulgent it is, this is my dream, to be bathed and touched all over, awakened from my long dull sleep. I've never felt so aware before, not until Foster touched me that night on the beach.

There's a small table next to the tub with an array of body washes and oils and a pile of fluffy towels. A black blindfold, similar to the one I wore my first night in the limousine, is on top of the linens. Katie taught me half the experience is mental. Men are inherently visual, but women . . . The mental f.u.c.k is as relevant as the act itself.

I slowly undress, stashing my clothes in the top dresser drawer. I'm not going to go home without indulging myself a little. I plan on taking a long bath and pleasuring myself if that's what it takes to create a lasting memory. Admiring the silver and pink-jeweled nipple clamps I'm wearing in the mirror, I slip out of my G-string. The clamps hurt a little, but it serves as a useful reminder of what I almost did.

I pad to the table beside the tub and pick up the blindfold. Foster and Jeffrey are weighing heavy on my mind. Why did I ever allow myself to get involved with the club? I drop the blindfold and choose a vanilla body wash before I climb inside the tub. Water sloshes over the edges as I settle down, submersing myself.

I close my eyes and recline against the back rest. The fragrant water overwhelms my senses and very slowly my tense muscles start to feel better. All that's missing is a ma.s.seuse. I try to avoid thinking about Foster, but it's hopeless. He's with me forever. Even if all I possessed were our memories from high school, I still couldn't banish him from my mind or heart. The connection is too strong.

I let out a moan as my fingers glide over my p.u.s.s.y, seeking release. I mimic what Foster has done to me a half dozen times. One finger, then two. "Foster." And as if his image springs to life outside my mind . . .

Someone knocks on the door.

I shoot up in the tub and reach for one of the oversized towels on the table. My legs are shaking. Another knock. I take a deep breath and barely manage to cover myself before the door opens. Dr. Mallory? Jeffrey?

Fear sweeps through me when I find the man I danced with standing inside my suite.

"Who let you in here?" I eyeball the out-of-reach intercom face. Please G.o.d, don't let me end up a crime statistic. If I'm going to make a move, I better do so now.

It all happens so fast, I step out of the tub and run for the intercom. But the intruder is too fast, he catches me midway and I scream.

"Erin!" He catches my fist before I strike him.

"Foster?" Am I dreaming?

My legs feel weak and I can't move. Foster releases my hand and my towel drops. He takes a step back and lifts his mask, then growls as his eyes sweep over me. I don't understand what's going on, why he's here. That mask and cape are an exact match to the man's I met in the reception room. Where's Dr. Mallory? How did Foster know where to find me?

I feel lightheaded and start to shake all over. "I'm so cold."

He unties his cape and quickly wraps it around me. "You're in shock, Erin."

Maybe I am. But that can't explain away the pressure in my chest or answer my questions. Foster guides me to the bed and I sit down on the edge of the mattress. "Are you a member, too?"