His voice is a low rumble – like the sound of thunder in the distance. And I feel every syllable reverberate through my body, sending shockwaves of sensation rolling through me. My mouth is dry, but my palms are damp – though not nearly as wet as my panties. His gaze is so direct, so penetrating. It's like he can see right through me.
The way his gaze slides up and down my body is sexy as hell and makes my already racing heart, hammer inside of me even harder than before. It's more than him just undressing me with his eyes. He's not some high school boy hoping to get a peek under my dress. No, this is the look of a man who wants to devour more than just my body. Much, much more.
And it's that look, that certainty that he wants more than just my flesh, that lights a fire between my thighs.
“You two,” one of the waiters calls from behind us, “get out of here. We're working.”
I turn and glare at the waiter. “This is my house,” I say. “I'll stand wherever I want to, thank you very much.”
The waiter looks at me a moment longer and I can tell that he wants to argue, but wisely bites back his words instead. He quickly turns around and busies himself with a tray of food.
“A woman in charge,” the masked man says. “I like that.”
I turn back to him and grin. “What's your name?”
The man gives me a roguish little smirk. “Telling you my name would defeat the purposes of these masks, wouldn't it?”
“Well, you've been following me around all night,” I say, “so I assume you want me to know who you are.”
He steps closer to me, barely three feet away, and my body reacts to his approach. My pulse is racing, my heart stuttering like I'm having palpitations, and I feel lightheaded. There is a yearning within me, my body already crying out for release.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, darlin',” he says, his voice a deep, rumbling growl. “You know what they say about assumptions,” he says.
My throat is dry and when I open my mouth to speak, no words come out. I give myself a mental kick in the butt and try to calm down. My cheeks are burning and I'm suddenly glad for the masks since I'm sure they're a shade of red not normally found in nature.
I can't let him see the effect he's having on me. That will only give him power over me – well, more power, anyway. I know I need to rein it in. I clear my throat and look at him, trying to figure out who is the man beneath the mask.
“Well, then,” I reply, my tone flirtatious, “if you don't want me to know who you are, I guess there's not much left to talk about.”
I trail my finger along a chest that's strong and toned beneath that tuxedo jacket as I slip around him and out the kitchen door. I make my way through the smaller of the dining rooms on the ground floor and glance back over my shoulder to see him emerging from the kitchen, that enigmatic smile still on his face.
I weave around people in one of the sitting rooms and stop behind a table with a sparkling cider fountain. I casually pour myself a cup as the masked stranger stops on the other side of the table from me. Taking a drink, I grimace a bit as the liquid leaves a trail of fire down my throat. Yeah, somebody spiked it. But, that doesn't stop me from downing a second quickly.
“Drinks not to your liking?” the man asks.
“Who are you?” I respond, a flirty smile back on my lips.
I know that I shouldn't be encouraging this. I probably should have him escorted out – or demanded to know who he is. I don't know what he wants from me. And the fact that he's spent the whole evening following me, watching me from afar, should be raising all sorts of red flags in my head.
For some reason though, I do none of those things. The red flags aren't waving in my head, and I don't feel threatened in the least. In fact, the only thing I do feel – is intrigued. Well intrigued and aroused, if I'm being honest.
He taps the mask on his face. “I thought we already covered that question, darlin'.”
That Southern drawl drips from his lips like the richest Georgia honey, every syllable sending a shiver of pleasure rippling across my skin. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, trying to gain control of myself.
I don't know why this man – this stranger – is having such a profound effect on me, but I need to keep myself under control. Still, I can't deny that being near him is only stoking the fires within me even higher. Making them burn hotter. And filling me with a sense of longing. Of desire. A powerful sense of need.
“You never answered the question,” I say.
He shrugs. “I answered it,” he says. “It’s not my fault you didn't like my answer.”
The buzz of conversation is as loud as it is constant. I guess that's what happens when you pack two hundred and fifty teenagers into a house. I down the rest of my drink and leave the cup on the table. I start to feel a little lightheaded but manage to keep myself from swaying.
I'm not really a drinker – unlike most of my friends – so, it usually doesn't take much for me to feel it. I'm pretty good at hiding it though.
“I know you, don't I?” I ask.
He shrugs again. “Perhaps you do.”
I rack my brain, trying to think. There's something about him that seems so familiar to me. Something about the way he looks and about the sound of his voice. I just can't place it.
“Well, like I said before,” I reply, “I don't talk to strangers, so I guess there's not much left to discuss.”
I turn and walk out of the room and make my way towards the door to the backyard gardens. My cheeks are flushed, my head is spinning, and I need some air. I have no idea what they spiked the sparkling cider with, but it was strong.
The sound of music and the incessant buzz of conversation fades behind me as I walk across the back deck, past the pool, and onto the garden path. The night air still carries a touch of the heat from the afternoon, as summer exhales its final breaths, but it's pleasant. The moon hangs high overhead, casting the world around me in a silvery light as I walk past the fountain and the tall flowering shrubs that line the walkways. I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, and a hundred other flowers that live in our gardens.
My head is starting to clear by the time I make it to the gazebo in the center of the gardens. The house is about a hundred yards behind me and the sounds of the party have all but faded away. I sit down on the bench, basking in the soft, dim glow of the lights in the gazebo, relishing the feel of the air upon my skin.
“I've been following you because I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”
His voice startles me, and I sit up abruptly, adrenaline flooding my body. I hadn't heard him walk up. I had no idea that he was standing there, leaning against the doorway of the gazebo, until he'd spoken. The man moved so quietly, he could have been a ghost.
“Sorry,” he says. “Didn't mean to startle you.”
A small smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. He's not sorry. He knows exactly what he is doing.
“Very smooth line,” I say. “How can you tell I'm beautiful when I'm wearing a mask?”
“Perhaps, this isn't the first time I've seen you,” he says, the rumble of his voice sending goosebumps along my skin. “Bree Longstreet, the sweetest, most perfect Georgia peach to ever grace our state. Full of virtue and purity, from what I hear.”
“Well, I guess you have me all figured out then, don't you?”
“I didn't say that,” he says, that inscrutable smile upon his lips once more. “Only that this may not be the first time I've seen you.”
“Well, you obviously don't know me very well,” I say, shocked at the flirty tilt in my reply. “I'm not the bastion of virtue and purity you seem to think I am.”
His eyes glitter mischievously. Dangerously. He looks at me with a raw, animalistic lust that makes my heart stutter in my breast. I lick my suddenly dry lips and swallow hard, my throat feeling parched. I've never been looked at the way this man is looking at me, and the intensity of his gaze burns a hole right through me. Not to mention the fact that my panties are getting soaked.
“Oh, really now?” he whispers.
I stammer and clear my throat. “Not that I'm a whore or anything,” I reply. “I'm just not the angel people seem to think I am.”