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LURED BY THE pulse of sex and anonymity, Amanda Jenner moved through the dusky bar, brushing against silk, satin, cotton, and flesh, each graze feeding the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Blue lights misted over sweaty strangers lost in the seductive bump and grind of foreplay and hoping for a night of erotic pleasure. If Amanda tried hard enough, she could smell tomorrow’s scent du jour—regret. Tonight she had no room for the confidence-crushing worry of what tomorrow would bring. She scanned the crowd, as she had in the previous three bars, immediately dismissing anyone who wasn’t in costume. Her world was full of boring men who excelled at wining, dining, and boring her to sleep. Ten years of romance novels and movies had led her astray, looking for the elusive needle in a haystack. She’d led herself astray, always the careful thinker, careful dresser. Or as her younger sister, Ally, would say, Careful kisser, careful lover. Ally, however, had taken charge of her sex life—and she’d found the perfect man.
Now it’s my turn.
Amanda was on the prowl, in search of a man who could wine and dine her, make her laugh, think, and feel—for one night. A man who not only knew how to get a woman off, but enjoyed doing it many times before taking his fill. If not for Ally, she wouldn’t have known guys like that existed in real life. But now that she did, she wanted one, and the masquerade bar crawl was the perfect venue for her solo coming-out party.
Her eyes caught on the dark figure of a man, big and powerful, standing a few inches above the crowd. He leaned toward a woman wearing a slinky little black dress and a mask that covered her from nose to forehead, like Amanda’s. Amanda’s pulse quickened—for the broad, strapping, masked man, not for her competition. Like any good paralegal, she’d done her research, trading romance novels for The Handbook: Release Your Inner Temptress and stalking Internet sites for tips on flirting and taking charge of her sexuality. Then she’d practiced.
Excessively.
She’d spent weeks mentally role-playing her new vixen persona, using her boss, and secret crush of three years, as her prey. He was sex and sin all wrapped up in Armani and blessed with a beautifully smart brain—and off-limits. He never mixed business with pleasure, which made him the perfect fantasy playmate.
The masked man turned, giving Amanda a better view of his wide chest and shoulders, draped in black leather. I’d like to be draped in you. A shiver chased the thought. Was she really doing this? She inhaled a shaky breath and took in the silver mask dipping low on his cheeks, hiding some of his thick, sexy dark scruff, and riding up over his nose to his hairline. His gaze shifted, catching her staring. Her nipples tightened with awareness. The unfamiliar sensation startled her, momentarily shaking her confidence again. She averted her eyes to catch her breath, reminding herself this was what she was here for—a flash of fire, a forbidden fuck.
Pushing past the frightening thunder inside her chest, she curled her fingers around the hem of her treacherously short skirt. She couldn’t chicken out. Not after weeks of research and pep talks. Especially not after finally finding the courage to get waxed from head to toe, including all the painful parts in between, which was easily as scary as standing in a crowd of strangers searching for someone to have meaningless sex with.
Oh God, am I really going to do this?
She chanced another look at Leatherman, now casually leaning against a pillar and brazenly watching her. A dizzying mix of thrill and fear soared through her. She wasn’t a quitter. Careful Amanda fought hard, but vixen Amanda thrust her aside. She was doing this. She was doing him.
If she could stop shaking like a frigging leaf. She lowered her chin, holding Leatherman’s steady gaze. One, two…I can’t breathe…Three, four…She tore her eyes away. Damn it. The book said to count to seven.
She’d build up. Practice on a few unsuspecting men before going in for the kill.
