Sweet and Salty (Sweet Water #3)

1. Zoe

CHAPTER 1

Zoe

I swear this club is pumping something through the air vents tonight. Some sort of concoction that loosened my muscles and excited my nerves.

Or it could be the mask I wear that hides my face, allowing me to be absolutely anyone other than the strictly professional Dr. Zoe Casson for the night.

Or it could be the dress that hugs my body in all the right ways, making me feel like an emboldened goddess rather than a mind-my-manners therapist.

Music thrums and pulses throughout the room, and half the dance floor is covered with my friends and their friends, most of them being Carolina Reapers. It’s refreshing to see a bunch of burly, alpha hockey players masked up and letting loose, and they certainly aren’t hard to look at either, but most are attached and the others already have interested parties vying for their attention, not that I’m looking. I know I joked with Luna about pretending to be someone else tonight, but I have rules. And the first one is no one-night-stands, no matter how badly I’m aching for a release. I value structure and emotional intimacy, but something about tonight feels different. Maybe I really can be someone else.

After a few dances, I wander toward the crowded bar in need of hydration. “Water please!” I call to the bartender once I have his attention, having wiggled my way in between masked bodies in order to claim a sliver of the bar.

The bartender nods, walking toward the fridge in the back to grab me a bottle.

“You don’t have to yell,” a male voice says, practically right in my ear. “If you want my attention, just say so.”

I turn, fully prepared to roll my eyes at the guy, but stop short when my eyes meet a whole lot of muscled chest instead of a face. I have to look up and up in order to see him. His face is entirely covered with a silver mask, with slits carved into it so he can see, the holes covered by some black mesh so I can’t even make out the color of his eyes. It’s intimidating as hell, but equally intriguing.

“Wasn’t asking for your attention,” I say, clearing my throat when it cracks slightly. He’s so close to me, his warm, very muscled body brushing the side of mine. And sure, the entire bar is crammed in like that, but now that his attention is on me, it makes me that much more aware of it.

I slide a ten to the bartender once he gives me the water, and I instantly crack it open and take a few healthy swallows. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a club or dancing, and it’s hot as hell in here. The water helps, and I sigh happily when I’ve drained half the bottle.

“Thirsty?” he asks, his voice like liquid velvet in my ear. Jesus, are those warm chills dancing down my body because he said a single word ?

“Why?” I ask. “You going to offer to buy me a drink?”

He taps my water bottle with a black-gloved hand. “You already have one,” he says, looking down at me. Or at least, I think he’s looking down at me. It’s hard to tell with the mask. “Anything else I can offer you?”

Wow. The guy is blunt, I’ll give him that. I’m not used to that kind of directness from the past few dates I’ve been on. They’ve all about the game, the chase, the fake details meant to make me swoon when in reality I can see right through them. It’s what kept me out of the dating scene for a year—too many bad dates with too many fake people.

“I don’t know,” I say, adrenaline crashing through my body. Luna said tonight was about being other people. And hell, this guy has no clue who I am. We’re an hour away from Sweet Water. I can be anyone I want tonight. But right now, I just want air. “Can you become an AC for a few seconds?” I ask, fanning myself.

“Getting a little hot?” he asks, and damn him, the way he says it makes me smile. There’s something effortless about his voice, about the way he says things, and it’s doused in a whole heap of deep, sexy tenor.

“I am, actually,” I say, waving him off as I push away from the bar, heading toward the front doors so I can hopefully catch a little breeze and finish my water before finding my friends again.

A hand gently slides into mine, the leather from the gloves soft and buttery against my skin. I arch a brow at the masked man, but he nods behind him before leaning down to my ear so I can hear him over the music.

“I know a cooler spot,” he says.

“Is that right, Silver?” I ask, calling him by his mask’s color. He certainly hasn’t offered up a name, not that I had either.

Why does that excite me so damn much?

And why do I find myself holding of his hand, letting him lead me up the stairs, past the VIP balcony and up toward the roof-access door?

He holds the door open for me, motioning me forward. I step through it, my heels immediately crunching against a graveled rooftop, complete with a lush, well-maintained garden, a scattering of wrought iron patio furniture, and a wide-open unobstructed view of the starry sky. I walk to the edge of the roof, leaning against the brick that comes up to my chest, and close my eyes as the cool breeze meets my flushed skin.

“Cool enough for you, kitten?” Silver asks, his voice at my ear, the pet name likely playing on my mask, which looks feline.

“It’s all right,” I say, shrugging like this isn’t the most romantic spot I’ve ever been taken to. “Are we allowed to be up here?”

He laughs softly, his voice slightly muffled behind the full mask. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know the owner. You won’t get in trouble.”

“Who says I’m worried about getting in trouble?” I ask, and I swear I can feel his eyes trailing the length of my body even though I have zero evidence to back that up. It’s all I can do not to squirm under the silent appraisal that may or may not be happening.

“You don’t look like a rule breaker,” he says.

“Maybe I am,” I fire back, even though he’s right. Blame it on my strict upbringing, but I’ve never broken any rules or stepped over any lines in the history of forever.

“Whatever you say,” he says, taking up a good lean against the brick.

Jesus, even leaning he’s so much taller than me, and big. Like muscles for days beneath the fully black clothing he wears, the gloves and outfit only adding to the mystery of his masked features. And I can’t help it, I take my time looking at him, trailing my gaze over his muscled chest all the way down to his massive thighs. If I had to guess, I’d say the guy is an athlete, or maybe he’s just a gym enthusiast.

“You’re not a Reaper, are you?” I ask, suddenly curious if he came with the gaggle of friends Echo brought with her.

“I don’t play hockey,” he says. “But I can’t guarantee I won’t steal your soul, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A laugh tears through my lips, a warm shiver of delight spiraling down the middle of me at his words. At the way his presence eats up every inch of this roof even though we have miles of open sky above us. How he’s somehow shaking things awake inside me that had been perfectly content sleeping before.

“Do I look that innocent?” I ask, fully committing to the little flirtation we have going.

He moves a little closer, and my heart flutters in my chest. “Absolutely,” he says. “Innocent, reserved, rule-follower. Sexy as sin, but an innocent little kitten through and through.”

I part my lips, a little flush of anger slicing through me even though he isn’t wrong. And damn it, I’m so tired of being those things. I have been for a while, the agony of the box I’ve been living in growing bigger every day.

For once, can’t I play the part of the wild, reckless, temptress?

I can, can’t I? I mean, that’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re hiding our identities, right? It’s healthy to explore fantasies and take risks every once and a while, and I’ve never done that even when I constantly advised patients to do it all the time in a safe way.

So, why not take some of my own advice?

Confidence and anticipation storm through me.

“You’ve got me all wrong, Silver,” I say, reaching out and trailing a finger down his mask, shocked to find it’s metal and cool to the touch instead of a flimsy plastic.

“Do I?” he asks, not drawing away from my touch. “Because something tells me one night with me and I’d ruin a perfect little thing like you.”

“Who says I’m going to spend the night with you?” I ask, pulse thrumming in my veins. Excitement flaring across every inch of my body.

“You did,” he says, gliding that gloved hand over my bare shoulder.

I do my best not to purr at the touch.

What is it about not knowing a thing about this stranger—down to what color of eyes he has—that makes the moment so damn sexy? Even the gloves feel forbidden against my skin, causing desire to pulse in my core in a needy little heartbeat.

What has gotten into me? Where’s all my reasoning and logic gone?

I must’ve left them back at the bar, because I find myself asking, “When did I tell you that?”

His hand finds my hip, and I let him touch me there, let him draw me closer until our bodies are flush. “The second you stepped onto this roof with me.”