Chapter 3
Colt
My jaw clenches as I force myself to focus on the task at hand. I’m here for a reason, and it’s not to chase after some woman, no matter how intriguing.
The estate’s security is my responsibility tonight. I need to keep my head in the game.
“What’s the situation?” I ask Phoenix.
Even crammed into a tailored tux, he’s the size of a brick wall—towering and solid, impossible to miss as he strides toward me. “Some locals were breaking into the east wing. It caused a stir, but it was only some kids sneaking in booze.”
Damn it. The east wing—the same place where the chandelier fell and the electrical issues cropped up.
“Did you handle it?” I ask.
“We escorted them out quietly. No need to cause a scene, but I thought you should know,” Phoenix says, eyeing me carefully.
I nod, relief mingling with my annoyance at the interruption. “Good. Let’s keep a tight watch on that area. We can’t afford any more incidents.”
I stride back into the ballroom, jaw clenched. We’ve addressed the security breach, but a bigger problem lingers. Firefly.
The mysterious woman who fit so perfectly in my arms as we danced. Did she follow my order to return to the ballroom?
I cut through the glittering crowd of costumed partygoers, their laughter and excitement nothing more than static in the back of my mind.
The sea of velvet and silk surges around me, but I barely register any of it. My eyes sweep across the masked faces, all the tension winding tighter inside me.
She’s here somewhere.
She has to be.
“You good, Ghost?” Hawk mutters as we cross each other near the entrance of the ballroom.
I nod once, short and terse.
Hawk follows my gaze and smirks. “Looking for someone?”
“No,” I snap too quickly. Hawk’s eyebrows shoot up, and I sigh. “Maybe. It’s not important.”
Hawk chuckles. “Right. Sure. Could’ve fooled me.” His teasing grin only grates on my already frayed nerves. “Looks like a little bird in the garden has distracted you.”
My glare could melt steel. He just grins wider. “Our Ghost might be human after all.”
“Careful, brother,” Hawk says, a faint note of laughter in his voice. “Don’t let me keep you from your ‘not important business.’”
The teasing barely registers. The ballroom feels smaller, heavier, and the longer I go without finding her, the harder it gets to focus on anything else.
I tell myself I’m just doing another check—another sweep through the crowd for security threats—but it’s a lie.
I only have one target.
Where the hell is she?
Because even now, despite everything else pulling at me, her face is right there. Vivid and bright at the front of my mind.
Her bright eyes flashed with guilt when I’d caught her in the garden, camera in hand. I should have called her out right then. But the thought of scaring her away stopped me.
Now, she’s all I can think about.
I don’t do this. I don’t chase women, especially not ones who look like trouble. But here I am, prowling the edges of the dance floor like some lovesick fool. What the hell is wrong with me?
The grandfather clock chimes. Eleven, the last chime ringing out through the ballroom like a warning bell. One hour until midnight. One hour until unmasking.
The crowd presses closer, the masked faces of strangers forming a wall between me and the answers I need. Every minute that slips away feels heavier.
That she could vanish before midnight—it gnaws at me, hollowing out any semblance of calm I’m holding onto.
“Colton, darling!”
My chest tightens as soon as I hear it. I barely suppress a groan as my mother floats toward me, extravagant in her emerald dress, her hair laced with peacock feathers like some forgotten queen from a lost age.
“There you are.” Her smile brightens, oblivious to the storm boiling just beneath the surface. “Isn’t the ball marvelous? I’ve been looking for you, thinking you’d disappeared!”
I fight to keep my voice steady. “There was a security issue. It’s been taken care of.”
Her expression falters. “Well, thank you for handling it.” She scans the ballroom before her gaze flicks back to me, and she grins. “Since you’re here now, I’d love for you to meet a few people?—“
“Sorry,” I cut her off, probably too abruptly. “Need to check something.”
Confusion and hurt flicker across her face. “Colton, what’s gotten into you? You seem distracted.”
But I’m already slipping into the crowd, my gaze homing in on the far end of the ballroom.
And then, I see her. She’s near one of the tall windows at the edge of the room. She’s partially hidden by a curtain, yet unmistakable. The red dress, dark mask, the way she holds herself. The slope of her neck.
Firefly.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m moving. Pushing past laughing guests. Dodging waiters. My focus narrows until she’s all I can see.
My chest lightens. Determination takes over. I move, weaving through the crowd. Gloved hands and gowns blur past. My focus narrows. She’s close now.
I see her chest rise and fall, her fingers playing with her mask. Nervous? Or waiting?
For me?
I’m only a few feet away when she finally spots me. Her entire body goes still. Even with the mask hiding most of her face, I sense the weight of her gaze.
Neither of us moves. The rest of the ballroom fades away, leaving just the two of us locked in this moment.
I close the distance between us, my hand slipping onto her arm—firm, resolute. I won’t let her slip away from me this time.
“Ghost,” she breathes.
“We meet again.” Without breaking eye contact, I guide her toward a secluded alcove, away from prying eyes.
She comes easily, without resistance, which both reassures and threatens to unravel me at the same time.
A shadow of a smile dances across her lips as we slip behind the heavy curtains. “Following me, Ghost?”
I pretend to consider her words, letting her closeness draw me in. “Maybe I am.” My voice drops again, lower, pairing with my increasing pulse. “What are you going to do about it?”
She tilts her head, assessing me with those piercing eyes. “That depends,” she murmurs. “Are your intentions honorable?”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Not in the slightest.”
Her laughter is soft—almost too soft for anyone but me to hear. “At least you’re honest.”
The alcove is small, barely big enough for two. But that suits me fine. I release her arm, but I don’t step back. Neither does she.
It’s dangerous how natural this feels—the warmth of her so close to me, her perfume a whisper of subtle florals that keep pulling pulls at my senses.
I shouldn’t let her affect me like this. I need to keep my head clear, stay focused on why I’m here.
“Most people come to masquerades to dance,” I say, keeping my voice low, “not to sneak around in gardens with a camera.”
She stiffens the slightest bit, a tell I don’t miss. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” I extend my fingers, tracing them along the hidden strap of her camera that peeks out beneath her cape. “Then what’s this?”
For a moment, I think she might bolt. But she squares her shoulders.
“A girl can have hobbies.”
“Dangerous hobbies,” I counter, my gaze hardening.
“The best kind.” Her voice is light, but there’s an edge underneath.
Our game of cat and mouse continues, neither of us giving an inch. I find myself admiring her quick wit, the way she holds her ground. It’s... intriguing. More than it should be.
“Can’t blame a guy for being curious,” I say, stepping closer—close enough that our bodies almost touch.
Her breath catches, faint but there. Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back her smile. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
I lean in, my voice a low growl. “I’m not here to play, Firefly. Don’t test me.”
A flicker of something—surprise? excitement?—crosses her face. She takes half a step back, and I feel a surge of... disappointment? No. That’s not it. It’s frustration. At her? At myself? I’m not sure.
“What are you doing here?” The words slip out more forcefully than I intended.
She doesn’t flinch. “I could ask you the same thing, Ghost.”
We’ve reached an impasse. Neither willing to back down. The air between us holds a charge, like the moment before lightning strikes.
I hold out a hand, palm up. “Dance with me.”
She hesitates. “I thought you were more interested in interrogation than dancing.”
I grunt, my jaw tightening. “I can do both.”
Christ, at this rate, she’ll have me doing tricks like a trained puppy.
What’s next? Fetch? Roll over?
Tickle my balls?
If Garrett could see me, he’d never let me live it down.
For a long moment, she doesn’t move. I’m half-convinced she’s going to run. But then her hand slides into mine, small and warm. “Lead on, Ghost.”
I guide her onto the dance floor, pulling her close as a new song begins. It’s slower than before, more intimate. My hand settles on the small of her back, and she shivers.
“Cold?” I murmur, noticing the way she trembles in my arms.
She shakes her head, but the tension flickers behind her smile. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
Her gaze locks with mine—open, exposed, and searching. “How this is probably a bad idea.”
I spin her out, then draw her back in, even closer than before. “Probably. Want to stop?”
“No.” The word comes out almost as a gasp.
The final notes of the song fade, but our dance doesn’t end. My arms remain around her, and she makes no move to step back. The moment hangs between us, fragile and charged.
“Another dance?” I ask.
She nods, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.
As the next song begins, we fall into step once more. Our movements are fluid, seamless—two bodies moving as one. It’s like earlier in the garden but intensified.
We dance. And dance. Song after song blurs together. I lose track of time, lost in the feeling of her in my arms. In the way she moves with me as if we’ve known each other for years instead of hours.
I’m hyper-aware of every point where we touch. Her hand in mine. My palm against her back. The brush of her skirt against my legs.
It’s intoxicating. And dangerous. I shouldn’t be letting myself get this close. I shouldn’t want her this much.
Don’t get too close, Montgomery. Self-control is all you have left.
We dance in silence for a while, lost in the magic of the moment. But as the music swells, I become aware of a shift in the atmosphere. A sense of anticipation rippling through the crowd.
“It’s almost midnight,” Firefly says softly.
We stop dancing, but our fingers remain laced together, connecting us as the rest of the crowd gathers in the center of the ballroom.
All around us, glasses of champagne are raised in celebration as the tension builds toward the finale: the grand unmasking.
An impulse flashes through me to whisk her away, to preserve the enchantment of our masked encounter. But a deeper yearning wins out: the desire to see her face, to know the woman behind the mask who’s bewitched me so completely.
My mother’s voice rings out, counting down the final seconds.
“Ten...nine...eight...”
Firefly’s grip on my hand tightens. She’s trembling slightly.
“Seven...six...five...”
I brush my thumb across her knuckles, a silent reassurance. Whatever happens next, at least we had this.
“Who are you?” she whispers, her breath warm against my neck.
“Four...three...two...”
I grip her waist. “You first.”
She takes a deep breath. So do I.
“One!”
If only I could take her far away from here, where we can keep this fantasy going. But I can’t. We each have reasons for being here tonight. And those reasons are about to collide in a very real way.
The room erupts in cheers. In one synchronized motion, masks are lifted. Faces revealed.
A profound stillness gathers in the space between us, anticipation curling tight and anxious in my chest. I tighten my grip on her hip, the heat of her skin scorching me from beneath the layers of fabric.
I reach up, slowly removing my mask. No more mystery. No more hiding.
She’s already pulled off her mask. Blonde hair spills from her mask’s edges like honey, and the faint flush gracing her high cheekbones deepens under my gaze. And those eyes—stormy and fierce as they widen in recognition.
“You’re Colt?” she asks, her voice high and tight. “This is unexpected.”
A crater-sized hole opens up in my chest. “And you’re Autumn Clarke. The reporter.”
She’s the journalist digging into my family. And I’ve spent the night dancing with her.
Her features pinch, the mask dropping, no longer hiding her tension, now on full display. “You knew who I was?” She frowns. “Is that why you approached me in the garden?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes, I suspected something. But that’s not why I—” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I didn’t recognize you with the mask. I felt drawn to you.”
Her expression softens slightly. “I felt it too. That connection.”
Hope flares in my chest, but I tamp it down. This is so much more complicated than I realized. I’m supposed to be protecting her, keeping her out of trouble.
But now? Now, I’m not sure if I can trust her. If I should trust her.
I open my mouth, unsure of what comes next. An apology? An accusation? A confession? But before I can force a single word out, a hand claps down on my shoulder. A bright, cheerful voice interrupts the fragile moment.
“Colton!”
I turn a fraction before realizing who it is—my mother, radiating joy, a glass of champagne in hand, completely unaware of the tension threatening to tear through us.
She beams at Autumn. “Who is this lovely young woman?”
Autumn stays silent, her eyes darting toward me, no doubt wondering what I’m going to say.
Wondering if I’ll keep her cover or out her right here. I’m wondering the same thing.
My stomach twists as the weight of the situation sinks in. No matter what happens from here, I’m royally screwed.
But under all that dread, there’s still that same pull. If anything, it’s stronger now that I know who she is.
It’s maddening. Infuriating. I want to push her away and pull her closer all at once.
Autumn takes steps away, ready to bolt. “I should go.”
“Wait,” I say, reaching for her hand. She hesitates, conflict clear on her face. “Please. We should talk.”
What the hell am I supposed to do now?