Chapter 3 Serena
Is it healthy to have an adrenaline rush for hours on end? Because that’s how I’ve felt since Ker and I started preparing for the doors to open, putting final touches on everything.
An hour into the party, I’m even more on edge because my mystery man is nowhere to be found.
As far as the party goes, it’s better than I could’ve imagined.
Red, pink, and soft white lights dance overhead, casting a romantic ambiance over the room, and every table is decorated with a vase of fresh white flowers, conversation cards, chocolates, and even fake candles.
We would’ve used real candles, but apparently, that’s against the convention center’s guidelines unless they’re floating in a water vase.
The tables lining the back wall of the room are full of goody bags for every attendee, including date ideas, donations from the sponsoring companies, a discount card for services at Bound-to-Be, and condoms—because safety is always essential, especially if anyone’s taking their connection back home tonight.
The place is packed; over three hundred fifty attendees showed up. I knew people were likely to come since they had to purchase the ticket beforehand, but it’s still an impressive turnout. This gorgeous, massive ballroom is full of smiling faces and happy hearts.
I’ve lost count of the phone numbers I’ve seen being exchanged and couples leaving together, beaming with excitement. With masks on everyone’s faces, people seem to approach each other more easily than usual. Even if the night ended like this, I would be ecstatic about the outcome.
Making my way through the crowded floor toward the entrance, where Kerrigan is, I adjust the gold mask that covers my eyes.
Disappointment gnaws at my stomach from the absence of a particular admirer, one who said he’d be here and even gave me this dress to wear.
Which, I’ll admit, is absolutely stunning and a flawless fit … eerily so.
The red satin outlines my décolletage with a square neckline, fan-shaped straps, and a boned corset that juts out in a short skirt with a red bow in the back to boot. I feel like a sexy, walking present. One that I was hoping my mysterious man might unwrap.
A couple to my right catches my attention, and I can see the eagerness and lust in their eyes. They’re looking at each other like there’s no one else in the room. My chest swells, and I feel light as a feather as I weave through the sea of people, zigzagging through the gaps in the crowd.
My narrow path ends at a blockage, formed by two giant men with their backs to me. I’m hidden in their shadows as I wait for them to sense my presence and move.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to them politely, my voice sweet.
They don’t budge or move a single muscle at my request. But they probably didn’t hear me. The music and the chatter in here are a bit overwhelming.
I try again, louder, as I roll onto my tiptoes to speak closer to their ears. “Excuse me.”
Nothing.
What the hell?
Now they’re starting to piss me off because I know for a fact that they heard me and are choosing to be assholes. This party is not for douchebags.
My voice is a near shout over the music playing around us as I try once more before I plan on shoving them out of my way. “Excuse me!”
My shoulders are tense, and I’m breathing heavy as they once again ignore me.
Have I entered the twilight zone?
Am I a ghost and no one around can hear me? I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind, and frustration is flooding my body as my eyelids fall to half-mast.
I stomp my foot. “For the love of God—”
“Serena.”
A single, sensual utterance stops me mid-sentence.
The deep and familiar tone sends a shiver slithering down my spine and sets me on fire. I’ve only heard that voice once—in the video of my front-door camera.
I’m frozen in place; my senses heighten, and I can hear my erratic heartbeat as my palms start to sweat.
The two men in front of me turn around, their faces nearly covered by their neck gaiters and baseball caps, the only exposed features being their eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that these guys are with him.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I swallow hard. A slight brush—almost so subtle that I don’t notice it—strokes my shoulders, and a shudder tears through me.
He’s standing right behind me.
Nerves rattle me to the core, and I contemplate running for the hills because, my God, I am so far out of my element. But it’s too late. I’ve been playing his game this long; I can’t stop now. I may be slightly terrified, but I don’t want whatever we have to end.
Gradually, I take a shaky breath and pivot on my heel, spinning around slowly. My neck cranes back almost as far as it will go as I look straight up into the glowing red heart eyes of the mask I’ve come to know.
My stomach twists into knots, and I’m suddenly second-guessing all my life decisions that have led me to this moment.
But there’s an ache in my core, a beacon calling out to him that I can’t ignore.
My body is humming, every nerve stretching out desperately to feel his touch.
It’s embarrassing, but, hell, I couldn’t care less about my pride right now.
His head kicks to the side like a curious dog, and I feel his eyes studying me, sweeping down my body. Even while his face is hidden behind the mask, I can feel his gaze like a scorching hot touch.
My eyes wander as greedily as his, my knees weakening more and more as I study the brown waves flowing back from behind his mask to his thick neck and broad, toned shoulders.
His red T-shirt is drawn taut over his muscled arms and chest, flowing down his torso, and with each breath he takes, the material outlines the ridges of his abs.
It’s a shame that attractiveness plays a part in our body’s fight-or-flight mode because I’m not running anywhere and I’m certainly not going to fight him.
I’m fully ready to accept whatever fate he has for me, one way or another, because there’s only one F-word I want to do right now, and it’s neither of those.
My mouth waters at the thought. This man is so hot, and I have yet to see his face. Honestly, I’m pretty open to whatever he looks like. Nothing is going to ruin the butterflies soaring inside my stomach. Somehow though, I know that he’s just as hot under that mask as the rest of him is.
He clears his throat, a deep rumble pulling my attention back up to his eyes, where they’re concealed behind a soft red glow, and my cheeks burn intensely. Whoops … I didn’t realize how long I was ogling him.
Tension grows as neither of us makes a move or says a word. His mask tips down, and his eyes perfectly align with my chest. A bizarre wave of confidence comes over me out of nowhere. It’s not only him who holds power in this dynamic. I clearly affect him in the same way he affects me.
Batting my eyelashes at him, I bite my bottom lip. “I would say your name back, but I don’t know it.”
Stretching his hand out slowly, he runs his pointer finger along my hairline, down past my cheek, and under my chin, tipping my head back even further. “You don’t need to. Not yet.”
I swear I could get off from only the sound of his voice. It’s so goddamn attractive. The way he has already nuzzled inside my mind, creating a pocket that only he occupies, makes me feel even crazier than before.
I wet my lips. “That seems unfair.”
He chuckles darkly, and my core pulses with need. “I never said I play fair.”
I fold my arms across my chest. Two can play at that game. “Then why are you here, if not to get to know me better?”
He takes a step closer, the distance between us almost nonexistent.
Snaking his fingers around the back of my neck, he pushes my hair out of the way and cocks my head to the side before pressing his lips to my ear.
A gravelly whisper silences every other noise in the room. “My Little Cupid, Serena Rafferty. Twenty-six years old. Five foot four. Lives alone with a mini dachshund named Freddie.”
My stomach drops at the mention of Freddie. It makes sense that if he’s been watching me, he also knows about my little guy. But hearing him say it out loud brings a whole new level of reality to our situation. This may be a fantasy, but what’s happening is very real.
He stands back to his full height but leaves his hand on my shoulder, his thumb stroking my collarbone.
He continues, every declaration truthful, and it’s clear that stalking doesn’t feel like a strong enough word to describe what he’s been doing, “Likes her coffee to be mostly creamer. Has an infatuation with love so intensely that it transpired into a business. She is absolutely not a morning person and has an abusive relationship with her alarms. Sleeps in oversize T-shirts while listening to music every night. Favorite flower is the cliché red rose, not because of the cliché, but despite it.”
He takes a breath, and tingles roll down my back.
“You find beauty in the little things in life. Find peace in consistency. You romanticize the world around you, and you’re fucking gorgeous.
There isn’t a thing I don’t know about you.
” His thumb brushes the side of my throat.
“This night was never about that. I know you better than you know yourself. Tonight is about breaking the barrier and making you understand you’re mine. ”
“Yours?” The word leaves me in a breathy exhale, a touch of sass on the end of it.
His hand tightens. I’m already panting from his monologue alone, and now he’s nearly choking me, which would be threatening if I wasn’t already so turned on.
He growls, “Mine. Don’t make me prove it to you, Serena. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
He might believe that, but my body disagrees with him, my core pooling between my thighs. I’m more ready than I’ve ever been.
Part of me wants to poke the bear, push that side of him to come out and play and show me what he thinks I can’t handle.