Chapter 3
Ellie
“Where are you? Jesus, Ellie, I thought you were kidnapped. Not that it would be a bad thing to be kidnapped by a man like that. I mean, most villains are arguably attractive, right?” Rachel is rambling when I call her from the bougie little bathroom tucked away in the hidden speakeasy of the hotel.
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” I assure her as I pull my now dry, but still definitely stained dress off.
“He wanted to make sure I was okay after the whole Dylan fiasco and then asked if I would…accompany him…to a party on the rooftop.” I bite my tongue and do a little shoulder shimmy, knowing full well that my sister is about to lose her fucking mind.
“On the rooftop?” She echoes.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Of the Phoenix…”
“Yes.”
“Celebrities get to go on the rooftop of the Phoenix,” she says, and I can’t hide my smile anymore.
“I know.”
“So, like…who is this masked man? He was giving Phantom vibes when he walked up. And you are Christine. Oh, my god! He’s not actually Gerard Butler, is he!?”
I giggle at that. “I doubt it. I think he’s a bit younger.”
“Still. This is wild. So where are you now?” she asks.
“In the bathroom by a private bar. I’m changing into another dress,” I tell her as I look at the gown on the hanger in front of me.
It’s black satin, and I can tell just by looking at it, it’s going to hug every curve of mine to perfection.
“He got you a new dress for the evening?” she blurts out. “Okay, this is for real celebrity status."
“Hang on, Rache,” I say. “Is this weird?”
“For you? Maybe. You never do things like this. But for other girls, not at all. At least not from what I hear.” While my sister is older than me, her life has been arguably more fun and flashier than mine.
At least until she got into a relationship.
Hence, the need for a little rebellion tonight.
She spent her early twenties living it up in Vegas.
I spent mine with my nose stuck in books. I need pointers.
“Listen, El. These hotel bigwigs have parties like this all the time, and they love to have cute dates on their arms. Just try to have fun, and keep your location pinned. Just in case, you know?”
“I will,” I tell her.
“And find out who he is!”
I hang up.
All of this feels crazy. It is crazy. But maybe that’s what I need. A little bit of crazy.
I change into the dress, and it fits perfectly, which is wild in and of itself. Like all this man did was run his eyes over me and Bam! He knew my size, what would look good on me, and what I’d feel good in. And what would make Dylan wildly jealous if he saw me.
I smirk at that, fix my hair in the mirror and apply a little more red lip stain before taking a deep breath and heading back into the speakeasy.
The man, who still hasn’t told me his name, is standing by the bar like a statue.
His salt and pepper hair is dark, swooped back, yet one lock of it insistently falls over the mask which covers half his face, just like the Phantom except that it is black instead of white, matching the rest of his fitted black attire. It creates a yin and yang look.
Dark and light.
Good and evil.
With that intent stare and that sharp jawline, I am curious about the dark side.
I approach him, feeling every eye in the room on me.
But his stare is the only one I meet.
His attention is all that matters.
I am drawn to him like a magnet. As I near him, he silently holds out a strong arm, and I take it. He escorts me to the elevator. The doors close, cutting off the sounds of jazz music and soft conversation. The shaft is quiet other than the sound of my own heart beating in my ears.
He turns to stand in front of me and pulls me into another kiss.
This one is deeper, more passionate.
He cups my face in his warm palms hard enough that I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to. Yet, I don’t want to.
When the elevator comes to a stop, the kiss ends.
When he pulls back, his eyes trace my face for half a second before he steps to stand next to me again. He holds his arm out, and again, I take it.
As the door opens, he speaks to me in a low voice. “Don’t be nervous. Just smile.”
The warm Nevada night air hits us as we step out into the starry night.
Of course, thanks to city light pollution, it’s not real starlight.
The rooftop is covered with strings of fairy lights and the blue-silver glow of the bar.
A jazz band plays in the corner as a blonde woman who might as well be Marilyn sings with a silky voice that has every man’s eyes locked on her.
Every man except this man.
The man whose arm I am attached to keeps his attention on the room with a quiet observance of who is looking our way as we pass.
He greets multiple people whose very presence smells like money and stature.
He doesn’t smile. That’s one of the first things I noticed about him.
He hardly smiles at all, and yet his lips tip in the corners, even when they’re slack.
He’s professional. Powerful. Dominating.
The bartender sets down two drinks just as we approach, and I look up at him.
“They know our drink order?” I ask.
“They know me,” he answers. I suppose that means they know me too, and I wonder for a split second if I am being too trusting. “Also, it’s a mocktail. You said you were done for the evening. It’s for show.”
He listens to me. That’s a first. Still…
Girls get in trouble this way.
Girls go missing this way.
Men like this can cover their tracks, no questions asked.
And yet…I’ve never experienced excitement like this in my life.
Even if things took a turn, at least I could say that I lived.
It almost brings tears to my eyes just how much I have always longed to feel alive.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask as I run the tip of my finger along the brim of the glass.
The man answers with a small upward tick of his head.
“Do you own the hotel?” I ask.
“Yes, this is my hotel. Among others. I also own a couple of clubs.”
Damn. Alright then.
I take a sip of my drink. It tastes just like the other one except notably, no booze. It also has this lovely little slice of dried pear dangling on the glass, and while I’m sure it’s not the most ladylike thing to do, I want to eat it. As I reach for it, his hand intercepts.
He clips the pear slice from the glass, and my eyes trail up to his as he dips it in my drink before slowly bringing it up to my mouth. My lips part as I bite it, chewing slowly before taking the rest of it into my mouth.
Then he runs his thumb along the edge of the glass, dusted in wet sugar, and brings it to my lips. My eyes locked on his. They are a dark brown resembling aged whiskey, I lick the sugar from his thumb, suckling it at the end.
All the while, the words replay in my head in a whisper, growing fainter each time.
I never do this.
I never do this.
I never do this.
Everything around me fades as desire and need take over.
He pulls me into another kiss, hard and urgent.
His teeth graze my lip, his tongue finds mine, and his jaw works to force my mouth open more. His hands clasp my hips, pulling me against him hard, with no intent of ever letting me go.
I do not know this man.
I do not know if I trust this man.
He doesn’t even have a name.
But I want him.
I never do this.
But tonight, I’m going to.
He pulls his lips from mine with physical force and takes my hand, pulling me back to the elevator.
The door closes behind us, and his mouth finds mine again.
Heat surges through my thighs as his hand trails down my neck, over my breast, making me suck in a quick breath. His fingers trace down to my navel and stop. He presses his body to mine, and I can feel his dick, hard and north-pointing, in his slacks.
Suddenly the door opens, but we aren’t on the main level. We are on one of the highest floors; 60 stories in the air.
He pulls me down a hallway that looks more like it should be in a castle than a hotel.
There are only a couple of doors and we head into the one at the end.
It’s a suite like I’ve never seen before, and my eyes are darting all around it, taking it all in. Floor to ceiling windows, a hot tub, and the largest king-sized bed I’ve ever seen. I haven’t even given the whole room a sweep before his mouth finds mine again.
But I don’t care. I want this man.
He grabs my dress and shimmies it up my thighs until my black, lace thong-clad ass is exposed. He grips it in his palms, digging his fingers into my curves, and pulls me even closer.
I link my arms around his neck, seeking out his tongue with mine. He tastes like oranges and vanilla and smoke. His pecs are hard against my chest, making my nipples ache with every caress as we grind into each other.
Then his hand roams to my front. He hooks one finger under my panties and teases my clit with a come-here motion.
“Ohh…” I whimper, and I swear to God no man has ever found my weakness that quickly.
If at all.
It’s so spot-on that I find myself dancing in place in front of him.
He lifts me up with no effort. The man is easily six-three if not taller. Caramel skin, clean-shaven with a hint of stubble. Just enough to trace that jawline, defining it inch by inch.
As he lays me back on the bed, I can see him bulging underneath his designer slacks. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t torn through them.
He loosens his belt and strips down to his tight black briefs. Then he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his smooth, toned torso.
Holy…abs.
The man is flexing a full rack. We’re talking two, four, six, eight followed by the perfect V that tapers off into the elastic waistline.
My legs part in response.