Chapter 3
A Dance with a Stranger
If I’d thought the Crestwoods’ home looked like a museum from the outside, the interior did little to change my mind.
The house was airy and open—giving a whole new meaning to “open concept“—and the high-ceilinged foyer gave way quickly to an enormous, expansive room that appeared to take up most of the ground floor.
The room was at least two stories tall, and two and a half walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay below.
The other walls were stark white and covered with paintings from a variety of eras and art movements.
Three massive chandeliers—as modern as the exterior of the house, all angles and metal—hung suspended over the guests below.
The party itself was all romantic opulence. The room was a sea of ball gowns and bedazzled masks, colorful tuxes and elaborate hats. Everywhere I looked I saw lace and pearls and feathers and ribbons, like a fete from Versailles had been transported through time and space.
A small string ensemble was set up in front of one of the huge windows, and couples swirled around in front of them, dancing to a strange waltz.
Other guests sampled delicacies from the lavish buffet set up along the opposite side of the room, or they mingled in small groups, crystal goblets in hand, chatting and laughing together.
Everyone looked like they knew what to do here. Like they belonged at this odd, enchanting party.
A woman in a burgundy dress with another one of those plain black masks stepped in front of me, a tray of crystal goblets balanced on one hand.
“Would you like a drink?” she said, her voice like a song.
“Yes, please.” I passed my purse into my other hand and took one of the goblets. The liquid inside appeared faintly gold and fizzy, like dark champagne.
“Would you like me to take your bag, miss?” the woman asked.
“Oh, no. I’ll hold onto it. Thank you.” It was probably silly to insist on carrying my purse around all night, but I’d promised Isaac I’d keep my phone—and the pepper spray—within reach.
And frankly, I preferred to have it close in the unlikely circumstance that Isaac’s theories turned out to hold any water.
Thankfully, the delicate, chain-like strap on my bag was long enough to slip over my head and wear across my body, so at least it would be mostly out of my way.
I wonder if they make ball gowns with pockets, I mused as I skirted the edge of the room toward the buffet table, planning to start there while I got my bearings. Or would that be too convenient?
I paused to let a flock of women in jewel-toned gowns flitter past, trailing ribbons and lace. A couple of them had feathered fans that they batted in front of their faces as if protecting whispered secrets from those around them.
“Welcome to Crestwood House.”
The deep voice came from just behind me, and I jumped, nearly spilling my drink before even getting a taste.
When I spun around, I found a man dressed in a deep blue suit with elaborate gold embroidery along the hems. A pair of azure-blue eyes stared down at me from behind a detailed golden mask in the shape of a lion’s face.
“Thank you,” I said, suddenly feeling like I should curtsy or something.
Instead, I hid my awkwardness by finally taking a sip of my drink.
It was clearly alcoholic, but like nothing I’d ever tasted before—mildly sweet and floral, with a hint of cinnamon at the end.
I’ll need to be careful with this. Already my head was light and buzzing with that relentless shivery feeling, and finding myself facing this tall, striking man wasn’t helping matters.
“Are you enjoying the party so far?” he asked, his voice like the rumble of a river tumbling down a mountainside. He was so tall, and so broad—but in a way that made it obvious that most of the bulk beneath his fine suit was solid muscle.
“I am,” I answered. “I mean, I just got here, so I can’t fully judge the experience yet, but everything between the front door and this side of the room has been great.
And if that buffet tastes even half as good as it smells, that’ll bump everything up a few more points.
” I was starting to ramble, the way I did whenever I found myself talking to a man who was way too attractive for me.
I could only see this guy’s eyes and his lips behind his elaborate mask, but that was enough to give me a picture and get me all weird and fluttery.
I was as bad as the characters in my fanfic.
The stranger, on the other hand, clearly wasn’t suffering from the same affliction. He projected an easy confidence as he extended his hand to me.
“May I have this dance?”
Just like my fantasy. I had no idea how to waltz, but I refused to be the sort of girl who came to a party like this and refused to enjoy herself. I wanted to have a few stories to tell Esmer and Isaac when this night was over.
So despite the fact that I knew I was likely to embarrass myself, I reached out, accepting the stranger’s hand.
His fingers closed around mine. He was wearing black gloves—embroidered with gold thread, just like his suit—but I could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric as he guided me down toward the end of the room where people were dancing.
His grip was just firm enough to make my heart beat faster against my ribs, and I tipped my head back and drank the remaining contents of my goblet as we walked, hoping the alcohol would release the last of my inhibitions and grant me a helping of uncharacteristic grace.
The floral sweetness filled my head, mingling with the shivery-ness that still rippled across my skin, making me feel like I was on the edges of a dream.
A burgundy-wrapped member of the staff appeared beside me, taking the empty goblet out of my hand the moment the last drop had disappeared. She slipped it out of my grip without even causing me to miss a step.
When we reached the dance floor, the man stepped around to face me, then placed his other hand on my side. I prayed he couldn’t feel the quiver that ran through me as his fingers curled around my waist.
“I’ve never done this before,” I confessed as he guided me forward. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“Everyone knows how to dance,” he replied, his rumble warm and intimate. “But if you miss a step, it will be my pleasure to guide you.”
The way his deep voice curled so charmingly around the words guide you sent another delicious tremor through me, and I found myself leaning into his arms, falling into the rhythm of the music as he began to twirl me around.
This is why Esmer keeps telling me to get laid, I thought as I let him pull me into a turn.
I was so starved for sexual contact that I was falling to bits at the first touch from a man.
That constant shivery feeling and the very strong drink probably weren’t helping, nor was the confidence that came along with being masked and anonymous—and I was beginning to see how it all might easily turn to recklessness.
But for the moment, at least, I saw nothing wrong with indulging myself a little.
To my pleasant surprise, I wasn’t a total klutz on the dance floor. I’d never been especially graceful, but in this stranger’s arms, it felt like I was floating on a summer breeze, flitting from cloud to cloud, spinning in midair.
I risked a glance up to see if he was suitably impressed with my dancing, and I found his blue eyes shining down on me, dazzling and sharp. Immediately, the fluttering in my stomach intensified.
“So…” I said, attempting to ground myself against the shivery-ness that had spread all the way down my body.
“Do you come here often?” I winced as soon as the cliché left my lips.
“To these parties, I mean. This obviously isn’t the first one.
Or maybe it is, and I just missed the memo about ball gowns.
” He didn’t respond, so naturally I babbled on.
“I mean, it just feels like everyone else here knew what to expect and what to wear. And I didn’t.
This is my first time being invited to something like this, in case that isn’t obvious.
But I get the impression that this isn’t your first time.
” My eyes moved over the elaborate embroidery on his suit and back up to his detailed mask.
He was so much taller than me that I had to crane my neck to do it.
He spun me past the windows, and the movement drew me closer to him, right up against the hard, muscled planes of his body, from his broad chest all the way down.
“No, this isn’t my first time,” he said. It was hard to read the expression in his eyes—was that amusement, or condescension, or something else?
“That explains why you’re so appropriately dressed,” I commented, admiring the way the cut of his jacket emphasized the breadth of his muscled shoulders. “I don’t know many men who could pull off a velvet suit, but it suits you.”
“Does it?” This time there was definitely amusement in his deep voice.
I realized with a start that I was coming on to the guy, and I silently chastised myself for letting that drink go to my head.
“I didn’t mean… What I meant to say was that I admire your commitment to the theme.
Most guys my age wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that.
Most of them are more interested in smoking weed and playing video games than dressing up for a masquerade ball.
” I didn’t really hear the words until they were already out of my mouth, and then I found myself internally cringing once more.
“Not that I have anything against video games. Or weed. And I didn’t mean to suggest that you should be embarrassed to wear that suit…
I mean, I think I’ve made it pretty clear that you look really good and…
” I let the words trail off, since that seemed like a better idea than continuing to dig myself into a hole.
To my shock, he didn’t appear to be the least bit offended by my ramblings. In fact, I could swear he pulled me closer, his grip tightening on my waist. I was pressed so snugly against him by that point that I was sure he could feel my heart careening against my breastbone.
But he didn’t say anything, which was both a relief and incredibly aggravating.
What would Esmer do? I wondered. Obviously I’d never seen Esmer pick up a guy, but I knew from her stories that she didn’t have any trouble doing so. She was one of those rare nerds who also excelled in the social arena, and that made her a goddess in my eyes.
Esmer would probably tell me to let the guy lead the conversation, I told myself. But what if the guy showed no interest in talking?
Instead, the stranger seemed content to simply dance, holding me much closer than was necessary—not that I was complaining.
I could feel him studying me as we twirled, and my skin went hot from my forehead all the way down my neck.
The hand he’d placed on my waist crept over to my lower back, his fingers leaving trails of heat through the fabric of gloves and gown.
I risked a glance up. I’d braced myself for the intensity I found burning in his eyes, but there was also something else there, something wholly unexpected—something almost bleak. As if there were a gnawing sort of emptiness hiding behind the intoxicating charm at the surface.
There was a sharp pang of compassion in my stomach, followed swiftly by curiosity. What could give a man eyes like that?
That recklessness I’d been so worried about was bubbling up, responding to the depths in the man’s eyes and the increased intimacy of his touch.
The hand I had placed on his shoulder began to drift slowly toward his neck.
I’d just noticed the thick, sandy-colored hair peeking out from behind his mask, just brushing against the top of his embroidered collar, and I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said, forgetting that I was trying to keep my mouth shut.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” he said, dipping his head closer so that I was the only one who could hear his rumble. His lips curled up in a delicious grin. “That’s why we’re all wearing these masks.”
He was right, of course. This wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting without the anonymity. Still, I longed for a peek at the face behind that lion.
Before I could press the issue, though, the waltz descended into its final strains.
To my disappointment, the stranger slowed us as well, apparently deciding that one dance was enough.
The room seemed suddenly cool when we were no longer pressed against each other, and a part of me felt like we were still spinning round and round—like the way you can still feel the waves hours after you’ve been in the ocean.
“Thank you for the dance,” he said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. He touched his mouth to the back of my fingers, sending a fresh quiver up my arm.
“Thank you as well.” Again I fought the awkward urge to curtsy. I started to step away, but he still held my hand in his, his grip tightening in a refusal to release me.
There was a flash of something in his eyes—desperation, I thought—but it was gone before I could be sure.
“Will you share a drink with me?” he asked.
I hesitated, Isaac’s paranoid warnings suddenly leaping into my head, but those brief glimpses of strangeness in this stranger’s eyes were not enough to overcome the heat I felt at his touch, or the recklessness I’d already decided to indulge.
Besides, what harm could there be in sharing a drink with a man in a room full of people?
“Of course,” I told him. “If you don’t mind listening to more of my rambling.”
That earned me a half-smile from him, and he squeezed my fingers where he still held them.
“I don’t mind rambling,” he said. “It’s your silence that I fear.”