Manicure and a Fun Idea
Sloane
Two weeks earlier.
“NO!”
“No to what?” I switch hands while Cinzia applies the second coat of polish.
I wedge my cell phone between my shoulder and ear.
Ah. Lina and her perfect timing.
“Your wedding planner called me for an event about angels or some bullshit like that. She rattled off a thousand praises about me being the best event organizer, blah blah blah. But no.”
Ugh. Once Lina starts, there’s no stopping her.
I put my other hand under the UV lamp.
“You’re the events reference for The Snowed Inn. Do I need to remind you that we have a partnership?”
I try to sound serious.
In truth, this isn't exactly a wedding from our matchmaking service. It’s more of a future failure. But I owe Dominic Voss a favor, so we're organizing this bachelor party… and also a goodbye-to-marriage party.
Shhh, don't tell anyone.
No, I don't feel guilty. I'm a professional matchmaker, and I believe in eternal love, not love as a business. And I have no intention of letting Audrey marry an asshole.
“I am a chef, Sloane. A CHEF,” her voice rises an octave as she emphasizes CHEF.
Yes, Lina, how could I forget you're a chef?
A formidable one, too. I’d eat her food for free until I dropped.
But I decide to have a little fun.
“I was under the impression you’ve been doing catering and entertainment lately.” I chuckle to myself.
I still need to figure out what Lina is hiding and why she's been so mysterious lately. I think she’s been keeping a secret since her trip last month.
“Yes, of course. I’m also an event entertainer when needed. But mostly for kids' stuff, or a little adult entertainment at most. But CATEGORICALLY NO, I will not be your Victoria’s Secret angel.”
I giggle to myself. I can't believe Sienna actually contacted her for this. I told my favorite Wedding Planner, my cousin—yes, love is a family obsession—that Lina would never accept.
And yet, the part of me that hoped to get her out of her shell is disappointed.
I giggle even harder imagining her at that bachelor party.
“What's so funny?”
Oops, was I laughing out loud?!
I can just imagine her irritated look.
I check the pink shade of my brand-new nails. I love the little red heart detail on the side. Cinzia really is the best!
Ugh… I really liked this manicure…
I can't believe I'll have to change it soon because one of my best friends refuses to participate in an event I was already totally sure she wouldn't attend.
Still two weeks earlier, but a few days later.
The red lights of The Aureum soften everything: bodies, secrets, bad decisions.
I stop in front of the full-length mirror, the one framed in brass that reflects my image as "biological hazard to male self-control."
Just one glass of champagne and I already feel light-headed, that warm prickle in my stomach that makes me laugh inside for no reason. I can't hold my liquor. Never could. And tonight… well, I have no intention of holding back. I need to deliver a final kick in the ass to that jerk, Joe.
I never really believed in our “relationship,” anyway. And now, I’ve had more than enough of his mediocre sex and his bullshit. Now he can definitely hook up with whoever he wants without hiding.
I adjust my wings. The white feathers are large, soft, arched high over my shoulders: when I move, they displace air like a sigh. There’s no elastic—I had them custom-made. Cupid is not a shelf costume.
The bodysuit is red—not candy apple red: vein-under-skin red.
Lace climbs high over my hips, two satin bows on the sides, a sheer panel over my stomach that hides nothing and, in fact, claims every inch.
Bare legs, gleaming with dry oil. Strawberry gloss, winged liner, decent mascara.
Nails matched, but I decided to redo the heart detail…
I liked it too much. Vanilla and amber perfume trails behind me.
I smile at my reflection. “Temptation,” I murmur to myself. The little heart winks at me.
I wander around the room for a while, but unfortunately, no one catches my attention.
Dominic? He’s hot as hell, but he doesn't seem interested in anything but his mission.
Too bad.
Everyone else looks like an idiot.
But then my hazy mind reminds me that I saw Dominic talking to someone tonight. And he was definitely a non-human descended to earth.
I make a round of the hall until I see him far from the crowd.
Black on black, Lucifer made man: dark pants, a chain around his neck, black wings more theatrical than realistic.
Brown hair, a little long and carefully messy, a jawline that could open letters, shoulders wide enough to make me want to climb them.
Have I never seen him?… No, come on. Maybe I have?
My brain tries to connect the dots, but the champagne has turned it into confetti.
He's gorgeous. He's dangerous. He's exactly the type I should be talking to right now.
I've caught his attention, too. He looks at me like he wants to strip me right here and now. I walk closer; I usually like to make the first move.
“What is it, Lucifer?” I try to pull out the most sensual voice the alcohol allows me. “Do you already regret your fall from Heaven?”
He sizes me up as if I’ve just promised him sacrilege. “My original plan was to own Heaven.”
I offer a crooked smile. A cheap line. But he says it as if he genuinely believes it.
Besides… with those abs and those black wings? He could say anything, really. Or keep his mouth completely shut.
I circle him like a distracted cat, my wings brushing his arm. I feel his muscles tighten under the fabric.
This club is my favorite stage: glass, brass, velvet, glitter, and champagne.
Elegant and forbidden.
I'm here for a specific reason.
Yes, I admit it, I’ve been here a few times. You just need to know the right connections.
“Ambitious. I like ambitious men,” I say, wrapping a lock of hair around my finger. I stare at him with hunger in my eyes; those abs are so defined I could file my nails on them.
And, yes, I have a rule about dating: I’ve never been with a man without defined abs. They are my weakness.
But these? I've never seen abs like these.
I look at the rest too—chest, collarbones, neck—and stop at the chain. I tug it gently with my index finger, looking up at him. He is warm, smells of expensive soap and trouble. My tongue brushes my lower lip before I can stop it.
Yes, I'm drunk. Yes, I know exactly what I’m doing.
“I’m more of an Olympus girl, though.”
“Olympus?”
“Mmm. Fewer rules, more fun.”
I hear him swallow. Under the red lights, his gaze takes the full tour: wings, lace, skin, mouth.
“You’d make Venus jealous,” he murmurs.
“How sweet,” I smile. “But I’m actually Cupid.”
I show him the red bow at my hip. I pull out the arrow, pointing it at his chest. One step closer, and I’m in his space. The golden tip grazes his marble-solid chest.
“Bang,” I whisper. My knuckles touch him. The heartbeat underneath is a sharp thud.
His eyes darken. Oh yeah, I think he’s definitely interested!
I provoke him a little and enjoy every second. He’s so fucking hot…
I’m about to… but nothing. He stops me.
I lift my chin, and try to be as steady as possible. “Are you stopping me?”
I’m not insecure by nature… but after what that idiot Joe did…
No, I won’t get carried away by this.
“Not here,” he answers quickly. And, okay, I admit it, my heart returns to a normal rhythm.
My lips curve before I even realize it. “Not here,” I repeat, assessing. “Where?”
“Come with me,” he whispers in my ear.
I follow him and I really hope he knows one of those spots where no one will bother us.
The private lounge opens onto a darker hallway: black walls, dim sconces, music pulsing from behind.
I walk ahead of him for three steps—yes, it’s cruel.
But I love playing cat and mouse.
My wings brush his hand. The lace disappears where it shouldn’t. I don’t look back, but I feel him watching.
I can’t believe Lina chose to miss a party like this.
At the door with no handle, he types on the keypad. 1-4-7-3-0-5.
Yes, I pay attention to the code and memorize it.
Maybe it will come in handy in the future.
Click. Open.
Inside, it’s blue.
In the shadows, a low, wide sofa. A small table, a sink, overly neatly folded towels. A camera with the red light turned off. I lean against the door, raise an eyebrow, and close it.
Test passed. Now let’s see if we can get down to business.
He doesn’t touch me right away. He fences me in: one hand next to my head, the other against the wall, his close body floods me with his heat and scent.
Damn, he’s fucking good.
He hasn’t even done anything yet, and I’m already at his mercy.
My breath is suspended between us.
“So, now what?” I force myself to sound in command. I don’t want to seem like a young girl already hanging on his every word.
I slightly part my lips. I let him look at me. To want me.
“Now… you tell me your sin.” He says it in a low, seductive voice. It gives me shivers. He, too, seems to be having difficulty holding back.
Good, we're even.
“Temptation.” I better raise the bar.
His eyes flicker for an instant. “Show me.”
My hand finds his chain. I stroke it along its length. I run my index finger over it, and now I’m infinitely happy I changed my manicure.
He seems experienced, but also a little… uneasy?
“You’re tense,” I whisper to him.
“Mh.”
“Nervous?”
He smiles crookedly. “Not at all.” But he looks away.
Why is he lying? Why is he tense? He definitely looks like someone who knows what he's doing.
“Liar.”
That means I'll do what I like best: dominate.
I pull the chain harder.
I take a step forward and push him back until his legs hit the sofa.
He sits down. I remain standing.
My wings frame me, the red lace climbs high on my hips, my legs gleam under the blue lights.
A finger plays with the bow on my hip, my head slightly tilted, my mouth curved as if I already know how this is going to end.
Guess what? I do.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and it doesn't sound like just a compliment. It sounds... true.