Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels? (Stratton Sisters #3)

Chapter 1

One

Astrid

This was it. The big moment was finally here, and I could hardly breathe from the excitement. And nerves.

I'd spent months planning and preparing, mentally and physically. I'd primped and pampered—and not dieted like I used to do before any big event—designed and made my own dress, and more importantly an elaborate mask that would completely hide my identity.

After taking a page from my sister who'd recently disguised herself with a different hair color, I'd done the same, changing from deep brunette to a lighter toffee shade.

I'd even worn contacts to mask my usual brown eyes.

Not that the normal color was very spectacular or memorable.

But the violet shade was simply another spoke in the wheel of my disguise.

Despite all that, I still wasn't quite prepared. Or at least the hammering of my heart told me otherwise.

After all, how could one truly be ready for a night of debauchery? Or hopeful debauchery.

Walking into the grand ballroom—ignoring the mortifying fact that I'd tripped on my way in—it felt like I'd stepped inside an enchanted snow globe, glittering chandeliers cascading their lights from the vaulted ceilings, candles shimmering from every surface, and somehow...

I glanced up, trying my hardest to figure it out. Was that even real?

Snowflakes drifted down from high above, magically disappearing above our heads. Adjusting my mask, I gave up on trying to figure out the illusion, deciding to ask my party planner sister later how they'd done that.

Taking a steadying breath, I glanced around at all the pretty people. The Midnight Masquerade Ball. All the attendees had truly lived up to the hype, the women wearing stunning gowns while the men donned classic tuxes, everyone's identities artfully hidden behind beautiful, elaborate masks.

There was magic in the air. Anything could happen tonight.

My heels clicked softly on the marble floor as I stepped farther inside, the elegant sounds of a string quartet drifting toward me. Servers with trays of champagne glided through the room, and I hoped one would pass by me soon.

A few people looked my way as I passed, one woman's eyes widening as she took in my midnight blue dress. Was that good or bad?

Her glance traveled down the tightly fitted bodice that showed off my best feature—hello, boobs—then transformed into soft waves falling to the floor, tiny constellations of sequins dotting the fabric, hopefully catching the light whenever I moved.

Holding my breath, wondering what she thought of the design I'd spent months dreaming about, her eyes finally met mine, and she smiled, a genuine smile, then whispered the word, "Beautiful."

I heaved a happy sigh, smiling back at her, giddy excitement flooding my soul.

It was one thing for my sisters and the people I worked with to like my dress, because of course they would say that.

But the true test was what strangers thought.

And it appeared I had more than surpassed that little hurdle.

A tray of bubbling crystal flutes appeared in front of me, and I gratefully took one, thanking the waitress.

Really, it would have been nice to grab two, but well, etiquette prevented me from doing so.

After all, being the youngest Stratton sibling, proper manners had been drilled into me from infancy, and I'd been nothing but nice for as long as I could remember.

But tonight? Sure, I'd still be my kind, polite self. However—and this was a big, huge, the largest ever however—by the end of the night, I was determined to get down and dirty. And sweaty. And maybe covered in... no, no, no. I couldn't voice the word, even to myself.

I was no virgin. But it'd been ages since I'd had sex.

Years to be honest. Since a few drunken hook-ups in college that had been less than underwhelming.

Which sounds impossible. But if you counted the guy finishing in two seconds flat before I'd even had a chance to get into it, well, that pretty much summed up my extremely disappointing experiences.

Tonight, under the protection of anonymity and with no strings, I hoped to rectify that and see if I—Astrid Stratton—could have just one night of bliss between the sheets that could erase my embarrassing, pathetic past sex life.

And if so, then I could finally move on and maybe, just maybe, find what my sisters had both recently found... real, actual love that made them glow with happiness.

Sipping my champagne, not downing it like I wanted to, I stood off to one side, studying my possible conquests.

Starting on my left, I scrutinized every single person, noting that not one male was alone.

People were already paired up. Of course they were.

Wouldn't most people come here tonight with their significant other? Or at least a date?

I was obviously the only loser to even think of coming alone.

Stop being so hard on yourself. It was a simple mistake.

Maybe what I really needed was one of those anonymous sex clubs that I'd heard whispers of throughout the years. I'd clearly misjudged this evening. And that was okay. I still had a beautiful gown, one that I might make the centerpiece of my next collection.

My gaze still roaming the room, I spotted more and more couples, then a few small clusters of people that when I looked closer contained... guess what? A group of couples. Here a couple. There a couple. Everywhere a couple, couple.

Draining the last of my champagne right when another server stopped by, I traded my empty glass for another full of bubbles, smiling to myself at the silly song I had in my head.

And that's when I spotted him. Across the room, a tall, very tall, man was staring right at me, his perfectly fitted tux hugging what was obviously a muscular frame, his hair dark, his eyes dark, the mask obscuring what had to be a spectacularly handsome face.

Holy crap. While I'd been watching people, had this man been watching me?

Nervous energy erupting in my body, I glanced away, suddenly very interested in the string quartet I spotted in the corner.

Surely, this mystery man was just glancing at me, and I'd happened to look at him at just the right moment to make it seem like he'd been staring at me.

Because guys who looked like that... well, they didn't usually notice me.

Not that I was down on myself. I really wasn't. Not anymore. I'd worked hard on accepting my body the way it was, right now, with cellulite, stretch marks, wiggly bits, all of it. And I knew I was beautiful inside and out.

However, the vast majority of the time, this superficial world we lived in didn't seem to notice my kind of beauty. Or the beauty of the women I designed for. And that was what made me work even harder, what drove me to work late nights and pour my heart and soul into every single piece.

Deliberately keeping my eyes away from him was nearly impossible. It was like trying not to look at a car accident, or not reading the last page of the book first, or... or...

Oh, screw it.

I looked. And he was still staring.

My heart jumped as we locked eyes, this time his stare almost aggressive. Aggressive? That seemed like an exaggeration.

But yes, that was exactly what it was. What on earth was that about?

Wait just a second. I'd seen that look before. Not directed at me. But at my sisters from the new men in their lives. And I could hardly believe it. Because if I wasn't mistaken, that look was... desire.

Desire? For little old me? If I had a fan, I would flutter it right about now. Was I feeling flirty? Were all my Midnight Masquerade dreams about to come true? I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

His look seemed to darken even more, his chiseled jaw clenching, and wow, that sent a pang of desire right between my legs.

"Ma'am," a person next to me whispered, drawing my attention away. A man in a mask handed me a small scroll. "For you."

Was it from my mystery man? I glanced over, but he was already gone, disappointment shooting through me at the loss.

So much for that.

I opened the scroll, remembering belatedly that there was supposed to be some kind of treasure hunt here tonight. Squinting in the dim lighting, I could barely make out the words.

At the ball where masks disguise and snowflakes gleam, find the hidden truth behind the silver sheen.

Hmm, silver sheen. Silver sheen. There was silver sheen everywhere tonight. What kind of clue was that?

"Speaking in riddles drives me insane," a deep, rumbly voice said beside me, making me jump a little in surprise.

Turning to see mystery man—mystery man!—beside me, I had to forcefully close my jaw so it didn't hang open. My shocked gaze took in his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the sheer masculinity pouring off him.

This man was even more ridiculously handsome up close, with sinfully dark eyes and a jaw that could cut glass, his full lips in a smirk that hinted at both danger and charm. He exuded an easy confidence, leaving me breathless and utterly tongue-tied. How embarrassing.

Think of something clever. Please, dear God.

"Me too."

Such sparkling wit. How will he ever resist me?

His eyes glinted with amusement. "I hear the grand prize is a midnight dance under the stars."

"Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me." Why, oh, why couldn't I think of something smart and cute to say?

"I promise to keep you warm."

Oh, my. Was he actually flirting with me? The sexiest man I'd ever seen? And I'd been around hundreds, maybe thousands, of male models. But this man... he somehow topped them all.

"Okay, um, that's assuming we win. Or you win. Or, uh, I—" Every angle was awful. Saying we, implying he'd want to partner up. Saying you, even worse, assuming he'd ask me to dance, and saying I, which would mean I'd have to outright ask him to be my dance date.

"I'm not assuming anything. I know we'll win," he said smoothly.

Damn. To have that kind of confidence. And holy cow, he'd said we. We. Once again, I was struck speechless.

"Silver sheen..." He glanced around, while I wished for x-ray vision to see through his mask. "I wonder if that's a mirror."

"A mirror. Of course." Were we actually doing this? Partnering up without really discussing it? Just like that?

"Let's go before someone else beats us to it."

Holy shit, we were! Unless I was in the middle of a hallucination, we were actually partnering up!

He extended his arm, elbow bent, like he wanted me to hold onto him, a gesture that was both gentlemanly and kind of intimate.

I hesitated a beat, stunned at how fast this was progressing.

But I quickly reminded myself that tonight I intended on doing a whole lot more than elbow holding, and I needed to keep pushing myself forward in order to get there.

And this man right here, he was my prime prospect. My one and only prospect at this point, but there was no way I could do better. Absolutely no way. Not even if the biggest movie star in the world walked in.

So I placed my hand on his arm, the warmth and feel of him sending a shiver down my spine.

If just touching him through material had this effect on me, I couldn't imagine what having sex would do to me.

My God, you'd probably have to peel me from the ceiling afterwards.

Or... he could be like all the lame guys before him.

No. I knew already this man would be different. He positively oozed sex. Wait. Ooze and sex should never be used together in the same sentence.

"Shall we?" He tightened his elbow, not waiting for my response, leading me toward one side of the ballroom. "Do you see any mirrors?"

Right. Mirrors. It was impossible to concentrate when my hand was caught between his strong arm and god-like body. The back of my hand was touching his side. His side! And what a side it was!

I could feel the edges of his hard abs, just imagining the strength hidden beneath such fine fabric. The wool—Super 150s, maybe even 180s—was impossibly smooth and soft, but also substantial, the kind of material used in the most exquisite bespoke suits that of course this man would wear.

Not able to shut off my work brain, fingering just a bit of the fabric, I blurted without thinking, "This craftsmanship is impeccable. Who's the genius behind this masterpiece?"

That stopped him in his tracks, and he glanced down at me, a smile playing about his sexy lips. "I suppose that would be my tailor. But I'm hoping you're more interested in the man who's wearing it."

I stared at him, stunned once more by his very straightforward words. Who on earth was this man? I'd give anything to know his name.

He leaned in, so close that his proximity made my heart flutter. "Don't look, but there's a mirror behind you."

Oh. "Okay," I breathed. "So what... what's the plan?"

Releasing my hand from his elbow, he slowly turned to face me, overwhelming me with his presence. Placing his hands on my arms, he backed me up, while I stared up at him, my jaw gaping open until I remembered to close it.

The entire time, his eyes never wavered from mine, his stare piercing and beyond intense. This man didn't do anything halfway. I swallowed hard at the thought, again, of what he'd be like in bed. Something told me he'd never finish first, never let me go without an orgasm or two or maybe three.

My face flushed beneath my mask, my body suddenly overheating.

He still guided me, moving me until my back was against the wall, the force of his strength fully against me, every part of me melting into him. My breasts were crushed into his hard chest, and I had to wonder if he could feel that as much as I could.

"This is the plan, beautiful," he said softly.

Was I about to climax right here and now? I'd never in my life been so turned on.

I wanted to rub my body up against him like a cat in heat, and it took everything in me to hold still.

With every ounce of willpower I had, I made myself freeze, barely daring to breathe as he somehow moved even closer, his head angling down so near, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

"Don't move," he said.