Chapter 2
Two
Ilona
The elevator doors part and I step into a world I've only ever dreamed about.
A hostess in a flowing gold gown greets me with a warm smile, her dark eyes taking in my body paint with obvious appreciation rather than judgment.
Behind her, a podium holds a leather-bound book with gilt-edged pages, and the soft glow of candlelight makes everything feel like stepping into another century. Another life.
"Welcome to Scarlet Thorn." Her voice is honeyed and kind, the sort of voice that puts nervous first-timers at ease. I suspect that's exactly her purpose. "May I have your name for the registry?"
I give her my friend’s name since I’m essentially a plus one to her membership.
She helped get me on under her three months ago through channels I didn't ask too many questions about.
My name had to go somewhere but she promised it was tucked away where no one could identify me.
Something about a contact who owed her men a favor, paperwork that bypassed the usual vetting process, and a monthly fee that came out of an account my father doesn't know exists. And I was happy to pay.
The hostess runs a manicured finger down the page and her smile widens. "Ah, yes. Luna Moone’s addition to her membership. You're a new member of Scarlet Thorn under her. This is your first night with us?" Her eyes sparkle with something close to delight.
I nod. “Yes.”
"Welcome. I have a feeling you're going to love what we've prepared for our annual End of Summer Masquerade. Between you and me, it’s a little late, but a party is a party, right?"
"Thank you. You’re right. And isn’t it always summer in the jungle?" The words come out steadier than I expect, given that my heart is trying to escape through my throat.
“True. Speaking of, I see you’ve taken our Jungle theme to heart. You’re stunning.” She takes in my body art with another appreciative glance.
“Sign here, please.”
She slides the leather-bound book toward me with a warm smile.
I hesitate for just a moment, then sign only my first name with a fountain pen that feels heavy and important in my hand.
The ink gleams wet against the cream-colored page, and for a moment I just stare at it.
Proof that I'm here. Proof that I exist outside the cage my father built around me.
"Right this way." Another hostess appears at my elbow, this one in barely-there strips of emerald silk that match the jungle theme. She's stunning in the way that makes me want to both stare and hide, with legs that go on forever and confidence radiating from every pore.
I follow her through a curtain of hanging vines and palm fronds, and then I stop breathing entirely.
Someone has brought the jungle inside and created a magical oasis hidden away from the rest of the world.
The massive room stretches before me like something out of a fever dream.
Birds of paradise explode in bursts of orange and purple from towering arrangements.
Palm fronds create intimate alcoves along the walls, their shadows dancing in the flickering candlelight.
Exotic flowers I can't name perfume the air with sweetness so thick I can almost taste it on my tongue—jasmine and frangipani and something darker underneath.
Their combined scent smells of want and desire.
And the people.
God, the people.
Scantily dressed women draped across black velvet lounges, their bodies adorned with jewels, silk, and precious little else.
Gorgeous men in tailored suits with hungry eyes prowl the edges of the room like predators deciding which prey to chase.
In the shadowed alcoves, some guests have already abandoned all pretense of socializing.
Soft moans drift through the music, punctuated by gasps and the wet sounds of mouths and bodies meeting.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't look away. I came here for this. I came here to feel alive.
The center of the room commands my attention like a magnet pulling iron.
A raised platform serves as a stage, and on it, dancers move in ways that make my mouth go dry.
Silver glitter covers their bodies from head to toe, and when the soft beams of light, designed to mimic moonlight, caresses their skin, they appear to be a moving body of water shimmering beneath a midnight sky.
I'm so mesmerized that I don't register the presence at my side until a voice pours over me like warm honey laced with smoke.
"I've been watching you since you walked through those doors."
My breath catches. I turn, and the world narrows to a single point.
He's tall. Taller than me even in my stilettos.
A deep green mask covers the upper half of his face, making the dark eyes behind it even more striking by contrast. His suit is black and perfectly tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a chest that speaks of disciplined strength.
At his collar, tattoos peek out, dark ink against deeply tanned skin.
And on the back of his right hand, the head of a viper stares at me with ruby red eyes that glitter in the candlelight.
My gaze travels up slowly. I can't help it.
The suit jacket stretches across muscles that bunch and shift as he moves.
His jaw is strong beneath a neatly trimmed beard, and his lips curve into a smile that's equal parts charm and danger.
Long dark hair frames his face, pushed back from his forehead in waves that make my fingers itch to touch.
But it's his eyes that hold me captive. Dark as midnight and twice as dangerous, filled with a heat that makes me feel like I'm the only woman in this room of beautiful people.
He holds out a pink hibiscus that nearly matches the coral-colored ones painted over my breasts.
"For you, jungle flower."
Jungle flower.
“Your smile is my heart’s undoing. Do you not receive flowers often?”
His voice is low and rich, the kind of voice that could talk a woman into anything. The kind of voice I want whispering filthy things against my skin.
Slow down, Ilona. Damn. My libido needs to hit the brakes before I throw the first man I meet into bed.
I take the flower with fingers that tremble only slightly. "How did you know I'd love this color?"
His smile deepens. He reaches for my hand, and I expect him to kiss it, the way men do in movies when they're trying to be charming.
Instead, he simply holds it, stepping back to take in the full canvas of my body.
His gaze roams over the painted yellow-and-coral-colored hibiscus flowers, the curling vines, the rich, green leaves that barely preserve my modesty.
And everywhere his eyes touch, my skin burns.
"Because it matches the art you're wearing and I have the idea this shade is one of your favorites." His thumb traces a circle on my inner wrist, right over my racing pulse.
“You might be on to something,” I admit with a hint of a smile on my lips.
A group of men passes nearby, their eyes dragging over my painted curves with undisguised appreciation. Instinct has me pulling my hand away and wrapping my arms around my middle, trying to cover myself, to shrink back into the wallflower I've always been.
But this stranger’s hands find mine, warm and strong, and slowly unwind them from my body.
"Let them look." He positions my arms at my sides, his palms sliding down to rest at my hips. "They can appreciate your beauty, jungle flower. They can want. But they cannot touch what isn't theirs. Not without permission."
The possessiveness in his voice should alarm me. I've spent my whole life belonging to a man who saw me as property. The last thing I need is another one.
But this is different. He's not claiming ownership. He's claiming protection. And the distinction makes heat pool low in my belly in ways I've never experienced.
"And what about you?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my witty deflection nowhere to be found. "Are you going to touch?"
His laugh is low, a sound that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my senses as he steps closer.
So close I feel the warmth of his body brush against mine and his scent fills my lungs.
Sandalwood and black pepper and something smoky underneath, like he's just walked through fire and emerged unscathed.
The scent wraps around me, sinking into my pores, and I know I'll never forget it for as long as I live.
"That depends entirely on you." He leans in, running his nose along the sensitive curve of my neck. His breath is warm against my skin, and when he nibbles at my earlobe, I gasp and lean into him like I've been doing this all my life. "I don't take what isn't offered freely."
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling my back flush against his front, and I feel him. All of him. Hard and thick and pressed against the curve of my ass with nothing but thin fabric between us.
He’s not playing fair and I know from the way his fingers splay over the warmth of my skin, he knows it.
My painted body might as well leave me fully naked. Every nerve ending sparks to life under his gentle caresses.
"Watch," he murmurs against my ear, and slowly turns me toward the stage.
The glitter-covered dancers have faded into the shadows, and in their place, three men walk toward the center of the platform. They're beautiful in different ways, all muscles and masculine grace, and completely naked. My lips part with surprise, but then they step aside and reveal a fourth figure.
A woman. A goddess. All curves and confidence, lowered onto a velvet settee by her lovers with a reverence that makes my chest ache.
"Oh." The sound escapes me before I can stop it.
My mystery man chuckles, the vibration traveling through his chest and into my spine. His hand splays across my midriff, warm and possessive, holding me against the hard length of him.