Wishing Well(39)

The room spun as I made my way out into the halls, the silence of the elevator ride down the first floor ballroom setting my nerves on edge and twisting my stomach into so many knots, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to eat again.

But for all the trepidation, for the fear and panic and uncertainty that drowned me, I was still able to stand amazed and mesmerized when I turned a corner and followed the music that filled the hotel to see the glamor and opulence of the ballroom.

They’d spared no expense in its splendor, cut no corners in its design, and now with the room filled from wall to wall with beautiful people, I felt like I’d stepped out of some ordinary life and into a fairy tale. Never had I imagined I would attend an event such as this, never had I felt like I was floating while my feet were planted firmly on the ground.

Stepping inside, I glanced up at the large, crystal chandelier, its light spilling down onto the dancers casting prisms of colored designs. The walls flickered with hundreds of fire sconces, the silver fissures in the black marble floors sparkling beneath the dance of shadow and light. A waiter moved past me dressed in a black on black suit, pausing to bow shallowly and offer one of the flutes of sparkling champagne. After plucking one from the silver tray, I inclined my head to thank him and brought the rim of the glass to my lips.

Nobody in this room knew who I was, they had no clue I was simply a housekeeper. And as they passed me in their tailed tuxedos and partial face masks, I smiled back with red glossed lips when they nodded their heads in greeting. If I knew how to dance, I would have done so, but instead, I stood off to the right of the room watching while people laughed and clapped and kissed each other, the center of the room a whirlwind of activity as masked dancers moved in coordination.

My eyes peered about the room wondering which masked man was Vincent, which tuxedo would he wear? Black on white, black on black? Would his mask be gold, or black or red? Who was he the among these glamorous people and would he make himself known to me now or later?

He would recognize me because I wore the dress he selected. He would know my answer was yes.

An hour passed and then another as I drank more champagne and ate the hor d’oeuvres that passed by on silver trays, my head spinning as the alcohol coursed through my veins, my cheeks hurting from smiling so much. Just as I’d given up hope of ever recognizing Vincent, a hush fell over the crowd, people backing away from the center of the room as dancers dressed in jaw dropping costumes took their place beneath the chandelier.

A song lightly played, the crescendo building, the increasing tempo driving my pulse until the room was spinning, the dancers hearing their cue and becoming the music that transfixed me. One man stood facing them from the front of the room, his tailored tuxedo perfectly displaying broad shoulders that tapered down to a strong chest and a trim waist, his face completely covered by a black mask that bore no embellishments except shadow.

It must be him, I thought, but then a pair of strong hands grabbed me, a warm chest pressed against my back as the cool surface of a devil’s mask brushed against my cheek. Twisting so that I could see the man that held me, brilliant green eyes stared back.

“Vincent,” I whispered, unable to see if he smiled that dangerously devilish grin that fit so perfectly with his green and silver mask. His hand found mine, and before I could utter another word, I was being led from the ballroom by a man whose black tuxedo did nothing to hide the masculine strength of his body.

I was practically running to keep up with him as we wound our way through the halls, and when we were alone together as the elevator climbed, I laughed and reached for his mask.

His grip was bruising when he snatched my wrist to keep me from pulling it off.

The elevator doors opened and he swept me up into his arms, cradling me to his chest as he ate the distance of the hall with his long, powerful stride. He didn’t set me down again until we were in the privacy of my room.

He stilled as we stood staring at each other, our masks in place and our chests heaving. It was the motion of his arm that caught my gaze, the length of his fingers slipping into his pocket to extract a long stretch of black silk.

I think it’s only fair I warn you that in the bedroom I am a man with particular tastes.

My heart was a trapped bird beating its wings desperately beneath my ribs.

Raising a black-gloved hand, he twirled his finger in the air, silently demanding I turn around. I obeyed him without uttering a complaint.

Without making a sound beyond the soft thud of his shoes against the carpet, Vincent stepped behind me, so close that the heat of his chest was a furnace against my back. His hands were gentle as he untied the ribbon holding my mask in place. It fell to the ground as silently as a feather. Soft silk stretched over my eyes, the low light in the room disappearing, and after securing the blindfold in place, his fingertip traced the shape of my mouth, his breath a whisper of sound near my cheek as his other hand gripped my hip and pulled me against him.

I could feel the hard length of his excitement against the cheeks of my bottom, a violent tremor coursing through me. His finger slipped inside my mouth and I suckled the tip without thinking. The responsive growl that rattled his chest was full of male satisfaction. His hand was a bruising pressure on my hip, his body pressing closer, his finger pulling out of my mouth so that he could rip the mask from his face. I felt the skin of his cheek against mine, felt the burn of stubble as his face fell down and his teeth locked on to the tender place where my neck met my shoulder.