Midnight at the Masquerade

Midnight at the Masquerade

M.M. Brennan

Copyright 2013 M.M. Brennan

All rights reserved.

Midnight at the Mascarade

(An Erotic
Romance)

Book design by M.M. Brennan

Cover Image Copyright 2013, Aidan Morgan, used under a Creative Commons Attribtion License:

http:creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

“Come on, Sweets, a night of reckless passion is the least you deserve.”

“Randi, please,” Krista Cole whispered sharply, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Randi Capone smiled too, looking very much like a young Robert Redford with his longish blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His elaborate costume- an eighteenth century European inspired ensemble of tan breeches, cream ruffled dress shirt, and dark coat- draped his lean frame with the quality of something tailor-made. He was too sexy for his own good, and the good of any single male masquerading as a love struck fool at his party tonight. And there were plenty.

Indeed, this was
the
party of the year. He’d made sure of that. His blueblood socialite mother had thought Randi to be a perfect host, and he was. He was an expert at throwing elegant parties, and his twenty-seventh birthday looked to be no different: a traditional masquerade where all attendants were required to wear historical baroque costumes fitting to the original French masquerades. Krista scanned the room full of beautiful people hidden behind glittering masks and expensive gowns.

“I’m just saying, Krista, you need to let yourself go for once. Be spontaneous.” He smiled wickedly, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the dull light of a dozen bronze sconces. “Let your hair down.” 

With nimble musician fingers he undid her hair clasp, allowing the unruly dark locks to spill about her breast.

“Randi! Do you have any idea how long I spent fixing that?”

“Far too long if you’re that upset about it. Besides,” he said, tussling the dark curls, “it looks better down.”

“It’s not fitting with the time period,” Krista argued, playfully batting his hands away.

“It’s my birthday, and I say it looks better down.” He pouted, his too full lips pulled down at the corners. She’d seen the look a thousand times and it was less than swaying. “Please?”

Krista laughed softly, leaned forward and kissed the tip of his slightly upturned nose. “Fine. I’ll leave it down.” She pulled a small velvet box from the gold and cream reticule tied to her wrist. “Happy birthday.”

“What’s this?” Randi asked, his eyes glinting with boyish excitement. “You already gave me a gift. Which I adore, I might add.”

“I know, but I couldn’t resist.” She pressed the box into his outstretched hand. He took it eagerly, pulled at the cream ribbon and the bow fell away.

“No, no. You’ll wanna save this one for later,” she said, wrapping her fingers lightly around his.

“Oh, Krista!” he squealed with genuine delight, his eyes sparkling like bright twin stars. “It’s the trio erotica pack we were giddy over in the sex shop, isn’t it?”

She winked and he laughed, something rich and musical. Her best friend was easily amused, and the box of assorted condoms was sure to keep him and some lucky young man busy for quite a while. Good, at least one of them would enjoy the evening.

“You’re so naughty. You shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right. I probably shouldn’t have,” Krista chuckled softly. “Do me a favor. Don’t leave a trail of broke hearts in your wake. There’s only nine in there.”

“Oh, I promise,” he said. He shoved the box into his coat pocket and let his eyes wander over the revelers gathered for his birthday. “I wonder who the lucky boy will be?”

“I’m sure you can have your pick,” Krista said.

“So could you,” Randi said. The conviction in his voice was strong, sincere, heartfelt.

“Nah. Not
my
pick.”

Not that she thought she was ugly or anything. In fact, she wasn’t even plain. Passively pretty was how her mother had put it, and though the term had been painful in her youth, it fit her well. Her heart-shaped face and deep widow’s peak combined with her pale skin and dark hair made her appearance more odd than exotic. That coupled with her too large eyes and kewpie mouth insured she wouldn’t look old enough to drink until wrinkles set in, though she’d passed that threshold years ago.

“I’m serious.” He brushed a long curl from her face.

“You really are beautiful, Krista.”

“You’re gay.”

“I can still appreciate the loveliness of the female body.” His eyes darkened and something like loathing moved over his angular face. “Obviously more than that retched Britain Bentley.”

“Randi, don’t,” Krista said lightly, but her eyes held resolve that her tone didn’t.

“He doesn’t deserve your admiration. You know he doesn’t.”

“You’re right,” Krista said, gathering up the train of her dress, inadequacy an unmistakable pain in her chest. “He deserves so much more.” She managed a mirthless smile. “Enjoy your party.”

“You’re leaving?”

Krista shrugged. Pain lodged in her throat like a rock and she didn’t dare speak for fear of crying.

“Suit yourself,” Randi said, bowing gallantly at the waist. He took her hand in his and kissed it gently as his mischievous eyes cut across the room. “But I’m afraid our mysterious guest in the corner will be very disappointed.”

Despite her better judgment, Krista followed Randi’s gaze. An unexplained excitement swirled in her stomach, warm, intoxicating like whisky. She couldn’t decipher the expression on the man’s face behind the smiling Venetian mask. Not ornate like the others, it was plain and porcelain with expressive eyes and a delicately carved mouth.

She sighed, her heart fracturing slightly as she thought of Britain. Randi might be content with a single night of wild passion. Call her old fashioned, but she wanted more. She wanted Britain Bentley. Had from the first moment she locked eyes on him.

He was probably here somewhere dancing with another girl. He’d never given Krista so much as a sideways glance. Randi was right. She should just forget about him and enjoy the party.

Yeah, like that was going to happen
.

She watched as the dancers swirled around her, feeling more alone with each passing moment. A feeling she thought she should be used to by now, but it stung with new potency. Krista swallowed hard, trying to push back the pain and put on a brave face for Randi, though he’d disappeared somewhere among the costumed dancers.

The four string quartette shifted seamlessly from a waltz to something softer. Bitterness rippled through her as jovial masqueraders swapped partners, pulling masked strangers intimately close and twirling off across the marble floor.

Her eyes burned with the promise of tears. She took a glass of Champaign from a tray carried by a waiter dressed as a jester and took a sip. Bittersweet, kind of like her outlook on life. She caught Randi eyeing her from across the room, his thick lips a razor thin line of disapproval. She tried to smiled, failed miserably, then took another long drink.

She would not ruin this for Randi, damn it. She was going to put on her pretty porcelain mask and pretend to enjoy herself. She made her way through the sea of false grinning faces, hoping to find the mysterious guest who’d been eyeballing her from the corner. Though deep down, she didn’t know why. She wanted only one man. Curiosity, she told herself as she walked around the dancers.

She made her way to the center of the room and scanned the flock of hidden faces. The guests whirled and twirled around her, one colorful mask bleeding into the next. He appeared from the crowd like a specter, surprising her as he spun her around. Excitement flickered through her stomach. Had he been looking for her, too?

“Dance with me,” he said, his large, elegant hand outstretched. It wasn’t a question, but a command and she felt compelled to obey.

Krista took his hand lightly and without hesitation, enjoying the wicked amusement that flickered in his soft, expectant eyes. In a show, he kissed her hand, his lips feather soft and deliciously warm on her skin. She smiled and a throaty laugh poured from her with unexpected ease.

He wrapped one arm tenderly around her waist, and holding the other with fingers entwined, they moved together. Keeping their bodies at a careful, almost pious distance, he led with assured grace and poise unbefitting a man of his size. There was nothing uncertain or uncomfortable in his polished, languid movements.

Time slipped away, spiraling slowly around them, and Krista was blissfully unaware of the passing moments. She seemed to float, entranced by the soft melody of the cello and violins. Everyone around them faded into a haze, and her masked partner was the only thing that was real. They swayed slowly long after the last note had died, too enraptured to heed the songs ending.

Krista held on a moment longer, reluctant to release him. Their eyes met, and a certain unspoken awareness passed between them. The air in the room became electric, his undeclared desire almost palpable. Before she had time to consider her feelings, he took her face in his hand and brought his lips crashing down on hers. Krista’s lips soften as the kiss deepened. He tasted forbidden, yet innocently sweet, like whisky and butterscotch. He brought his arm higher up on her waist. Krista shivered beneath his touch as his fingers lightly grazed the swell of her breast.

A flood of bewildering emotions washed over her and she backed away, embarrassment and uncertainty driving her haste. He reached for her but stopped short, seeming unsure of his own feelings. An unexpected silence descended the crowd, and for an unreasonably illogical moment Krista thought everyone was aware of her feelings.

It took Krista a moment to realize the quartet had taken a break and the dancers were departing. Slowly, everyone abandoned the floor and she was left alone with the masked stranger. He handed her a single rose. Then before she could stop him, he melted into the darkness as if he belonged there. Maybe he did. Maybe she belonged there with him.

Jesters carrying trays of champagne and appetizers wound through the crowd. Krista followed the path the stranger had taken only seconds before. She pushed her way through the masquerading throng hoping to catch another glimpse of the mysterious man. She spotted the flutter of his black cape as he raced up the imperial staircase. She hurried after him, gathering her dress in her fists so she didn’t trip over the hem as she climbed the steps.

He turned to her and smiled, waiting for her at the opposite side of the interior balcony and she went to him. They were alone except for a few masqueraders wandering in and out of the open French doors. A warm breeze drifted in through the wide openings, whipping Krista’s hair about her face. He reached out with a gloved hand and brushed the unruly locks from her cheek.

Krista’s breath caught in her throat and her heart pulsed faster. He stepped in closer, closing the gap between them. He ran a gentle hand down her back and before she knew what was happening, he undid her dress. Krista thought she felt his fingers trembled as he pulled the pearl buttons from their moors. Excitement? Nerves? Krista couldn’t be sure. The butterflies had taken flight in her own stomach the moment his fingers caressed her skin.