The Millionaire's Masquerade (Erotic Romance Novella) (2 page)

A surge of longing sent Meg's heart soaring to the stars, but there was no point getting her hopes up. She was invited nowhere. "Aidan was the one invited, not me. How do you know so much about it anyway?"

"Honey,
you
got invited. Your initial sealed the flap. I should know because I went to one last year as Harrison Matthews' guest."

"Harrison Matthews as in our number one client?"

"The very same."

Meg laughed. "Tell me, Ms. Femme Fatale, what do the numbers beneath the date mean?"

"Coordinates to where the party's being held. Google them."

Meg tapped the numbers into the search engine. "It's in Brooklyn." She pulled up the satellite view. "An abandoned sugar refinery that looks like it needs demolished."

"You can bet your ass that the inside is anything but abandoned. Promise me you'll keep an open mind when you go."

Meg clicked on the street view. There was nothing to see except other abandoned warehouses. "What exactly happens at these pop-up parties, and why's Aidan involved?"

"Duh! His brothers organize corporate events for a living. I bet they had something to do with this year's party. As for what goes on in there, I'll let that be a surprise."

"I didn't say I was going." She shut down the map and put her computer to sleep.

"Oh, you're going. Did it cross your mind that Aidan dropped it knowing that his superstar assistant would pick it up and open it?"

"No way. You think?"

"Give the bar a miss tonight. Get your beauty sleep, because tomorrow we're going to buy you the sexiest masquerade costume we can find. You're gonna show off what God gave you."

Excitement and fear rippled around Meg's nerves, tickling her belly until she giggled. Apart from her dignity, what did she have to lose? "Screw it. I might regret this, but okay, I'm in."

Aidan hailed a taxi and glanced at his mobile. Meg hadn't called again. If he knew her like he thought he did, she would have already opened the envelope. She was smart enough to figure out what it meant.

An image of Meg in a masquerade costume flitted through his mind. He had a suspicion that beneath her corporate suits and professional demeanor lurked a woman who only needed the opportunity and encouragement to break free. He hoped—prayed—tomorrow night's ball would be one such opportunity. She'd burrowed under his skin, and he'd spent more time than was good for him fantasizing about running his hands through her hair, stroking his fingers up and down her curves, and asking her to work late so he could fuck her over his desk.

He made her nervous. He liked that. It thrilled him how her breath caught when he was near. How the pupils of her amber eyes dilated, and how her lips parted in surprise when he called her by her first name—something he only did on occasion to see her reaction.

For two years, he'd pushed her harder than any other employee. If he hadn't, he would've let down his guard and shown everyone how much he wanted her. He wasn't the kind of man who screwed his employees. Meg excelled at her job, and didn't deserve anyone questioning her work ethic or gossiping about her having sex on the boardroom table. Although, doing exactly
that
had crossed his mind several times.

Meg pushed herself hard. She put herself through design school while keeping up the demands of a full-time job. And, if he was anything, he was demanding. If he weren't, he wouldn't manage some of the world's top hedge funds.

After a long and laughter-filled day of shopping, hair styling, and prettifying with Ellory, Meg dumped what felt like three ten-pound bags onto the floor of her box-strewn apartment. For the past week, she'd lived from boxes and looked forward to organizing and unpacking...whenever that would happen.

"I like what you've done with the place," Ellory said with amusement in her voice.

"I told you not to expect much. It's small, but I can make it work. I have plans."

"I have no doubt." Ellory yanked an obscenely short red renaissance-style dress from a garment bag along with three gold ribbons to lace it into place. "Time to get dressed, Cinderella. Your prince awaits."

Meg took the satin dress complete with lacy bell sleeves and flouncy skirt from her friend's hand and held it up to her body.

"I still think it's too short. It barely covers my ass."

"And? That's the whole idea. You want his dick hard the minute he sees you, don't you?"

"You seem more excited about this than me." Meg shoved the dress towards Ellory. "Maybe you should go."

Ellory shoved it back. "I wish, but these things are invitation only. Besides, it's not me Aidan wants to fuck."

"We don't know if that's what he wants. There's still a chance he dropped it by mistake."

"I'm going to throttle you. Wake up. Has he returned your calls? Or emailed you to say he lost an important letter? No, he hasn't. Aidan Forrester does
not
make mistakes."

In her heart, Meg wanted to believe he didn't, but after nothing but professionalism for two years, it was a hard sell that the invitation was meant for her. For christsake, he didn't even care that she was leaving, and she didn't want to believe that Aidan dropping the envelope was a predetermined plan.

"Besides, I couldn't go if I wanted to." Ellory presented a pair of sheer black stockings to Meg. "I have someone of my very own to dress up for."

"Harrison?"

With a flourish of her hand, Shelly produced a leather cat suit from a bag. "Tonight he gets to meet the Dominatrix."

"Or Cat Woman," Meg said. "I'm sure he'll be fine with either."

"Wouldn't every man?"

Grabbing her bags with a smile, Meg rushed into her bedroom and dumped everything onto the bed. The shoebox room was big enough for a double bed, a full-length mirror, and a rail for clothes. Since she didn't need the room for anything other than sleeping, thanks to her barren love life, it suited her fine. She stripped and examined her body. She wasn't perfect. Having bumps, dips, and curves was who she was, and she wouldn't change for anyone.

An intricate French braid laced with pearls adorned her head, while the rest of her hair lay in barrel curls over one shoulder. She looked like a renaissance fair reject, or a wench who belonged in a tavern serving ale to thirsty pirates.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled on the sheer stockings and delighted as the silky material glided over her skin. Next, she shimmied into the dress and hoped to God it had titanium seams. Otherwise, she'd burst out of it if she ate more than a crumb. Underwear or no underwear? Placing her hands on her knees, she glanced back at her reflection. Her booty was there for the world to see.
Definitely underwear.
The world was not ready for the blinding glare of her sun-starved butt. She delved into a box marked
passion killers
, shoving anything gray or with snapped elastic out of her way until she found a pair of lacy shorts decorated with diamantes. It would be rude not to make the effort now she'd come this far.

"You'll have to lace up this corset for me," she called out and slipped her feet into a new pair of black, three-inch heels. They pinched a little, but she would suffer the pain a sexy pair of shoes brought.

Ellory strolled into the bedroom. "Well, just look at you. You'll have to fight them off." She picked up one of the ribbons laying on the bed and began to thread it through the eyelets at the back of the dress. "Resist me while I pull."

Ellory secured the ribbon as if she was a surgeon suturing a wound. Meg tilted forward. Her body transformed before her eyes. Her waist cinched in, and her breasts all but spilled from the bodice. Ellory tugged hard, and Meg's breath whooshed out.

"You're going to fracture my ribs if you pull any tighter. I don't want my boobs to break free mid-conversation."

"I'm sure Aidan wouldn't mind one little bit if they did." Ellory tied the last ribbon and stood back, examining the bows.

Meg lowered her gaze to the swell of her now very high and voluptuous breasts. "It's a little bit like false advertising, don't you think?" She studied herself from every angle. "Once the dress comes off, my boobilicious boobs will fall south."

"Are you blind? You look hot. One glance at you and Aidan Forrester will drop to his knees and beg you to marry him."

"Sure he will."

"Wait, we forgot the most important part." Ellory darted out of the room and returned a few seconds later with a cobalt-blue masquerade mask. Blue and gold feathers decorated the lace bridge, and sparkling Swarovski crystals lined the eyes. Ellory lifted it into place, and Meg held it as her friend secured it. The mask covered the upper half of her face, but her irises sparkled with a tawny hue, and her fire-engine red lips appeared fuller, seductive. Angelia Jolie had nothing on her.

"Wow," Ellory breathed.

"I don't even look like me." Meg touched her hand to the sensual woman in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself and worried that maybe Aidan wouldn't recognize her either.

The muffled ringtone of Eartha Kitt purring
Santa Baby
shook Meg from her daydream, and after pulling everything off her bed, she located her phone beneath a mountain of plastic bags. "Hello."

"Ms. Daniels? This is your chauffeur. Your car is outside," said a clipped voice.

"Car? I didn't order a car. Who sent you?"

"The answer to that question isn't worth my job, ma'am. Let's just say an admirer."

"An admirer, huh?" Her excitement mounted and she stared at Ellory who shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay. I'll be there in a second." Meg hung up and grabbed a small purse from the bedroom floor. Her stomach cartwheeled, and it took all of her willpower not to hurl. The stench of vomit clinging to her pores would turn off even the most ardent man. "What if this is some kind of elaborate set-up?" She clutched her purse to her chest. "What if I make a fool of myself?"

"I'm not listening to anymore of your weak ass excuses." Ellory shoved her out of the apartment door and practically dragged her downstairs through her still-empty store. "Your pumpkin awaits, Cinders."

Outside, a stretch limo with blacked-out windows idled in the bustling lamp-lit street, and a uniformed chauffeur held a door open.

"Do me a favor," Ellory said with a hug. "Relax and let the night take you where it will."

"I promise." Trying not to panic, Meg gulped down a breath and slid into the car, but when she saw the empty backseat, cold disappointment sliced her heart.

Aidan stood by the ice bar and sipped a Bushmills on the rocks. He'd attended one of these parties on Independence Day. But preferring not to partake in the
celebrations
, he'd networked, drank beer, and left early. Plenty of women had offered him their company, but he'd declined. He wasn't what you would call the biggest fan of one-night stands. This evening, he'd already been propositioned numerous times, but the only woman on his mind was Meg.

She'd taken the bait, and the thought of seeing her hardened his dick. For two years, he'd denied himself Ms. Daniels, but tonight he'd finally get some relief. There was no more denying himself anything. The driver texted him saying they were on their way. With traffic, it should take no more than thirty minutes for them to arrive—thirty minutes too long.

The abandoned sugar warehouse on the Hudson had been transformed into a winter wonderland. In a few hours, his brother Cole, along with the Forrester Events team, would strip the place bare, and it would be as if nothing ever happened. Their younger brother Ronan, Cole's business partner, usually looked after the tear down, but he'd flown to Dublin at the beginning of the week on some kind of secret mission.

These parties were a safe place for the glitterati to indulge their desires without worrying about the paparazzi or kiss-and-tell stories. If the mayor wanted a socialite to trail him around the party as if he were her pet, he could. Same thing if a box office heartthrob wanted to wear cuffs, a collar and a slave mask while licking his mistress's feet. No cameras, no phones, and a ten-page confidentiality contract meant no evidence.

He wandered around the makeshift club, only stopping to talk when necessary, and discreetly turning from any partygoers who'd decided to begin their festivities early. Some of the guests took the idea of a masquerade to extreme lengths and wore costumes that wouldn't seem out of place in a Victorian brothel. Aidan preferred to keep it simple and stylish with a tuxedo and a plain black masque.

A message lit up his phone informing him they'd arrive in two minutes. Anticipation tightened his gut, and he made his way to the ground floor. He debated going to meet her, but decided he would watch from the shadows. He wanted to see how she reacted to the hedonism happening around her. To gauge if she was as open-minded as he'd hoped.

The limo pulled up, and when the chauffeur opened the door for Meg, Aidan's cock twitched in appreciation. How he yearned to sink into her warmth. 

Glancing around, she pulled up the bodice of her exquisite dress and smoothed the extremely short skirt over stocking-clad legs. When she reached back into the car, the hem of her skirt rose up, giving him a glimpse of her skimpy underwear.

He stood by the window, mesmerized by her movements, and watched as she teetered into the warehouse in a pair of fuck-me heels. He'd keep his distance, but stay close enough to rescue her if needed. Because of her appearance, it wouldn't take long until someone cornered her and tried to make her theirs for the night. By no means did he consider himself a jealous man, but something about Meg made him understand the nature of Neanderthals—she was his, no one else's.

Meg stepped through frosted pillars and followed a path between ice-covered trees into Narnia. Mesmerizing LED snowflakes floated around the cavernous room, and blue lights illuminated hundreds of icicles hanging from a vast ceiling. A cacophony of Christmas music and laughter hit her in vibrating waves. Her pulse drummed in time to the music, and if it wasn't for the possibility of seeing Aidan, she'd have sprinted back to the limo. It took a few seconds for her sight to adjust to the lighting, and when it did, her gaze darted around the undulating crowd looking for him.