A Billionaire for Christmas

Tonight was a night that Raji had off, a night to be savored, not to be spoiled.

Work things would not interfere with tonight.

Peyton’s strong arm clamped around her waist, and he led as well on the dance floor as he did in bed: very much in control, but not too rough. He wore a mask over the upper half of his face and nose, painted black and white with subtle shading and swirls. It was a Venetian mask, he had said, and yes, he had picked it up during Carnevale in Venice a few years earlier. The black mask matched his tuxedo, though he wore a black, straight tie with the tux, not a bow tie. “Oh, you haven’t seen even half of it yet. Save your disbelief for later.”

The crowd was a monochromatic dark sea, shining with speckles of moonlight. The black-and-white charity ball was also a masquerade, so everyone wore funereal black, ghostly white, and masks. The nightclub soared around them, an open dance floor in the middle and then three stories of white-covered tables on balconies. Waiters moved between the tables, serving supper and wine.

“I can’t believe we’re out on a real date!” Raji adjusted her mask, a silver filigree composed of metallic swirls and crystals. It looked like a face-tiara.

Below Peyton’s mask, his mouth smiled, and crinkles formed around his eyes. Even in the twilight-lit nightclub, his bright teal eyes shone in the glimmers. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Georgie told me about it. Evidently, she knows the people who own this place, so they sent her an invitation. It’s to benefit a new autism center called A Ray of Light that’s run by a friend of the owner.”

“You know,” Raji said, trying to make her eyes sparkle with mischief but unsure that she succeeded, “my hospital has a huge masquerade fundraiser next month. We could go out, eat a rubber chicken supper, and go dancing again! Two dates!”

Peyton laughed. “I’d love to. Let me check the touring schedule and get back to you. I think we could make it a habit, Raji-lee. The Met holds a masquerade ball every year, as do several charities in London. We could meet just for these masked events.”

She laughed. “It would be a shame to use this mask only once.”

“This place is very special, though.”

Raji smiled back at him, even though a part of her threatened to fall apart. “Yeah?”

His brilliantly blue-green eyes took on a wicked twinkle. “You’ll see. We have about fifteen minutes until our reservation upstairs.”

Raji glanced at the white-covered tables and hovering waiters on the balconies. “We already ate supper. I’m stuffed.”

Peyton laughed. “This place has many surprises.” He looked over her head, guiding her through the crowd as he led the waltz. He saw something, and his smile faded. “Oh, shit.”

He whipped her around sideways, so that his back was toward whatever he had seen.

“What?” Raji craned her neck to look over his shoulder at the crowd, but even in heels, she was too short.

Peyton hunched a little and kept his face turned the other way. “Xan and Georgie are here. She said they weren’t going to be able to make it. That’s why I suggested we go.”

“Xan Valentine? Where?” She hadn’t seen Xan since that time she had met Peyton at the Whisky a Go Go before she and Peyton had become an official, if secret, item. Even though she was there to hang out with Peyton, seeing the lead singer of the meteorically successful band again would be pretty awesome. “And how did you recognize them? Aren’t they wearing masks?”

“Yeah, they’re wearing masks, but I’ve been staring at his ass on stage for years now. I can recognize him better from behind than from the front. Georgie is wearing the same silver satin dress that she wore for a concert last week. Let’s go.”

She was having fun dancing with him and having a real date. “But we’re wearing masks—”

“Come on.” He held her hand and broke a path through the crowd, away from where he had been looking.

They reached the edge, and Peyton dodged down a hallway, pulling Raji after him.

She draped her arms over his shoulders, laughing. “So you told them that you weren’t seeing me anymore, I take it.”

“After we discussed it about a year ago, yes. They have no idea about this—” his hand flipped in the air, indicating something words couldn’t express, “—thing we have going on. Xan’s on the warpath, though. He’s been after me, saying that I’m traveling too much when we have breaks, that I’m never there when they’re writing songs, stuff like that. He caught me in a hotel lobby when I left to meet you last summer, and he’s been giving me the hairy eyeball ever since. He thinks I’m meeting drug dealers for coked-out weekend retreats or something.”