The Ravishing

“Like you’d have let me go.”

I grabbed the silk off the floor and knelt before her, easing her left foot and then her right into the lingerie. Lifting up the material along her calves and tugging it over her thighs, my fingers brushing against her soft flesh. Fitting it perfectly. Unwittingly, my thumb caressed her, and she shuddered beneath my touch. She reached out and rested her hands on my shoulders.

It would have been easy to lean in and touch her. Suck her through the thin material that separated us. Feel her shudder in ecstasy.

My will of steel was as reliable as it always was. She could have her fun teasing me, but I could never be seduced—my moral code might be broken but I would never take a Glassman to my bed.

I was a better man than her father.

Pushing to my feet and at the same time snagging her bra off the floor, I again towered over her. Sliding her arms through the straps , I brought it forward to cup her breasts with the material, feeling the softness and the plumpness of her breasts. Then I moved around her to secure the clasp behind her back.

Raising my stare over her shoulder, I saw the reflection of us in the new mirror that replaced the broken one. My fingers trailed along her shoulder to even out the left strap, then gave them both a tug to lift her breasts. Reaching around to ensure the cups fit snugly, I felt her nipples bead beneath the blue silk.

Our eyes met in the reflection.

I became stiff despite trying to resist this urge to touch her again. That deep-seated ache in my belly convinced me that taking her was my right.

I own her.

Could take her at will.

She turned to face me and peered up, her eyes settling on my lips, enticing me to lean in and satisfy her need to be kissed, kissed like we had back at the café. It had been me instigating it last time. Here, now, it was Anya begging with her eyes for another.

She was intoxicating.

“I’m sure you’re capable of putting the rest on,” I said firmly.

“Don’t.” Her words were barely a whisper.

I was already heading for the door and refused to look back.

A pang of arousal thrummed inside me, as I tried to put as much distance between us as possible.

I soon made it to my bedroom so I could change, too.

She wouldn’t be the only one dressed in costume—I’d gone for a three-piece suit with a waistcoat and tails. My own masquerade mask was simpler than hers.

Waiting in the foyer, I counted the minutes until I saw her at the top of the staircase.

She began the slow descent, picking up her hem as she headed toward me, the masquerade mask in her other hand ready to wear. Her eyes were heavily highlighted as though to make up for the disguise she’d soon wear. Her lips were a defiant red that begged to be kissed.

She came down the stairs with the gown flowing around her feet.

Stunning was the only word to describe her.

If only this was a different time, a different place, if only she wasn’t her.

The peacock design on the bodice twinkled beneath the foyer lights. It hugged her curves, showing off her body.

I pivoted. I didn’t want her to see my reaction, whatever the hell that was.

There was a visceral need rushing through me to grab her and take her in my arms, and for a moment, the veil of hate had lifted, and I saw her differently.

I drank in her exotic features, those wide-set eyes that set her apart, and as my gaze stayed on her, I tried to decipher who she looked like more, which parent’s genes dominated hers.

It struck me when looking closer. She had neither.

Yes, she had the same rich brown hair, the slender height, the same striking beauty, but now looking at her, that’s where it ended.

Her eyes fluttered in wonder, taking in my costume and the mask I was wearing.

“Put it on,” I demanded of her.

Not waiting to see her do it, I headed for the door.

Outside, sucking in a lung-full of fresh warm air, I tried to cleanse myself from these filthy thoughts of what I wanted to do to her.

My hate was twisting and morphing into something new. I didn’t like the way it made me doubt every action I’d ever taken, doubt the decisions I’d made, the way I dealt with the nightmares as though there was an alternative.

As I left the house, I cursed the woman who followed for bewitching me.

Still, if I knew anything about this town, spells could be broken. Hearts shattered. Lives desecrated. All it took was time. The patience to see the inevitable strike at what was sacred.

Even the air seemed to still for her. I didn’t need to turn to see she was behind me. The hair on my nape prickled, letting me know Anya wasn’t resisting what the night had to offer.