Prologue
Fat Tuesday
Everyone was dancing and having a good time. Everyone except Emma. That wasn’t unusual, though. Emma Dempsey had forgotten how to have fun a long time ago.
After her recent breakup, she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with her. Her ex, David, had said she was boring both in and out of bed. She made the mistake of telling that to her friend and former sorority sister, Harper Drake, and the next thing she knew, she was at a Mardi Gras party at a loft in Tribeca.
She’d tried. She wore a pretty butterfly mask and a tight skirt, but this just wasn’t her cup of tea. Perhaps she should just call a cab and go so she didn’t ruin Harper’s night. She nibbled absently on a carrot stick as her gaze fell upon a tequila bar that had been set up on the kitchen island beside her. That was always a second option.
Emma knew she had to make a choice. She could either go home and join a local Red Hat Society at the ripe age of twenty-seven or she could take this bull by the horns and have some fun for once.
Feeling brave, she abandoned her plate and moved down the island. There was an assortment of small paper cups, slices of lime, a salt shaker and several bottles of tequila laid out. She prepared a shot and held it there, knowing once she leaped off the cliff, there would be no turning back.
Being with you is like dating my grandma. The memory of David’s painful words pushed her over the edge.
Without further hesitation, she licked, drank and sucked the lime furiously to cover the flavor of the liquor. It burned her throat as it went down, splashing in her stomach and sending a scorching sensation almost immediately through her body that a beer couldn’t even come close to.
It tasted absolutely terrible, but within seconds, she could feel a pleasant change. Almost as though her spine had loosened. Slinky. Maybe feline. This wasn’t bad at all. With a smile of satisfaction, she poured a second shot as someone else came into the kitchen. A quick glance confirmed her worst fears.
“Hey there, beautiful,” a creepy guy in a Batman-like mask said, leaning against the counter.
The compliment fell flat considering 75 percent of her face was covered in an ornate Mardi Gras mask. Emma sighed and slammed back the second shot of tequila without salt or lime. She needed it. She started pouring a third, blatantly ignoring him.
“Would you like to dance? I’ve got some sweet moves.”
She doubted it. “I don’t dance, sorry.”
Batman frowned. “Well, then wanna blow this party off for someplace quiet and dark where we can...talk?”
A shudder ran down Emma’s spine. Being alone with him was bad enough. Alone in the dark was downright frightening. “No, I’m here with someone. Sorry.”
Batman straightened up, his body language projecting the anger his mask hid away. “Who?”
She opened her mouth to answer him when someone came up behind her and set heavy, warm hands on her shoulders. He leaned in, placing a kiss against her cheek, and Batman finally took a step back.
A deep male voice rumbled near her ear. “Hey, baby, sorry I’m late.”
Emma fought the urge to pull away from this second, undesired suitor, but the fingers pressing insistently in her shoulders begged for her cooperation. He wasn’t putting the moves on her; he was trying to save her from Batman. Relieved, she turned to face the man and moved without hesitation to say hello.
Whoa. He was taller than she expected, a few inches over six foot, but she couldn’t look surprised and convince Batman to bugger off. She strained on tiptoe to reach up and kiss the lips that were the only part of his face visible with a gold-and-green Venetian mask obscuring the rest.
The instant their lips touched, the simple greeting turned into something else. The electricity of the kiss nearly knocked her backward, but his firm, yet gentle grip on her arms wouldn’t let her fall away. Her senses were instantly overloaded by the scent of soap and a spicy men’s cologne, the soft brush of his lips against hers and the heat of his skin.
Emma wasn’t sure if it was the tequila or his kiss, but she was suddenly very aware of her body. The nearness of the man made her skin tingle and her breath quicken. She felt her body leaning into him without her consent. It had to be the tequila. No wonder people got into so much trouble with this stuff.
Regaining some of her senses, she pulled away to break the kiss, but he didn’t immediately let go. Batman must still be watching. “I’ve missed you,” she said, snuggling suggestively into him.
His arms wrapped around her and hugged her tightly against the solid wall of his chest. He leaned in, breathing the scent of her hair and whispered, “He left, but he’s watching us from the other side of the room. Keep it convincing if you don’t want him coming back.”
Emma nodded and pulled away. She reached up to affectionately rub a bit of lipstick from her white knight’s mouth. The gesture was intimate and quite convincing, she was sure. Once away from him, she had a better view. The mask obscured most of his face, so all she could really decipher was his tall, broad build, tightly fitting jeans and his attractive and bright smile.
“Are we doing tequila shots?” he asked.
“I was, but I think I’m done.” She’d had just enough to make this scene authentic, but too much more was trouble for sure.
“Don’t be a quitter.” He poured himself a shot, and then paused only for a moment to smile wickedly before leaning forward and licking a patch of exposed skin just above her cleavage. Emma sucked a ragged, surprised breath into her chest and held it there. She couldn’t respond. Every impulse in her brain was telling her to step back and stop him, but she just stood there, the tequila rendering her mute.
He hesitated, the salt shaker in his hand. His dark blue eyes connected with hers, awaiting her permission. Could she give it? She wanted to. This was what she’d set out for tonight, even if she hadn’t known it. Grandmas didn’t do body shots with strangers at parties. But the words still escaped her. All she could do was tip her head back to let him sprinkle the salt gently over the swell of her breasts and place the wedge of lime delicately between her lips.
He came closer, shot in hand. Her entire body ached with anticipation as his hot breath hovered over her skin. He licked slowly, taking longer than she ever expected to remove every grain from her chest. Surely Batman wasn’t watching that closely. When he tipped the glass back, swallowing the tequila in one sip, she was finally able to release the air she’d held painfully in her lungs. Then he set the cup down.
Emma tensed, not quite sure what to do aside from holding perfectly still as his hand slipped around her neck to cradle her head and tip her mouth up to him. He dipped his head, his lips brushing hers briefly before biting down and sucking the lime juice. A cool, tart stream of it flowed into her own mouth before his teeth tugged the rind away.
When he took a step back, Emma did the same. It had taken everything she had not to moan aloud when he’d touched her this time. The best thing she could do was to get out of this situation before she lost what little control he’d left her with. Never mind that her face had to be flushed with embarrassment and unexpected arousal.
Her hand self-consciously came to her face and brushed the rough, glittery surface of her mask. She’d forgotten he couldn’t see her. Even if she was beet red, he wouldn’t know it. She was anonymous tonight. Somehow the knowledge made her bolder and she fought her flight reflex to hold her position by the bar.
He picked up her full paper cup from the counter and held it up in a dangerous and silent offer. It was her turn.
A quick glance confirmed that Batman had disappeared and there was no reason to continue with the show. Aside from her not wanting to stop. “He’s gone,” she said, giving him the opportunity to stop if this was still just a ruse.
“I know,” he said, and handed her the salt shaker.
Given that he was wearing a long-sleeved button-down black shirt, the only real option she had was his neck. She stood on her toes, straining in her heels to reach him. Emma leaned in and left a moist trail from the hollow of his throat to just over his Adam’s apple, where her tongue ran across the rough stubble that had grown in since his morning shave. She could feel his pulse quicken as she hovered near to him. This time, she noticed his skin smelled more distinctly male. Salty and slightly musky. She couldn’t help lingering to take in a deep breath and commit the scent to memory. Her body’s reaction to it was almost primal, parts deep inside of her clenching with a building need.
“Here,” he offered as she pulled away to apply the salt. He lowered onto his knees and looked up at her with big blue eyes, his hands resting on the swell of her hips.
Emma could hardly see enough of his face to piece together an expression, but his intense gaze urged her on. As he knelt, it almost felt as though he were worshipping at her feet. She liked it.
She tried to focus on doing the shot properly before his skin dried and the salt wouldn’t adhere. She didn’t want to give away her inexperience with this. She’d never even dreamed of doing anything as blatantly sexual as body shots. She didn’t think she had it in her.
She sprinkled the salt on his throat and positioned the lime between his full, soft lips. Nervously gripping the tequila in one hand, Emma leaned in a second time to lick off the salt. She could feel the vibration of a growl in his throat as her tongue slid across his skin. Pulling away, she quickly threw back the drink and placed her hands on each side of his face. Just before she was able to bite into the fruit, he spat out the lime. Emma didn’t have time to stop and their lips met with another unexpected spark.
She didn’t pull away. The old Emma would have. In her mask, she was someone else.
The second kiss blew the first out of the water. His fingertips dug into the flesh of her hips as he tugged her close against him. She melted against his mouth, slowly slipping down until she, too, was on her knees in the kitchen. The island shielded them from the crowd only feet away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his as he probed and explored her with his tongue.
It was deliciously naughty. In that moment, Emma wanted his kiss more than anything else in her entire life.
Just when she’d convinced herself that the kiss might never end, they parted. His quick breath was hot on the skin of her neck as he pressed his cheek against hers and sat there for a moment to recover. Their arms were still tangled around one another, neither grip loosening. There was an intensity in him that excited and frightened her, but she matched it with her own.
“Come with me,” he whispered, then stood and offered his hand.
Emma wasn’t ignorant. She knew what he was offering and every inch of her body urged her to take him up on it. She’d never done anything like this. Ever. And yet there was something about her hero that insisted she go with him.
So she did.
One