one wanted to hire a twenty nine year old woman who had no education and zero job experience. Apparently, a name, address, and career objective didn’t make a sufficient resume.
Which brought Kat to the here and now. Though she had, of course, laughed at the invitation to the Plantation House Masquerade Ball – the invitation that mysteriously appeared in her mailbox year after year , regardless of where she was or what name she was going by at the time – she needed money, and she couldn’t be conspicuous about it. A masquerade where all the rich and chi-chi poo-poo’s showed up in disguise on the condition of anonymity? Perfect for snatching up some jewelry and building herself that long overdue rainy day fund. It wasn’t quite the challenge her restless heart longed for but, as her mother used to say whenever she ran out of vodka and had to resort to gin, any port in a storm .
“ Wanna dance, sweetness?” the voice materialized out of nowhere, its owner so close that she felt the warm puff of his breath against her ear.
She jumped and whirled around. Son of a bitch. She hadn’t let anyone sneak up on her in years. It seriously pissed her off, even if the culprit had the kind of body that made her want to throw him down and ride him like the mechanical pony outside the grocery store. The man was tall, her 5’5” frame didn’t even top his shoulders. He was broad shouldered and muscular, wearing a sleeveless vest that was left unbuttoned, revealing the smooth, defined planes of his chest and the sculpted six-pack of his abdomen. The ridges of his hips were chiseled lines, forming a ‘v’ below his six-pack. There wasn’t an inch of fat on the man. His skin was a dark, golden color, and his torso was almost entirely hairless, save the flaxen trail that began just beneath his navel and blazed a suggestive path down to the waistband of his black jeans, which hugged his ass so tight they might as well have been painted on. And that ass…good god, it should have been a sin to have an ass that fine.
His face was hidden behind a simple black mask. Dark brown eyes watched her with a hint of amusement as she studied him. Dusty blond hair, cropped short around his head, formed tight little ringlets that should have made him look effeminate, but didn’t. Oh, hell no, there was not a single feminine thing about this guy. He screamed testosterone.
“I don’t think so, thank you.”
“Not even if I make it interesting?” he tempted.
Kat’s eyes narrowed. Potential sex god in the flesh or not, she had a mission. Keep your eye on the prize, kitten , her mother used to say whenever she’d leave for the liquor store. “I doubt that you could. But again, thank you.” She pushed past the stranger and headed to another corner of the room.
“If not a dance,” he was at her side again, and she knew he hadn’t followed her, “how about a wager?”
“You know, I’m actually tired. I think I’ll go find myself a way home.”
“But you haven’t stolen a single thing yet, sweetness,” he said, wagging one finger. “And it isn’t like you to leave without the prize. What was it your mother always said about that?”
She froze mid-stride. This was bad. This was very, very bad. She wracked her brain in an effort to identify the guy. Someone from her past, obviously. Her long ago past, when everyone knew her as that poor child with the drunk mother and absent father . “What do you want?” she hissed turning to face him again. Her face was a perfect mask of nonchalance. “Hush money? Commission? A special job?”
“I already told you , I want a wager.” His eyes sparkled behind his mask.
“What kind of wager ?”
“A challenge. A…game of sorts.” Flash of perfect, white teeth. “With a prize for the winner, of course.”
“What kind of prize?” Kat tried to be discreet in her studying of him. She liked his
Which brought Kat to the here and now. Though she had, of course, laughed at the invitation to the Plantation House Masquerade Ball – the invitation that mysteriously appeared in her mailbox year after year , regardless of where she was or what name she was going by at the time – she needed money, and she couldn’t be conspicuous about it. A masquerade where all the rich and chi-chi poo-poo’s showed up in disguise on the condition of anonymity? Perfect for snatching up some jewelry and building herself that long overdue rainy day fund. It wasn’t quite the challenge her restless heart longed for but, as her mother used to say whenever she ran out of vodka and had to resort to gin, any port in a storm .
“ Wanna dance, sweetness?” the voice materialized out of nowhere, its owner so close that she felt the warm puff of his breath against her ear.
She jumped and whirled around. Son of a bitch. She hadn’t let anyone sneak up on her in years. It seriously pissed her off, even if the culprit had the kind of body that made her want to throw him down and ride him like the mechanical pony outside the grocery store. The man was tall, her 5’5” frame didn’t even top his shoulders. He was broad shouldered and muscular, wearing a sleeveless vest that was left unbuttoned, revealing the smooth, defined planes of his chest and the sculpted six-pack of his abdomen. The ridges of his hips were chiseled lines, forming a ‘v’ below his six-pack. There wasn’t an inch of fat on the man. His skin was a dark, golden color, and his torso was almost entirely hairless, save the flaxen trail that began just beneath his navel and blazed a suggestive path down to the waistband of his black jeans, which hugged his ass so tight they might as well have been painted on. And that ass…good god, it should have been a sin to have an ass that fine.
His face was hidden behind a simple black mask. Dark brown eyes watched her with a hint of amusement as she studied him. Dusty blond hair, cropped short around his head, formed tight little ringlets that should have made him look effeminate, but didn’t. Oh, hell no, there was not a single feminine thing about this guy. He screamed testosterone.
“I don’t think so, thank you.”
“Not even if I make it interesting?” he tempted.
Kat’s eyes narrowed. Potential sex god in the flesh or not, she had a mission. Keep your eye on the prize, kitten , her mother used to say whenever she’d leave for the liquor store. “I doubt that you could. But again, thank you.” She pushed past the stranger and headed to another corner of the room.
“If not a dance,” he was at her side again, and she knew he hadn’t followed her, “how about a wager?”
“You know, I’m actually tired. I think I’ll go find myself a way home.”
“But you haven’t stolen a single thing yet, sweetness,” he said, wagging one finger. “And it isn’t like you to leave without the prize. What was it your mother always said about that?”
She froze mid-stride. This was bad. This was very, very bad. She wracked her brain in an effort to identify the guy. Someone from her past, obviously. Her long ago past, when everyone knew her as that poor child with the drunk mother and absent father . “What do you want?” she hissed turning to face him again. Her face was a perfect mask of nonchalance. “Hush money? Commission? A special job?”
“I already told you , I want a wager.” His eyes sparkled behind his mask.
“What kind of wager ?”
“A challenge. A…game of sorts.” Flash of perfect, white teeth. “With a prize for the winner, of course.”
“What kind of prize?” Kat tried to be discreet in her studying of him. She liked his
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