behind the veil. Could she manage to keep it hidden when they
were alone, body pressed to body?
But he wasn’t officially her patient until Monday morning, a
naughty part of her argued—not that it should ease her ethical conscience. He
would never know her real identity. They’d never met outside the restaurant and
she’d find a way to make certain he never saw her entire face.
Masks and deception , she thought with sudden clarity, and pleasure and secrets and decadent delights , her wicked side added in
rebellion.
¡Mierda! In a flash of impulsiveness, she made her
decision. Taking out her cell phone, Isabella dialed the number provided on the
invitation and confirmed she would be arriving at 8:00 p.m. on Saturday. Then
she would have all of Sunday to curse herself for a fool and try to find some
way to maintain a professional relationship with the man.
After that she swore she would never meet him at the Red
Mask Society again.
Two days later she sat across from Madame Manette Brisson at
the Gaston Plantation, where the Red Mask Society was located. One of
Isabella’s hands idly threaded through the fur of a magnificent black cat while
the other clutched the invitation so tightly she thought she would surely rip
nail marks in the elegant paper.
“He gave the invitation to Silk, the dancer,” she tried to
explain, hoping the other woman understood. She raised her face to look Manette
straight in the eye, showing every mark upon her ravaged cheek. “He doesn’t
have a clue who I really am…or that I look like this,” she added lamely,
fluttering the invitation over her cheek.
Manette frowned, snapping her fingers at the cat, who gave
her a bored and haughty look before jumping from the couch to groom himself on
the beautifully polished floor. “Beauty comes in many forms, Dr. Seda.”
She moved to sit by Isabella in the spot vacated by the cat.
“And the dancer is a part of you, is she not? She is the sensual side you keep
buried, the woman who longs for pleasure and dreams at night of desires she has
hidden away too long.”
Isabella snorted, knowing the sound would be doubly ugly in
the elegance of the room. “I dance masked, do you know that? He hasn’t seen
anything of me except my body, and even that doesn’t quite make the grade.” She
spread her hands helplessly, giving Manette a view of her overly rounded hips
and stomach. “And he’s so tall, so sophisticated, so utterly refined. He makes
me nervous.”
Manette’s laugh echoed around the room. “But that is a good
thing, ma cherie . It adds to the excitement, makes the longing all the
more intense.” She stood and moved to the huge bank of cabinets along one wall.
“Come. I have something for you.”
Isabella stood and followed, feeling short and awkward next
to the other woman’s stiletto-heeled, sleek perfection. But her years of dance
training served her well and she kept her back straight and her head held high
as she watched Manette open one of the cabinet doors and pull out a deep-red
mask that made her gasp in delight.
“It is perfect,” she admired, reaching out to trace the rope
of golden coins shimmering atop a length of ruby silk. The material would drape
perfectly to cover her face with enough left over to wrap around her neck. The
top of the mask was stitched with golden sequins and beads and it tilted up at
the corners, giving the entire design a mysterious and exotic look.
But Isabella stepped back as Manette made to put the mask in
place, suspicion winning out over her earlier delight. “How did you know?” she
demanded, her eyes narrowing in distrust. “The invitation was sent to me as the
dancer, remember? This place is supposed to be utterly anonymous. How did you
know who I really was?”
“My dear, do you actually think I would let someone into my
club without knowing everything about them? The safety of my members is of the
utmost importance and I wouldn’t be a proper host if I didn’t make
were alone, body pressed to body?
But he wasn’t officially her patient until Monday morning, a
naughty part of her argued—not that it should ease her ethical conscience. He
would never know her real identity. They’d never met outside the restaurant and
she’d find a way to make certain he never saw her entire face.
Masks and deception , she thought with sudden clarity, and pleasure and secrets and decadent delights , her wicked side added in
rebellion.
¡Mierda! In a flash of impulsiveness, she made her
decision. Taking out her cell phone, Isabella dialed the number provided on the
invitation and confirmed she would be arriving at 8:00 p.m. on Saturday. Then
she would have all of Sunday to curse herself for a fool and try to find some
way to maintain a professional relationship with the man.
After that she swore she would never meet him at the Red
Mask Society again.
Two days later she sat across from Madame Manette Brisson at
the Gaston Plantation, where the Red Mask Society was located. One of
Isabella’s hands idly threaded through the fur of a magnificent black cat while
the other clutched the invitation so tightly she thought she would surely rip
nail marks in the elegant paper.
“He gave the invitation to Silk, the dancer,” she tried to
explain, hoping the other woman understood. She raised her face to look Manette
straight in the eye, showing every mark upon her ravaged cheek. “He doesn’t
have a clue who I really am…or that I look like this,” she added lamely,
fluttering the invitation over her cheek.
Manette frowned, snapping her fingers at the cat, who gave
her a bored and haughty look before jumping from the couch to groom himself on
the beautifully polished floor. “Beauty comes in many forms, Dr. Seda.”
She moved to sit by Isabella in the spot vacated by the cat.
“And the dancer is a part of you, is she not? She is the sensual side you keep
buried, the woman who longs for pleasure and dreams at night of desires she has
hidden away too long.”
Isabella snorted, knowing the sound would be doubly ugly in
the elegance of the room. “I dance masked, do you know that? He hasn’t seen
anything of me except my body, and even that doesn’t quite make the grade.” She
spread her hands helplessly, giving Manette a view of her overly rounded hips
and stomach. “And he’s so tall, so sophisticated, so utterly refined. He makes
me nervous.”
Manette’s laugh echoed around the room. “But that is a good
thing, ma cherie . It adds to the excitement, makes the longing all the
more intense.” She stood and moved to the huge bank of cabinets along one wall.
“Come. I have something for you.”
Isabella stood and followed, feeling short and awkward next
to the other woman’s stiletto-heeled, sleek perfection. But her years of dance
training served her well and she kept her back straight and her head held high
as she watched Manette open one of the cabinet doors and pull out a deep-red
mask that made her gasp in delight.
“It is perfect,” she admired, reaching out to trace the rope
of golden coins shimmering atop a length of ruby silk. The material would drape
perfectly to cover her face with enough left over to wrap around her neck. The
top of the mask was stitched with golden sequins and beads and it tilted up at
the corners, giving the entire design a mysterious and exotic look.
But Isabella stepped back as Manette made to put the mask in
place, suspicion winning out over her earlier delight. “How did you know?” she
demanded, her eyes narrowing in distrust. “The invitation was sent to me as the
dancer, remember? This place is supposed to be utterly anonymous. How did you
know who I really was?”
“My dear, do you actually think I would let someone into my
club without knowing everything about them? The safety of my members is of the
utmost importance and I wouldn’t be a proper host if I didn’t make
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