Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
He follows my gaze, jaw tightening. “Could be him,” he murmurs. “Do we approach?”
I hesitate, watching the man’s confident posture, the way others hang on his words. He could definitely be the infamous Morris Rolfe, but there’s no telling until we get closer. “We should at least circle around. See if we catch his eye.”
Lincoln nods, slipping his arm around my waist again. Together, we ease through the throng, stopping to exchange polite nods with other guests. My heart pounds at the possibility that the next moment could bring us face-to-face with the man who might be behind my threats—or at least connected to them.
Every breath I take feels laced with tension, every brush of Lincoln’s hand on my hip a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in this. I can’t help wondering what new charade we’ll have to perform tonight, how far we’ll have to go to seal the illusion of Mr. and Mrs. Zane. And, in the private corners of my mind, I wonder what it’ll mean for me and Lincoln when all this is over.
A low, pulsing bass thrums through the dark, opulent chamber. All around us, couples are shedding inhibitions under the sultry glow of chandeliers and tinted lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, spiced liquor, and something more primal—desire crackling across the room like electricity.
Lincoln and I hover near a plush velvet settee, watching the scene unfold. I can feel his heartbeat through the arm he’s wrapped around my waist, the tension in his body humming in time with the music. Everywhere I look, people are leaning closer, exchanging hungry kisses, laughter dissolving into moans, and the boundary between public and private blurring in this decadent den. Part of me is on high alert—scanning the faces, searching for a glimpse of Morris—but another part can’t ignore the relentless, throbbing awareness of Lincoln by my side.
It doesn’t help that half the guests have already noticed us. Men and women flash bold smiles, some offering coy winks, others outright staring as though sizing up new additions to this secretive world. I shift in my heels, the swirl of my dress brushing against Lincoln’s leg.
Just then, Vera and Trey reappear, threading through the crowd with a predatory grace. They both have the faint sheen of champagne-induced warmth on their cheeks, eyes bright with excitement. Vera’s gold gown shimmers under the lights, hugging her curves, while Trey’s crisp suit jacket hangs open, revealing a glimpse of tanned collarbone.
They approach us, hands linked. Vera’s crimson lips curl in a lazy grin as her gaze travels over Lincoln and me. “You two look so tense,” she purrs, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. “We thought you might like to… loosen up.”
Trey slides his free hand over my shoulder, letting his fingertips brush the bare skin there. “The night’s just getting started,” he adds softly, voice edged with a dare.
My pulse jumps at his touch, and I sense Lincoln stiffen beside me. A low, possessive sound rumbles from his chest—a near-growl that sends a jolt through me. This moment is precisely why we came under the guise of a couple who’s “open to new experiences,” but the reality is dizzying, especially with Lincoln’s tension radiating like a live wire.
Still, we have a role to play. If we recoil now, Trey and Vera might take offense or suspect we’re not who we claim to be. They’re close to Morris, after all; we can’t risk losing any chance to gather intel. So I place a reassuring hand on Lincoln’s chest, silently telling him to hold it together.
“We’re… interested,” I say, mustering a confident smile. My voice quivers slightly, but the music and chatter hopefully drown out any tremor. “What did you have in mind?”
Vera’s eyes gleam. She glances over her shoulder at a cluster of low couches in a dimly lit corner of the room. “How about something to drink first, to help everyone relax?” Her gaze flicks to Trey, who inclines his head in agreement. “Then maybe we see how we all… mesh.”
Lincoln’s arm tightens around me, a subtle warning. But aloud, he nods. “Fine. A drink sounds good.”
Trey directs us toward a quiet alcove where a small table holds an assortment of exotic-looking bottles. Soft cushions and plush chairs form a loose semicircle around it, and several couples are already there—chatting, leaning into each other, letting hands wander under the faint glow of candlelight. There’s an undercurrent of uninhibited sensuality that sets my skin tingling.
I settle beside Lincoln on one of the cushioned benches. Vera and Trey take the seat opposite us, and a server appears as if by magic, pouring amber liquor into crystal glasses. The aroma is sweet and spicy, laced with something I can’t identify—perhaps an infusion of herbs for “liquid courage,” I think wryly.