Page 12 of Liars and Liaisons

Suddenly, the phone is torn from my grasp, and a deep male voice fills the air. I whip my head to the side, barely processing the long, veiny fingers and the tanned forearm or the messy, dark hair feathering out over a white pillow.

“She’s fine,” the man—thestranger!—quips in a gruff breath that offers no room for argument. “I’ll have her returned to you in an hour.”

His big thumb ends the call, and I watch with wide, burning eyes as he tosses the device toward the foot of the bed. My breaths come in quick, shallow bursts as I take in the scenery before me—the plush white linens on top of us, the abstract art hanging on the walls, the big gold mirror, where my reflection stares back.

My hair is a mess, still half in the updo from last night, and my makeup is smeared.

And I’mnaked.

Bringing my hands to my collarbone, I clutch the end of the comforter and try to calm the panic seizing my lungs. I turn my head as he rolls his, further barring his face from my line of sight as he burrows beneath a pillow.

Heartbeat stuttering, I think back to what happened last night, although most of the details are foggy. Me kissing Nate, him throwing me out of the orgy, then him finding me later and pressing me against the wall.

His lips capturing mine, relentless as they stole my breath. Heat coursing through my limbs like fire, his thigh between my legs, rubbing—

The goat mask scraping against my chin, my cheeks, my nose. Anywhere we touched, the leather glided across my skin. It was uncomfortable, but I pushed on because it felt good to be finally kissing Nate again.

Plus, there was something titillating about not being able to see his face while he ravaged me. An anonymity otherwise never afforded, like we could do anything, be anyone, and there would be no consequences.

With the slowest of blinks, my eyes dart to the nightstand on his side of the bed. On the surface lies a discarded gold Venetian mask and…

His. Turned over, but the horns are unmistakable.

I swallow over the bitter bile rising in my throat.

Slowly, I slide my right leg free from the comforter, keeping my gaze trained on the stranger’s form in case he makes an unexpected movement. My head feels like it’s on the verge of complete collapse, and the only thing preventing a full-blown panic attack is my potential escape.

Exhaling, I free my right arm and then roll the covers back. Anxiety claws at my throat as I slink off the mattress, barely putting weight on one foot to keep from jostling him.

If he senses my absence, he doesn’t move.

A shaky breath rattles my chest, and I pull my other leg out. Sweat drips down my spine as it lands on the carpet, and then I bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door shut and plastering my back against it.

Not my best move, but it gives me a few seconds to collect myself. Then again, if the man was interested in murdering me, would he have—apparently—slept by my side all night or let me keep my phone?

Shit. My phone.

Still, that’s hardly the most pressing matter. I take a few seconds to run my hands over my body, feeling for evidence of memories I can’t place. My bones ache, and my pulse flares between my legs. There are red patches of inflamed skin around my nipples and at the base of my throat, which vaguely look like teeth, but otherwise, I don’t feel that different.

Certainly not like someone who just lost her virginity to some stranger.

Groaning into my hands, I walk over to the marble sink and splash cold water on my face, using my fingers to erase some of the makeup smudged beneath my eyes.

The only window in the bathroom is octagonal-shaped and made of thick, frosted glass, so I can’t even see how high up we are. Presumably, we’re at the same hotel as last night, although I suppose I could be wrong about that too.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I quickly swipe them away. They won’t do me any good. I can’t cry over a simple mistake even if it’s one that might have cost me everything.

Swallowing, I walk back to the door and press my ear to the wood, trying to hear movement from the bedroom. Any signs of life that might indicate where that stranger is and how much time I have to grab my dress and phone and make a run for it.

I don’t hear anything. When I crouch down on the floor to look through the gap beneath the door, I don’t see any shadows or detect any other movements. For all I know, he’s still asleep, which means maybe I can actually make it through without necessitating a confrontation.

Either way, I can’t hide out here all morning. Cora will certainly come looking for me eventually and probably drag Kal out with her. I don’t want either of them to know what happened.

Gripping the doorknob, I grit my teeth so hard that my vision blurs. My heart lurches into my throat, strangling me as I ease the door open, keeping myself hidden in case he decides to jump out of nowhere.

My eyes find the bed first, and I let out a stuttered breath when I see the man still lying in the same position as before. His muscular shoulders jut out as his arms disappear beneath the pillow, where his head remains.

Breathing slow and deep, I creep out of the bathroom and glance around, searching for last night’s outfit. A single black heel is wedged under the bed, and I sneak a peek into the wire wastebasket near the nightstand.

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