Page 104 of A Taste like Sin
Heart in my throat, I head further down the hall and slip from the ballroom altogether. The east wing
is a simple trip across the foyer, but a man is standing guard near the archway leading toward it. My
footsteps slow as I approach him, but he merely nods, allowing me to pass unaccosted.
It’s dark. The winding hallway is illuminated only by the moonlight drifting in through beautiful
antique windows that display a view of a private garden. Once I reach the ballroom, I have a crystal-
clear view of the man responsible for this game of hide-and-seek. He’s near a window, and bathed
solely in the glow of moonlight, he’s breathtaking.
“How do you like the dress?” he wonders, his voice easily reaching me.
I flinch. I’ll never understand how he can make me feel more exposed than I did in a room with
hundreds of people watching my every move. He doesn’t just skim the surface. He has his head
cocked so that his ears are in the prime position to capture every slow, unsteady breath I take. My
deliberate footsteps.
“It’s lovely,” I say robotically, stopping short.
“Only for you… Is something wrong?”
I can’t remember how to move until he beckons me with a crook of his finger and a challenging tilt of
his chin.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
The moment I’m close enough, he reaches out to decipher me through heated fingertips. Tasting me
with a slow flick of his tongue along his lower lip. He breathes me in, analyzing my every action, and
I stand there until he delivers his assessment.
“I designed this damn thing with you in mind,” he admits, his voice quickly losing its polished
cadence. He sounds guttural. Raw. Too damn honest. “I knew you’d wear it—”
“I feel overdressed,” I counter, fighting to breathe.
“Oh?” He’s scowling now. “It appears as though you’re the talk of the ball. I could hear those
bastards simpering from here. Though it seems none of them have noticed that, beneath this”—he
swipes a teasing handful of fabric—“you’re wearing nothing at all. How scandalous, Ms. Thorne.”
I wrench away from him and cross my arms over my chest. One touch and he senses what a room full
of people overlook. “Sometimes it feels like you know me better than I know myself,” I whisper, my
eyes burning. “Toowell…”
“Oh?” His steps cease their slow advance. “I’m sensing that isn’t a compliment.”
