Page 13 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
I grin, my cock still buried inside her. “It changes everything,” I reply, because goddamn, I’m not done with her yet.
The lights flicker as we kiss, and somewhere in the house, an alarm briefly sounds before cutting out. My phone screen shows impossible readings—temperature fluctuations that don't match what we're feeling, electromagnetic spikes that have no source. The mask's influence is expanding beyond its display case, reaching into the house's electronic nervous system like a virus learning to adapt.
"Allison," I rasp against her lips. "Ignore it."
“Sorry, love," she breathes, "can’t do that."
I press her back against the console. She moans softly, arching into me, a sound torn between protest and need. I claim her mouth again, deeper this time, commanding. She meets me with ferocity, but when my hand fists in her hair, tilting her head just the way I want it, she yields. Not easily, not fully, but enough.
The taste of surrender, however fleeting, nearly undoes me. And the blaze of her defiance coming back against mine is what makes me hungrier. It's the same feeling I had in the field when men pushed back against my orders—resentful, yes, but beneath it a trust that when it came to the edge, they'd follow me through fire. She has that same tension, the fight and the pull in one body.
Before either of us can speak again, a sharp knock rattles the door. I shove back, tugging at my blouse, while Nolan yanks his jacket into place.
“Sir, ma’am—urgent update,” a guard calls from the hall, voice tight. “We’ve been monitoring chatter all night and someone was passing instructions…”
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Allison calls pointedly as she finishes adjusting her clothes.
The guard is silent for a moment. "We thought we could handle it. Besides it’s been vague about what they’re discussing—something about a meeting and a blue door."
Allison and I lock eyes. The heat between us shifts back to danger in an instant.
“Stay on top of that chatter. If you get anything more definitive, make sure you wake me.”
I grab my jacket. "Wake me as well,” I say to the guard. To Allison I say, “Later."
She nods once, and we move toward the west corridor together. Each step draws us deeper into shadow, the air thick with the sense of being watched. Somewhere ahead, a door creaks and footsteps stir, pulling us forward until the sound dies away, smothered by the old stone walls.
The silence between us hums hotter than it should, every brush of her gaze sparking across my skin, every shift of her nearness tugging at something reckless inside me. By the time we reach our separate rooms, the danger hasn't eased. It's only changed shape, tangled now with memory and the unwelcome certainty that I want more.
CHAPTER 5
ALLISON
Morning sunlight pours through the tall windows of Saltmoor House, gilding the edges of the room in deceptive warmth. A sea breeze pushes through lace curtains stirred by the movement. I lie awake on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling and replaying every touch, every kiss, every reckless second of last night. My body hums with memory, treacherously eager. My mind? Less cooperative. It chants the same refrain on repeat: mistake, mistake, mistake.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, groaning softly. "Bloody brilliant, Bennett. The boss sends you here to protect a priceless mask, and you decide to screw the historian who keeps poking at you." I rub my hands over my face and then stand, forcing myself into motion. Doubt sticks like cobwebs, but I shove it aside. I have work to do.
The corridors are quieter in the morning. The glitter of the masquerade has been swept away, though stray feathers and a half-crushed mask still linger in corners, ghosts of last night's glamour. Staff move with deliberate care, carrying trays, polishing glass, rolling away carts of empty bottles. Their hushed tones feel like reverence, or perhaps fear. My boots click over polished stone as I head toward the exhibit room. Nolan is nowhere in sight, thank God. I need a moment to breathe without his grin or those soft, full lips clouding my judgement.
The room is cool, the mask resting inside its glass case, gleaming with predatory allure. Sunlight filters through high windows, streaking across the plinth and throwing fractured shadows on the marble floor. I check the locks, the sensors, the lines of sight. All standard. Then I notice the control panel along the wall, its display blinking red where it should be steady green. A quick inspection confirms my suspicion: someone tampered with the climate controls.
I mutter a curse. Too much humidity, even by a fraction, could damage the artifact. More than that, it tells me someone was here after hours, with intent. This isn't about curses whispered in the dark. It's deliberate sabotage.
"Find something interesting?"
I whirl, hand halfway to my sidearm before I register Nolan leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me. Of course. He looks irritatingly composed, as though last night he didn't just rock my world and leave me second-guessing my career choices.
"Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?" I demand.
"Only you." His grin is maddening. "So, what's wrong with our pretty display?"
"Climate controls were tampered with," I say crisply. "Someone's been in here. And they weren't after the champagne."
He steps closer, scanning the panel. "That's deliberate. Subtle enough not to trip alarms, but dangerous over time. Someone's patient."
"Which means they'll try again," I reply. "And I'd like to catch them before they ruin a million-dollar artifact."
"Artifact," he repeats, as though tasting the word. "Or relic cursed by centuries of ritual and blood?"
