Page 3 of Burning Skies
My heart beats so hard, I’m afraid it might burrow a hole through my chest. We head down a dark hall. I can feel the pulse of the music through the walls. It’s sexy. Like a slow strip tease.
We turn the corner and end up in a huge kitchen where a woman wearing a sleek suit and a high ponytail snaps her fingers at me and hands me a tray of beer. “Take this out.” I turn to look at my roommate, but she’s already sashaying out another door where I catch a glimpse of a naked woman twirling on a stripper pole.
Hold up. Am I a sex worker right now?
This isn’t what I meant when I told Cyn I wanted to take a walk on the wild side.
The door closes behind my roommate.So much for sticking together.
I’m two seconds from hyperventilating when I remind myself that I’m wearing a mask. No one will know I’m here. Tonight, I’m not an heiress to a multi-million-dollar ranch. I’m a faceless stranger just like everyone else.
I can do this. I’ll serve drinks for an hour. Then I’ll strangle my roommate.
With a tray of drinks balanced on my right hand, I head out into another room where men in all kinds of mostly shirtless costumes stand around, talking to half-naked girls.
The lighting is low, but I can make out couples dancing in the middle of the room. Several men stand around a naked woman, doing shots off her body. A flash of skin off to the left catches my eye and I realize a woman is down on her knees, giving the Phantom of the Opera a blow job.
Holy shit. Is this an orgy?
Trying to avoid eye contact, I walk around the perimeter of what seems like a grand ballroom. But instead of champagne and waltzes like I read about in romance novels, instead of dashing dukes and shy debutantes, seedy guys are jerking off to a woman rubbing a tube of glitter all over herself.
I’m going to kill Cynthia. When I reach a small alcove, I graba shot off another tray and down it because I need some mental fortification to handle this crap.
Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths. Better.
A door opens a few feet away, and the heavy bass of “Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse blares through. I catch a glimpse of Cynthia dancing bare-breasted on a bar while men toss money at her.
I grab another shot and hold it up in a silent toast to my roommate. “More power to you, Cyn.”
Then I tug up my bustier. I love Cynthia, but I will not be joining her on that side quest.
“Can I grab one of those?” a low, raspy voice asks, and I turn and find myself staring into a mesmerizing pair of green eyes.
I know those eyes.
“What do you say, gorgeous? Can I have a drink?”
Oh my God. I know that voice.
My heart leaps into overdrive. Because Beau fucking Walker is staring at me behind a black mask.
He wants a beer, Honey. Wake up.“Sorry. Of course.” I let him grab a drink off my tray as I take in his costume. “What are you supposed to be?”
He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a glove and a black cape that’s pushed back, so all I see is his hard chest and abs. Good Lord, he’s ripped. “A Musketeer.”
I’m not sure this is what Alexandre Dumas had in mind when he wrote that novel. “In Wranglers and Ariat boots?”
When he leans in to hear me over the music, I catch the scent of his spicy cologne. Damn, he smells good. He chuckles with a shrug. “I wanted to come as a firefighter tonight, but my friends said that would be lame.”
“Why’s that?”
He scans the room and lowers his voice. “I don’t think we’re supposed to share anything personal here.”
“Right.” The first rule of the sex club is not sharing personal info. Duh. “I’m sorry I asked.” I take a step to move past him, but he puts his calloused hand on my arm.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.” He looks me over. “What are you?”
I set down the drinks and adjust my tiara. “I’m Belle. She’s a princess who likes books.” Speaking of sounding lame... Also, who dresses like a Disney princess to attend a sex party?
