Page 136 of Red Masquerade

I swallowed. “Marcel.”

“Fancy seeing you here,” he purred, staring at my neck, his bloodlust darkening his eyes.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I’d know you anywhere,” he hummed, the sound deep, but I heard it all the same amidst the cacophony of the room. We were inches apart.

My eyes narrowed.

What was his plan tonight? He had to have one.

“Care to dance?” he asked, offering me his hand.

Everything within me recoiled, knowingwhathe was, what he wanted—from me, from Vince. Yet, at the same time, I forced myself to ignore the strength in his cheekbones, the charming way his hair fell around his ear. Like the girl within me saw him for face-value, his attractiveness—or maybe it was the fact that he was a predator and I knew I was within his grasp. A certain primal part of me that told me to get close, to let myself be taken.

Give up the fight and maybe I’d make it out alive.

Make him believe it. Bring him upstairs.

Without a word, I placed my hand in his. I couldn’t corner him if I didn’t play the part. Even if he made my skin crawl in more ways than one.

“Why the frown?” he asked, though he grinned as he pulled me closer, my breasts against his chest, his arm around my waist. I gasped at the sudden movement. “I haven’t put you off, have I?”

“You’re awfully comfortable—”

“Yes,” he said, dark eyes intense as they skimmed my face, my neck, my collarbones. His nose coming so closeto mine. “You inspire a comfort in me, Miss Helena. I quite like holding you to me.Feelingyou.”

My frown turned to a scowl, no matter how much I resisted or tried to act like he didn’t disgust me.

He only laughed.

“Don’t get too used to it,” I said.

“Why? Because of your loyalty to Vince?” There was a delighted arch to his brow. His cool hand wrapped around my own, his grip strong. He pulled me into a sway, pressing our bodies closer, his chest hard against mine.

I truly was trapped by him now, his arm caging me against him. And it was so different from the way Vince held me, the way Vince pressed our bodies together. I glanced around the room, hoping to spot his familiar face somewhere, or Dixon’s—someone.

“What do you want from him?” I asked.

“Worried he’ll see you dancing with another?” His voice was low, lilting, not the least bit concerned.

Hoping he sees me withyou.

“I noticed an interesting letter in the paper the other day,” Marcel mused, whirling me around, moving us so quickly I couldn’t stay steady on my feet. Solely dependent on him to keep me upright. His hand tightened at my hip.

My stomach was in knots. I grit my teeth. “And?”

“A million dollars.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “That’s a lot of money,Helena Quintrell.” He said my last name like it was damning.

I looked him right in the eyes. “You don’t need a million dollars.”

“No?” He laughed again, the sound deceptively endearing. “How would you know? Have you been doing some research on me? Maybe I’m dirt poor. Maybe I was once a printer in another life.”

A flicker of anger sparked, the emotions threatening to bubble up. Marcel knew what he was doing. He’d been doinghisresearch.

And if he knew Lucas, too, I was done for.

Marcel sighed dramatically. “His poor parents. And they didn’t even know he was alive.”