Page 32 of Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy 3)
He gestures to my hand and to the pad. Taking a wild guess, I lay all four fingers on the glass, and a light turns green and the door unlocks.
“Whoa. Upping security measures around here?” I turn to look at him, and he nods. “Can you get in?”
He nods again.
“How many others?” He raises his hand and holds up his first three fingers. “So, Lachlan and . . .”
He doesn’t answer, of course, and I decide that it doesn’t matter as long as Lachlan trusts them.
When I step inside, V doesn’t follow. He shuts the door behind me, and I assume he resumes his guard position outside the door.
Our suite. It’s the same room, but it feels completely different now. It’s not a prison . . . it’s a haven. This is where Mount can be Lachlan, and we can hide away from the rest of the world.
The black, white, and gold furnishings no longer strike me as odd, but comforting, because the reasoning he gave for the color scheme is something so completely him that I can’t help but smile.
Lachlan Mount is a man unlike any other I’ve ever met, and although he’s not the first that I’ve called mine, I hope he’ll be the last.
I turn in a slow circle and catch sight of a note propped up on a box on the table. My name, in his familiar handwriting, catches my attention.
What is he up to now?
I flip the paper open and see what’s written inside.
Take the box into the bedroom.
You have an hour to be ready.
Trust me.
If it weren’t for those last two words, this note would have felt like all the others. Commanding and cold. But those two words change everything, which is fitting, seeing as how everything has changed.
I pick up the box that reminds me of the one I found on the bed in my apartment, but my reaction is completely different now.
Last time, I called Magnolia because I was worried I’d find a body part of a loved one inside, but she talked me off the ledge. Because she had plans for us. I push those thoughts aside, determined not to think of her again tonight.
Tonight is for Lachlan and me. No one else.
I lift the box, testing its weight, and walk through the bedroom door as I try to guess the contents. But before I can even begin to speculate, I freeze on the threshold.
What the hell?
A ball gown lays spread out on the bed, the skirt hanging over the edge. The crystal-and-sequined bodice is one I know all too well, because it’s the same ball gown I wore that fateful Mardi Gras night for the masquerade.
“What is he up to?” I voice the question to the empty room and lower the box beside the dress.
Memories of that night assail my senses as I drag my fingers over the bodice. Flashes of heat burst through my body as the details come rushing back for what seems like the millionth time.
I lift the lid off the box and peel back the tissue. On top is the mask I wore that night. Maybe I should be surprised, but I’m not. If he were able to get the dress, he could obviously get the mask.
I place the mask on the bed and unfold more tissue to find a replacement of the thong he snapped from my body before he showed me exactly who owned it, and a pair of gorgeous stilettos.
Saliva pools in my mouth because I’m beginning to see where this is going. We’re getting a do-over. I don’t know why, but I don’t care either. If I had to choose one night I could relive over and over, it would be that one.
When I remove the thong and the new shoes, which are way sexier and more expensive than the ones I wore before, I find a note at the bottom of the box.
Say nothing. Take everything.
It’s a play on the words of the note I’d sent the night of the masquerade ball, and my pulse hammers against my throat in anticipation.
