Chapter 1

One

Allison

" Y ou know what you have to do. Here's the invitation. I'll be back in two hours."

My uncle shoves a white envelope into my hand. I clench my fingers around the smooth, folded paper and stiffen as his hot breath brushes against my cheek as he leans closer.

"You better have what I need by that time."

Lumps of air stick in my throat as I swallow and the tight remnants of pain from my uncle's grip around my tender throat when I dared refuse this task a mere hours before serve as a good reminder of the debt I owe him.

I tried to refuse being involved in this little scheme of his, tried to walk away, but the massive, well-built man kept in good shape and has a good two-hundred pounds on me.

I raise a hand to my throat. I paid for my disobedience and have the bruises to prove it.

Slowly he reaches across the small space between us and rests a hand on my thigh and I gulp in air as his grip tightens, making my skin crawl. It takes effort to keep the fear from my eyes and voice as I push out an answer. "Yes, sir."

I know what he wants to hear and if the past six years has taught me anything it's to keep a barrier between my thoughts and the words I actually speak in front of him.

I fold my hands in my lap and keep my head down. Another gesture I know he expects from me. I've learned the hard way tonight fighting back will only earn me his disdain and a swift backhand, or worse.

When I was younger, he could be nice but as I grew and matured so did his temper. Or I wizened up and realized the ugly truth.

Either way, I don't know how someone so handsome and distinguished on the outside can be so ugly and bitter on the inside. Most days I planned my day around avoiding any contact with my mother's older, corrupt, sleazy brother. Which is easy when you live in a fifteen-bedroom mansion with countless nooks and rooms to get lost in.

William reclines in the plush leather of his beloved Cadillac which he cherishes more than his fourth wife and gives a deep grunt of approval when I don't make a sound to challenge him.

"Good girl," he responds, giving my bare thigh a squeeze and a pat. "You learn quickly, like your mother. You have one shot, little girl. Don't let me down." His hand travels up my bare arm to my neck where he pushes aside my hair. "You understand the consequences. Do things right and after tonight things will change for you. You'll be of age and I'll make sure there will be a place for you with me when I'm the new CEO of Savage Ink."

The gleam in his eye and the way he drew out his last thought while patting my thigh again made my stomach quiver in disgust.

God help me.

I wanted no part of any of his schemes and as far away as possible from this man. I force myself not to shiver from the inappropriate tone and insinuations I'd have to be an idiot not to understand.

"Yes, sir," I force myself to say and hope it's the only answer he's looking for because it's all I have to give. It takes steel nerves not to smack his hand away and jerk out of his reach. At the risk of earning a bloody lip or worse, I remain still despite the chills running through my body.

The car cruises to a slow stop and I pop the door open before the parking attendant has a chance to make it to my door. "I know what I need to do, Uncle. I'll do what has to be done," I say before shutting the door to whatever he was about to say. I turn as his car pulls away and climb the expansive white staircase that leads to a castle straight out of some fanciful fairytale.

White lights are woven into a magical net of twinkling stars cast across the covered entrance as my heels sink into a lush black carpet beneath my feet.

The contrast between light and dark leave me in awe as I make my way up the stairs.

At the door I hand over the invitation with a smile for the man who welcomes me to Savage Ink's Annual Christmas Gala and walk through an elegant arched entry trimmed with fresh garland and more tiny white lights.

Magical comes to mind and I can't help but feel nostalgic for the warmth of unmade memories I wish my childhood provided.

My body stiffens for a moment. Old memories surface and beat back the child-like fantasies I cooked up in my head to mentally escape the crowded shelters and dingy apartments my mom scored for us on cold winter nights after a little time in the back room with one man or another.

I shake off the stench of the past and let the warmth of the foyer envelop me and remember why I'm here in the first place. I follow the few guests who arrived with me through an ample hall truly decked out for the Christmas festivities, and I can't help but smile just a little. Someone loves this time of year and it shows in every candle, gleaming chandelier, and dozens of glittering trees.

As I mingle with the guests and follow the gathering crowd toward the ballroom the frilly ruffles outlining my neckline tickle the sensitive skin of my neck, and I tug at the annoying fringe, ready to rip the damn thing off.

My hand stops mid-tug as I take in the other guests.

Okay. This wasn't like any party I'd ever been to. The invitation said a costume party and my weasel of an uncle made sure to pick the sluttiest one available.

At least I fit in.

Chiseled muscle, bronzed skin, and supple legs are all on display from the various festive costumes. There are more sexy Santas and dolled-up busty elves than I've ever seen in one place. My eyes skim through the half-naked crowd, taking it all in.

It's a wonder they didn't card me at the door with the going-ons I witness.

"Hey, sweetheart."

A lithe blonde walks by on stilettoes that make her legs look like they never end. My gaze travels up the length of her body and lands on a set of green eyes a similar shade to mine.

I give a little wave. "Hey to you too."

"Here, you look like you could use this more than me."

The blonde winks at me and passes me a glass of champagne before walking off.

"Thank you," I whisper as her male companion takes his eyes off my breasts long enough to give me a smile.

She was right.

I sip at the bubbly liquid and sigh inwardly as the light alcohol soothes my frazzled nerves.

Among the party-goers are men three times my age who don't hide the fact that they are caressing my ample curves over their wives' heads, clearly fucking me with their eyes.

I scrunch my nose and scowl when I recognize a few from business functions my uncle hosted at his home, others are new-to-me faces.

I tug at the hem of my skirt, but not too hard or my breasts will slip from their silky confinement. It was a constant battle of lesser of two evils.

How the hell did I get myself into this mess? Oh right, by being the good girl. I followed the rules and here I am. A pawn in someone else's game.

After my mother died and I landed with my only living relative, I worked my ass off to earn a scholarship to Brown University because I promised myself I would never end up like her—a drug addict running from one fix to another, one man's bed to another.

Now my uncle is holding my full college ride over my head, as collateral to get what he wants. As if I only have it because of him.

He might be right. He did give me a home when I would have been placed in the system. But that didn't mean I had to like it.

Deep pockets earn you deeper connections in the messed-up world, and unlucky for me, William has all the right strings at his disposal if I screw this up. A tug here and a pull there and my whole future would crumble around my feet.

For the second time.

Resolve thickens around my spine and I lift my chin. I can do this. I have to if I want to finally be free of the man that has controlled every aspect of my life for the past six years.

The plan I'm supposed to follow goes like this: Get in, flash some skin—well more skin than I already am—and snap some compromising pictures with my uncle's boss with a minor.

Easy in theory.

Why, you ask? Well my uncle, the rat bastard that he is, has his eye on the CEO position of Savage Ink—Chicago's finest marketing firm worth billions.

Bigger paycheck, higher connections, and more power all sit at the top of William's Christmas wish list.

He always wanted what wasn't his.

He's convinced a little game of holiday blackmail is all it will take to land him at the top with the current CEO, who happens to also be the owner, out on his ass.

If it was up to me, I would fire my uncle from his already lucrative, well-paying job as Savage Ink's chief financial officer. Frankly, I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet since I know for a fact he's suspected of skimming money from Chicago's wealthiest man and owner of Savage Ink.

My dirty little secret? I happen to know the truth behind those suspicions and have the proof to back it up.

I find it hard to believe what I'm about to do and tingles of anxiety travel up my arms. I prefer a quiet room and a book to crowds. I shouldn't be here and I know it. I shouldn't have put on this ridiculous outfit or cute, frilly mask and I sure the hell don't belong standing in the middle of a lavish ballroom clutching a shawl that costs more than my whole wardrobe put together like it's a life-line. To do what I have no clue. Retreating isn't an option and I can't go forward when everything I fought and worked so hard for could be stripped from my future if tonight doesn't go as my uncle expertly planned as if he and his elite friends are some Ocean's Eleven crew.

While my uncle may be loaded, I, on the other hand, live off whatever he deems fit to provide. And believe me, he's not a very giving person.

I run my fingers along the embroidered napkin the blonde handed over with the flute of champagne and trace the golden initials M.S.

Mason Savage.

William's boss.

Even the name strikes fear and makes my heart quiver. Not to mention the stories I've heard. Don't ever be fooled into thinking the rich aren't filthy and underhanded. Money doesn't buy class, honor, or morals.

Whispers among my uncle's closest confidants and friends have my stomach rolling from the unknown. The walls were not as thick as my uncle would like to believe and I hear the underhanded schemes he and his flunkies cook up over a bottle of whiskey twice a month like clockwork.

Savage's name is akin to the Reaper's in the Shade household. Never said above a whisper and always feared as if were the devil himself. I have no idea who the elusive man is beyond that, but it's safe to say the reputation that precedes him is a blackened one and I guess you could say as fierce as his name's sake.

I wish there was another way, but with a friendship base drier than the Sahara and the idea of a warm, welcoming, and safe home to call my own no more than a fantasy, well, let's just say I'm low on options.

I tighten the shawl around my shoulders and offer a small smile to a handsome couple dressed as a sexy version of Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Not terribly original, but I had to give them props at the added whip in his hand and the studded leash that leads to her slender queen-like neck. Someone was going to have a very nice Christmas tied down.

All I wanted was my freedom.

But didn't that always come with a price?

I pay for my mother's sins every day I draw breath and today I am paying not with coinage or anything measurable to many. I am paying the ultimate price—my virginity.

My heart races and every cell in my body tingles with a mixture of fear and anxiety. And for the unknown.

Though I'm legally not supposed to have the drink in my hand it's the least of my current problems. I swallow the contents of my champagne and place the empty flute on a side table filled with more food than this crowd could possibly eat in one night. Starlets and socialites didn't eat more than a rabbit's share of food anyway, always watching their trim waists.

I don't have that problem, but food is the last thing on my mind.

Debt has me placing one foot in front of the other as I slip beneath an arched exit and find myself standing at the base of a wide marble staircase that leads to my fate. Whatever that may be.

But there's a catch. And isn't there always some way failure creeps in? You see, in a little under an hour I'm officially eighteen. In order for my uncle's blackmailing plan to work, and for me to keep my scholarship, I'll have to pull this whole scheme off before the clock tolls midnight.

I have no idea what to expect as I take the first step and then the other, my skirt riding high on my thighs.

Mason Savage , I repeat to myself. Bursts of sudden adrenaline spike through me at the allure of elegance and masculine strength in the name. Cool shivers dance the length of my spine and I falter in my step as I climb despite the warmth of his decadent home.

From the second-floor landing, I see a set of wooden doors ajar with a soft golden light spilling out. I take a tentative step forward and my mouth hangs open when I come to stand between the yawning slabs.

I can't help myself for a moment. The room is dark all for a lamp in the far end and a welcoming fire in the other. Beyond the large desk half of the room is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows hugged by heavy red drapes that lend the room a warm, inviting tone. Through the cracks of the drapes Chicago's sparkling skyline shines with a quiet beauty off in the far distance. The other half of the room where I stand are countless shelves housing every book I ever imagined reading and then some.

Original leather-bound copies of the Books of Knowledge , a mint condition of Alice Through the Looking Glass , the Iliad . Gold gilt trim shimmers in the soft lighting from the fire and I'm entranced like a dragon in front of priceless treasure.

I walk the shelves knowing I shouldn't be in here. No one should.

"Oh!" Slowly, I take a copy of Little Women from the shelf, running my fingers over the soft, worn cover. Anyone who has this in their collection can't be all bad.

"Here I wished for a Christmas of solitude and the Universe sends me an angel."

I whirl at the sound of a deep, powerful voice and come face to face with a massive black-masked man. My hands tighten around the book as my eyes take in the wall of hardened muscle standing in front of me.

For whatever messed up reason, the first thought in my head is not a toad .

Not even a little.

Try something along the lines of gorgeously created to tempt a woman into submission with a single glance from his deep brown eyes that hold a haunting darkness.

Okay, I might be innocent and I might not yet be eighteen even. Give it a few minutes. But I am all woman and my rapid heartbeat lets me know it.

Even in the black mask he channels Harrison Ford with a charming smirk that peels his smile into a sideways grin. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but he is amused nonetheless. Every finely toned muscle south of that smirk chanted The Rock material with his sheer size and bless my throbbing clit everything else about him screams Norse god.

Brown hair so dark it almost looks black, a jaw carved from marble, and shoulders like a train encased in black silk, of all things. A loose white tie hangs around his neck and for a moment I wonder what it would be like to tug on the ends until he's pressed against me.

"Let me guess, your costume is a billionaire playboy?" I tease, wavering on if I should smile back.

He prowls closer, his steps slow and calculated. A tic in his jaw draws my eyes to the hard line covered in a dark stubble. A jawline that makes all my fantasies of Zorro ravishing me come flooding through my mind. His jawline isn't the only thing with a hard edge either.

Looking at him take a few steps from the shadows is like watching dark and dangerous be personified in every inch of his body.

I can't lie. I like it. And like how sexy he looks in the half-faced mask which amps up the mystery level. A small part of me wonders if this is Mr. Savage at all. I almost don't care. But a voice inside my head whispers back the ugly reality of it all.

Each of his footsteps falls silently against the plush carpet as he prowls closer.

I scramble back until the hard wood of the shelves presses against my spine, the book clutched between my fingers like a shield. Against what, I have no idea.

A wild look takes hold in the stranger's eyes and I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me the tiniest bit of a thrill.

I'm not going to examine what that says about me as a person at the moment. I know one thing I took away from my mother, which I know she didn't intentionally try to teach me and that was to never give up. She did and now she's dead and gone. I refuse to end up like her. Who cares if I have to blackmail some billionaire? Not me.

So I keep telling myself.

"What will I ever do with such a gift?"

Standing in front of Chicago's wealthiest man with my nipples peaked and pressing into the soft material of my costume makes the wealth of answers at my disposal dry up. I'm half willing to let my body do the talking the longer he looks at me like I'm some divine being.

"I...I..." Damn him. And damn him for scaring the life out of me.

I try again. "I'm sorry. I was looking for a quiet place to gather my thoughts away from all the people. I saw the library and couldn't resist."

"Whatever is there to be sorry about, angel? The way I look at it, you have perfect timing."