Chapter Twenty

Two hours and one jittery-as-hell landing later, they touched down in Chicago on the western banks of Lake Michigan. Graves had spent the flight reading a fiction novel. Kierse had the book he'd given her in her lap. Now that they were on the ground and driving north in another SUV, adrenaline pumped through her veins.

It was another twenty minutes before they pulled off onto a long, wooded lane. They wound ever upward until an enormous glass house appeared on the ridge. It was mesmerizing and completely impractical. She'd known what it was going to look like, thanks to prep for the job, but it didn't compare to the magnitude of seeing the house in person.

On top of that hill, the mansion appeared to be twice as large as Graves's house, with a perfect view into many of the living spaces. She could see people milling around inside, dancing, consorting. If she didn't know about the obscured paneling in many of the rooms, she would have wondered about privacy. But only the living spaces were completely open for anyone to see, which was good for what she was about to do.

The SUV parked in the large circular drive. Graves exited first and then held his hand out for her to follow. He tugged her in close. His hand slid to her waist. Alluring and possessive.

She shivered as his lips dipped to her earlobe. "Remember your role."

She hadn't forgotten. "I know."

Graves said nothing else as they reached the door. There was nothing more to say. Not with eyes and ears likely tracking their every move.

A man greeted them at the door before they had a chance to knock. "Invitation, please."

Graves slid it out of his pocket and passed it to the man.

"Name?"

Graves just smiled. It was a dangerous thing. The man took one look at him and made some small, unintelligible sound. He took a step backward and returned the invitation.

"Right this way," he said shakily, holding open the door.

And then they were inside. A large oak tree soared to the ceiling at the back of the room, while chandeliers cast dizzying lights across the packed partygoers. Couples writhed against each other as if caught under some fae magic from the stories, dancing for the pleasure of their hosts. Montrell and Imani stood directly before the tree, observing the party like a king and queen of old.

Montrell had a shaved head, full lips, and skin as radiant and rare as the Hawaiian black sand beaches. He was bare from the waist up, wearing only loose, white linen pants. Imani's head was shaved close as well. Her light-brown skin dusted in gold powder that made her shimmer in the lights. She was rail thin, with small breasts and narrow hips concealed by a long, gauzy white gown. She held herself like a goddess, and it made Kierse wonder if she was in the presence of royalty.

"You're staring," Graves said.

"It's hard not to stare. You didn't warn me that they'd both be so beautiful."

"Both?"

She nodded. "Don't you think so?"

His gaze was hot on hers. "I did once as well."

Secrets, secrets.

"May I take your coat?" a woman asked, appearing before them.

Graves held up his hand. "I'll keep mine."

But this was her moment. She took a shallow breath, careful not to draw attention to her own discomfort, and then shed the fur-lined jacket.

For a moment, it was as if the entire world slowed. A breath was drawn from the room, and eyes drifted to her. Her and every inch of her exposed skin.

The dress was one piece of sheer black gossamer. The neckline plunged between her breasts, where a series of shimmering diamonds obscured her nipples from view. The same diamond pattern ran low across her stomach and then down to cover her... but just barely. She wore no bra but a tiny scrap of black lace that hardly covered more than the diamonds. There were no sleeves, leaving her arms bare. Though the fabric fell to the floor like a ball gown, nearly every part of her was exposed.

She heard another small intake of breath, and this time she turned away from Montrell and Imani, who were clearly enjoying the show, and faced Graves. There was a stillness about him that went beyond his usual demeanor. The stillness of a stalking predator right before the lunge. His pupils were blown out, his sensuous mouth parted, and one eyebrow slightly quirked. It didn't just say interest; it was as if he wanted to reach out and claim her as his own.

A chill ran down her spine, and goose bumps erupted on her bare skin. That look unmade her. To be the center of that focus and know that she was here, like this, for him. She had been tiptoeing around her own interest in Graves. It had been nearly impossible to hide with his hand on her and his breath against her neck and his body covering her in training. But still, he'd stepped away quickly. Here, he did not pull away, and seeing the desire painted so plainly on his face made her entire body flush with want. She wondered if her own need was so apparent. She didn't have any interest in intimacy, but she'd be more than happy to be his... pet.

She swallowed, letting her throat bob as the heat drew taut between them. Then she let her dark-red lips part erotically. His arm slid around her waist again. His hand drifted lower, so low, cupping her ass. A whimper escaped her lips.

His breath hitched.

"Ready?" she purred, using the sultriest voice she could dredge up.

He squeezed her ass and dragged her flush against him. "Very."

The line between acting and reality blurred.

"Shall I introduce you?" he asked.

"By all means."