Danger’s First Kiss Read online

  Moving from the right to the left, I was momentarily mesmerized by the dress covering the sexy secrets beneath. The full tulle skirt with scattered sequins pitched from side to side, catching rays of light as sparkles created prisms in all directions. I ran my palm over my torso. The bodice fit tightly over the corset, accentuating my waist while showcasing, but not bringing too much attention to, my breasts.

  The cap sleeves left my shoulders and arms bare.

  It was the color that surprised me. I’d thought black would be best as certain colors clashed with my hair. This dress, however, wasn’t black. It wasn’t even monochromatic. The gown was a stunning shade of blue, with hues of white, silver, and even green. While the secondary shades were subtle, Patrice, the seamstress, insisted they were perfect with my green eyes. Strands of diamond-like crystals dangled from the intricate mask. My wild red locks were tamed into long curls that were pulled away from my face by the dainty crown. Long matching crystals dangled from my ears.

  “I-I,” I stuttered, “I can’t believe it’s me.”

  Carlos added a bit more pink to my cheeks and a dab to my lips before standing back and smiling. “You’re stunning.”

  It was then the door from Mason’s bedroom opened.

  “Oh,” I said, seeing that my brother now wore a gray tuxedo, with a bow tie and pocket square similar to the shade of my dress.

  He came behind me and peered over my shoulder into the full-length mirror. “Not bad for two poor kids from the South Side.”

  I spun toward him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re helping me out, sis.”

  I smiled as I fought a new urge to cry. “Mason, this is a whirlwind weekend, but I would never...without you. It’s like a fantasy come to life. I feel like a princess.”

  He reached for my hands and lifted one until he brought it to his lips and softly kissed my knuckles. “Lorna, we’ve been through hell. It’s damn time we see what heaven is like.”

  I placed my hand in the curve of his arm.

  “Ready for a ball?” he asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Oh,” Mason said as he looked around the mess of a suite, where things were strewn here and there. “Are you packed? There won’t be time to come back here before your flight.”

  Reaching for the studded small clutch purse containing lipstick and my phone, I nodded and tipped my chin toward the door. My sad little carry-on was sitting there. The only items I’d needed that I’d brought from Chicago were the shoes. Patrice had others, but when she saw the embellished Louboutins, she agreed they would be perfect. “Where will I change?”

  Mason took a step back and scanned me from head to toe. “I say you wear that.”

  “No, I can’t keep it.”

  “What the fuck am I going to do with it?”

  My shattered nerves broke, bringing a smile to my lips as the brother I knew and loved allowed his true self to show through. He may have his face shaved, smell of heavenly masculine cologne, be wearing a mysterious masquerade mask making his green eyes shine, and donning what quite possibly was a custom tuxedo, but under it all, he was still Mason Pierce, the boy who made sure his sisters didn’t go to sleep hungry.

  “I still need to change.”

  “Try to be discreet. You can change in the SUV on the way to the airport. But you’re keeping the dress.”

  “Mace, it’ll never fit in my carry-on.”

  His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “You know, even as a princess, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  I put my hand back in the crook of his arm. “And even as a guy, you’re the best fairy godmother.”

  He chuckled. “Shit, like that story you used to tell Missy.”

  One of the people working with Mason opened the hotel room door as we made our way to the elevator.

  “That story is one of the most beloved fairy tales of all times. While I don’t need a prince to save me, it’s ingrained in every little girl’s psyche.”

  “You’re talking Disney, not Brothers Grimm,” he said with a smirk.

  “Yes. I prefer cute mice and singing birds to chopped-off toes and pecked-out eyes.”

  The driver opened the door to the SUV as my carry-on was placed in the back.

  Mason winked. “This isn’t a pumpkin.”

  “No, but I saw some carriages in Central Park last night.”

  Once we were within the confines of the leather back seat, Mason introduced their driver. “Lorna, this is Bruno. He’s a Sparrow, and he’ll be waiting for you at midnight.”

  “Miss,” Bruno said, his gray gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

  I could hardly contain my laughter. Bruno was the name of Cinderella’s faithful dog, the one who the fairy godmother turned into the footman on the coach that took her to the ball. “Your name is really Bruno?”

  “Yes, miss. But my last name isn’t Mars.”

  “Too bad, I’d love to hear you sing.” When he only smiled, I added, “Thank you for taking me to the airport tonight. I wish I wasn’t making you leave the party early.”

  “No problem. I’m not exactly attending. I’ll be waiting for you. Traffic will be lighter and leaving at midnight will get you to the airport in time for your flight.”

  “Why didn’t we stay closer if this was the purpose of the trip?” I asked. Even a girl from Chicago had heard of Bishop’s Landing. Near the north end of Long Island, it was two hours without traffic, from the hotel.

  “Sparrow had business in New York. There’ll be some very important people at the party, and he wanted to make contact before we’re all wearing masks and monkey suits.”

  “Will I meet any of these people?”

  Mason nodded. “Yeah, I’ll introduce you. I’ll also need to go off a bit by myself.”

  A new wave of anxiety washed through me. “Mace, I don’t know anything about Sterling Sparrow or his father—I mean, other than what everyone knows. I don’t know what you do for him. Shit...I basically know nothing. What do I tell people?”

  “Everything you know.”

  “That...doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does, Lorna. For the rest of the world besides the Sparrows, we can leave out the brother and sister part. It’s none of their fucking business where I found my date.”

  I grinned. “And in all honesty, it makes you a bit pathetic.”

  Mason laughed. “I am pathetic...we all are when it comes to dates. Hell, Sparrow’s date is his pilot. And Patrick’s is a woman who knows a bit about the Sparrows. Like I said, it’s complicated to have loose ends.”

  “They know more than I do.”

  “And they know not to talk about it. Basically, from what Sparrow has said, this estate is massive. This party is posh. Think The Great Gatsby kind of wealth. The guest of honor is Tinsley Constantine and the party is at the Constantine estate. You’re friendly. Talk to others about the decorations, estate, food, and drinks. Party talk.”

  The sparkle coming from my dress caught my attention. “You made me look and feel like I can do this.”

  He squeezed my hand. “You’ve got this, sis.”

  Chapter Seven

  I clutched Mason’s arm as the SUV came to a stop in front of what looked more like a museum than a home. “Maybe I can’t.”

  Behind his masquerade mask, Mason winked. There was an unmistakable gleam in his green eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you’d let me down.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The door opened, and taking a deep breath, we both got out. A golden carpet covered limestone stairs. White and gold lights twinkled from every column, tree—hell, on every rock. My mouth dried as we waited our turn to be introduced.

  Once we made it to the entry, the area was like a wonderland of lights, candles, flowers, tables, and people, each one dressed in the most lavish of attires. Near an ornate pool with lit fountains was what appeared to be a full symphony. Now, granted, I wasn’t exactly sure what constituted a full s
ymphony, but there were a lot of people with stringed instruments, as well as brass, woodwind, percussion, and a conductor.

  “Mr. Mason Pierce and guest,” a deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker.

  As we stepped into the crowd, Mason whispered, “I see Sparrow.”

  Allowing my brother to lead, I had new questions. Why hadn’t I been more curious? Why hadn’t I gone online to look at Sterling Sparrow’s picture, Tinsley Constantine, or any of the Constantines?

  They were wealthy, but where did their money come from?

  More and more questions spun through my head.

  “Mason,” a man with dark hair and eyes shining from behind his mask said with a nod. “Glad you made it.” He turned to me. “Lorna.”

  Suddenly, I wondered if I should curtsy. I didn’t know how to curtsy.

  Shit.

  What if the queen or someone else was here who required a curtsy?

  “Lorna,” Mason prompted, pulling me from my near panic.

  I swallowed, hoping my voice worked. “Mr. Sparrow, it’s nice to meet you.”

  His chin barely moved in response before he turned to Mason, “All the Sparrows are here. Patrick is talking to Lennox Demetri. It was his father, Oren, who I met with this afternoon. Old man’s on board, but I’m not overlooking the son. Lennox is here with his wife, Alexandra.” He turned to a tall, slender blonde woman by his side. “Marianne, take Lorna and rescue Renita. Maybe you can convince Mrs. Demetri to accompany you ladies and let us have a word with Lennox?”

  Marianne smiled at me. “Hi, Lorna, nice to meet you. That was our cue to step away.”

  My hand trembled as I let go of Mason. His nod wordlessly told me to do as Mr. Sparrow said.

  Once we were walking, I asked, “Do you know the people he’s talking about?”

  “Some of them,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry. No one here bites.”

  I looked from couple to couple. “Are you sure?”

  We came to a stop. One man of the group was dark haired like Mr. Sparrow, but when he peered my way, I saw he had the lightest blue eyes behind his mask. Striking. Standing at his side was an attractive woman with auburn hair.

  When she turned my way, I was mesmerized by the golden hue of her orbs peering from behind her mask. “Hello,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Alex, Alex Demetri.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Lorna, Lorna...” I remembered Mason saying to avoid mentioning we were brother and sister.

  “Marianne,” Marianne said, saving me as she too offered her hand.

  The fourth woman turned our way. Not as tall as the others, her skin was a beautiful ebony, a stark contrast to her golden dress and mask. “Renita,” she said with a smile. She turned to Mr. Sparrow’s companion. “Hi, Marianne.”

  “Doctor.”

  Renita’s cheeks rose. “Not yet, Renita is perfect for the evening.” She placed her hand on the elbow of a tall blond man. “Excuse me, Patrick. We’re going to find something to eat and drink.”

  Patrick smiled and nodded as he turned back to the dark-haired man.

  A small hand reached for my elbow. “Tell me, Lorna,” Alex asked, “what is all this secret talk the men are whispering about?”

  I turned to her and sighed. “Honestly” —I lifted the hem of my skirt and showed her my shoes— “I’m just trying not to trip.”

  Alex laughed and hugged my arm. “I like you. For as expensive as those shoes are, they can be ghastly uncomfortable.”

  Peering over my shoulder, I saw Marianne and Renita a step behind.

  As we walked, we passed table after table filled with different delicacies. There seemed to be a theme of sorts with each cluster. Of course, there was also an overabundance of waiters with trays offering samples while others balanced trays with flutes of bubbling champagne.

  Around the perimeter of the courtyard, various double doors opened into separate wings of the house. I still couldn’t comprehend that this monstrosity was a home.

  With drinks in hand, Alex led me to one of the double doors. “Do you like art?”

  Party talk.

  I wished she’d asked me about what cleaning solution worked best to remove vomit from cheap carpeting, but sure, for Mason, I’d party talk. “I like some.”

  “My stepfather was a fan of owning what others couldn’t.” We stepped from the crowd and music into what appeared to be a gallery. “It’s not my thing, but I can appreciate the talent and inspiration that goes into the final work of art.”

  Passing beyond the threshold, the atmosphere quieted as other guests milled about, whispering amongst themselves. Paintings, surrounded by massive frames, hung around the room. Small lights illuminated each work.

  Maybe this was a museum.

  My eye caught a man standing down the way. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, but I found him more appealing than the art on the walls. He emanated a sense of power and danger. Maybe it was the stories Mason told me of who was attending.

  This man also wore a dark gray custom tuxedo designed to fit his wide shoulders and solid trim torso. His mask was silver as was his tie. It wasn’t a bow tie like Mason’s but long and thin, disappearing behind the buttons of his jacket. He was easily as tall as my brother, and his dark hair was short. While his complexion was lighter than Renita’s, his skin was a radiant combination of mahogany and bronze.

  Was he a prince or a king? A politician or a billionaire businessman? Or was this man danger personified, an international spy specializing in espionage?

  My imagination ran the gamut.

  “What do you think?” Alex asked as we came to stop.

  I snapped my gaze away from the man to the work of art before us. The painting appeared juvenile in a fun way with colors, a skeleton, and maybe a dog.

  “I like the colors.” My only experience with art had been during school field trips to the Art Institute of Chicago. They had a famous painting of an old woman and man in front of a farmhouse with a pitchfork. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall the artist’s name. It was more realistic than what we were seeing.

  I glanced back to find my mystery man still present.

  As Alex assessed the brushstrokes, I peered around for Renita and Marianne and found them across the room. My gaze fluttered back to the man.

  Alex Demetri reached out and patted my arm. “Relax, Lorna. These parties can be pretty boring if you overanalyze. I just let Nox do his thing and enjoy a little make-believe.”

  “Make-believe?”

  “Oh, I know these stuffy people. I grew up with them, and believe me; they don’t dress like this every day. It’s all a show—smoke and mirrors. Have fun with it. Reality comes back quick.”

  I felt my cheeks warm.

  “What?” Alex asked.

  “My reality is probably a lot different than yours or anyone else’s.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” She leaned closer. “My husband is super intense. He gets it from his father. He also obsesses. And...he can be great in every way. But, here’s the secret: he keeps me awake sometimes when he snores. It doesn’t happen every night.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “My point is that it doesn’t matter who any of these people are...they’re flesh and blood just like you. Have fun with it.”

  A ding came from Alex’s purse, out of place amongst the art. “Oh shit, sorry.” Quickly, she opened her purse, checking her phone. “I apologize, Lorna. I need to take this call. I’ll catch up with you.”

  With a reassuring smile, I nodded.

  “Oh, and on the other side of the courtyard is a ballroom. I hope you’re ready to dance later.”

  My thoughts went to my high heels. “Thanks, Alex. It was great to meet you.”

  As she walked away, I turned back to the painting before me, wondering if there was a hidden message.

  “Are you interested in neo-Expressionism?” a deep voice asked from behind me.

  A quick crane of my neck and a whiff of sp
icy cologne let me know my mystery man from across the room was now close enough to touch.

  “It’s growing on me,” I replied, offering him a smile.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m fascinated by his life,” the man said, his deep voice sending vibrations, electrifying my skin.

  “His?” I read the name on the plate attached to the frame. “Jean-Michel Basquiat.”

  “A modern-day genius. He’s not only a talented artist but also a musician. Did you know that he could read and write by four years of age and dropped out of school in the tenth grade?”

  “Like Einstein.”

  “Einstein’s problem was more with interpersonal relationships.”

  The heat from this man’s body brought warmth soaring through my circulation. It was all I could do to concentrate on his words or the artwork.

  “His teachers,” the man went on, “felt Einstein was disrespectful because he questioned. In reality, even at a young age, he was smarter than they and most simply wanted explanation, unwilling to take information at face value.”

  I stared up at the art. “I would imagine that Jean-Michel’s intelligence also made remedial school boring.”

  “Sometimes you have to push on,” he scoffed. “And sometimes you need encouragement.”

  “Did you have encouragement when you were young?”

  “My grandmother would have tanned my backside if I quit school.” He gently touched my shoulder, turning me his direction. “You?”

  I gasped.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for my arm.

  “I-I am.” I was. It was his eyes, dark brown, yet like the painting, filled of colors, drawing me in like no stare I’d seen before. “I guess” —I shifted on the tall heels, trying to recall what we were talking about— “too much champagne and not enough food.”

  “We can’t have that.” His large hand brought heat and stability to the small of my back, and just as quickly, it disappeared. “Can I...may I help?”

  “Yes.” Touch me. I want you to touch me. I stopped myself before more than yes escaped my lips.

  With a man as tall as he was, his touch was both steady and feather light. It was as if he wanted to help me but didn’t want me to break. Together, we walked to a small bench outside the gallery, the other direction from the party. As I sat, I stared at a lake surrounded by trees. More lights twinkled, creating a make-believe world where anything was possible.