echoes. She turned the
next corner, then flattened herself against the wall, one
of her unworn stilettos held up like a weapon.
Someone was coming. She
raised the shoe higher, ready to strike, just as a hooded man rounded the
corner. She swung the shoe, hearing a very satisfied smack and an “oof” as it
connected with the man’s head. Not willing to give him a chance to regroup,
Beth took off at a run and didn’t stop until she was
safely inside her building.
Collapsing against the
wall, she struggled to catch her breath and still her raging heartbeat. So much for her regular jogging. Fear was a much better
cardiac workout.
Once she double-checked
the locks, she slumped against the door, giving her heart time to slow to a
more normal pace. It took a while as she kept wondering how close she’d come to
seeing the bad side of the city up close and personal. Eventually, though, the exhaustion
of the day muddled her brain. Having hardly slept the night before, she’d spent most of today—yesterday—anxious and worried. Beth
left her shoes by the door, her skirt on the floor of the living room, and
hooked her bra on the bedroom doorknob. Then she crawled into bed and waited
for sweet oblivion take her away.
Except her body still hummed
with the aftereffects of Anthony’s kisses and the feel of his hands, like a low -voltage electricity keeping her from turning things
off, keeping her turned on, amped up, and ready for sex. Beth pounded the
pillow, willing the ravenous hunger raging through her to die. Twice, she slid
into her own wet folds, only to remember it wouldn’t help. Beth lay there for a long time in the dark before her mind finally overruled
her body and she drifted off to sleep.
****
Outside Beth’s apartment,
Anthony watched as the lights extinguished and the place went dark. Even after
that, he stayed, feeling like the worst kind of heel. He’d made out with her like a teenager unable to rein in his libido, then stopped
without an explanation.
After she’d run out, worry had sent him after her. This was Chicago . You didn’t go running around at night by yourself. Especially if you were as young and
desirable as Beth was. He’d thought to keep her safe,
but even that plan tanked—big time.
Anthony massaged his
tender head, checked his hand yet again, certain it would be
covered in blood. It wasn’t , but should be. His
skull felt split right down the center by that dagger of a high-heel she’d thumped him with.
Shit. All he’d wanted to do was recapture something that he’d never
been able to forget. And all he seemed to be capable
of was screwing it all up. That damn contract was going to kill him. He’d been a fool to give Sally that much power. Anthony
wanted more than anything to come clean and tell Beth everything . But he couldn’t yet. Not while he still worked at
Masquerade. He stood to lose everything if he didn’t keep his dick in his pants.
He also couldn’t seem to stay away from her. That hadn’t changed in the several years since they’d been apart. And that attraction had caused the demise of his marriage. Anthony walked back to
the club with the slow, measured step of a man being led to the gallows, feeling the weight of two botched relationships laid heavily on
his shoulders.
Chapter Eight
The next evening, Beth
arrived at Masquerade with a whole new layer of
trepidation that kept her from pushing through the doors. She’d run out on Anthony
after one of the hottest make-out sessions she’d ever been involved in. And Anthony may or may not be her boss. On top of all that, she’d spent all day wearing kill-me-now stilettos and wasn’t
sure her calves could take another six hours in them. Thankfully, she’d only fallen twice due to the death heels.
She felt, more than
heard, someone behind her and turned to see a once again masked Anthony standing
there.
“Really? You’re wearing your mask before even entering the club?”
He
grinned as he touched the
next corner, then flattened herself against the wall, one
of her unworn stilettos held up like a weapon.
Someone was coming. She
raised the shoe higher, ready to strike, just as a hooded man rounded the
corner. She swung the shoe, hearing a very satisfied smack and an “oof” as it
connected with the man’s head. Not willing to give him a chance to regroup,
Beth took off at a run and didn’t stop until she was
safely inside her building.
Collapsing against the
wall, she struggled to catch her breath and still her raging heartbeat. So much for her regular jogging. Fear was a much better
cardiac workout.
Once she double-checked
the locks, she slumped against the door, giving her heart time to slow to a
more normal pace. It took a while as she kept wondering how close she’d come to
seeing the bad side of the city up close and personal. Eventually, though, the exhaustion
of the day muddled her brain. Having hardly slept the night before, she’d spent most of today—yesterday—anxious and worried. Beth
left her shoes by the door, her skirt on the floor of the living room, and
hooked her bra on the bedroom doorknob. Then she crawled into bed and waited
for sweet oblivion take her away.
Except her body still hummed
with the aftereffects of Anthony’s kisses and the feel of his hands, like a low -voltage electricity keeping her from turning things
off, keeping her turned on, amped up, and ready for sex. Beth pounded the
pillow, willing the ravenous hunger raging through her to die. Twice, she slid
into her own wet folds, only to remember it wouldn’t help. Beth lay there for a long time in the dark before her mind finally overruled
her body and she drifted off to sleep.
****
Outside Beth’s apartment,
Anthony watched as the lights extinguished and the place went dark. Even after
that, he stayed, feeling like the worst kind of heel. He’d made out with her like a teenager unable to rein in his libido, then stopped
without an explanation.
After she’d run out, worry had sent him after her. This was Chicago . You didn’t go running around at night by yourself. Especially if you were as young and
desirable as Beth was. He’d thought to keep her safe,
but even that plan tanked—big time.
Anthony massaged his
tender head, checked his hand yet again, certain it would be
covered in blood. It wasn’t , but should be. His
skull felt split right down the center by that dagger of a high-heel she’d thumped him with.
Shit. All he’d wanted to do was recapture something that he’d never
been able to forget. And all he seemed to be capable
of was screwing it all up. That damn contract was going to kill him. He’d been a fool to give Sally that much power. Anthony
wanted more than anything to come clean and tell Beth everything . But he couldn’t yet. Not while he still worked at
Masquerade. He stood to lose everything if he didn’t keep his dick in his pants.
He also couldn’t seem to stay away from her. That hadn’t changed in the several years since they’d been apart. And that attraction had caused the demise of his marriage. Anthony walked back to
the club with the slow, measured step of a man being led to the gallows, feeling the weight of two botched relationships laid heavily on
his shoulders.
Chapter Eight
The next evening, Beth
arrived at Masquerade with a whole new layer of
trepidation that kept her from pushing through the doors. She’d run out on Anthony
after one of the hottest make-out sessions she’d ever been involved in. And Anthony may or may not be her boss. On top of all that, she’d spent all day wearing kill-me-now stilettos and wasn’t
sure her calves could take another six hours in them. Thankfully, she’d only fallen twice due to the death heels.
She felt, more than
heard, someone behind her and turned to see a once again masked Anthony standing
there.
“Really? You’re wearing your mask before even entering the club?”
He
grinned as he touched the
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