The man hesitates for a heartbeat, and I watch the candle flames dancing in his warm eyes for what feels like an eternity before he speaks. His gaze is so intense that it sends a cascade of goosebumps across my skin.

“Actually, no,” he says, his lips curving upward at the corners. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Something in the way he says it—the certainty in his voice, the quiet confidence—makes my throat go a bit dry. Holy fuck.

I smile at him, and he reaches out to put one hand on the small of my back while he gestures to the bar across the room.

“Ladies first.”

He keeps his hand pressed lightly against my lower back as we navigate through the crowd, the warmth of his palm radiating through the thin material of my dress. It’s a protective gesture, not possessive—guiding rather than pushing. I sense him creating a subtle buffer between me and the other patrons, his body angled slightly as if to shield mine.

As we make our way past the other masked patrons, my mind races. I can’t believe this is really happening, that I’m here at this club with one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen, hundreds of miles away from my home. He pulls out a velvet-topped stool for me first and holds my hand until I’m seated, then joins me.

“What would you like to drink?” the bartender, who’s also wearing a mask, asks quietly. My mystery man looks to me to answer.

“Whiskey sour, please.”

“Make that two,” the mystery man says, then moves his hand to my knee, stroking it lightly while the bartender gets to work on our drinks.

I feel like I’m burning from the inside out, still unable to believe that this incredibly hot guy is showing so much interest in me. Normally, when a guy is this into me, it’s because he knows who I am and he’s trying to work me for a connection to my dad—but this is California. No one here has a clue who I am, and they probably wouldn’t even if I wasn’t wearing a mask.

“You seem surprised,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

“About what?”

“That I’m interested.” He tilts his head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug, not wanting to get into my normal life complications. “Just used to guys having ulterior motives, I guess.”

He leans in just enough that I can smell his cologne—something woodsy and clean. “The only ulterior motive I have is getting to know the woman who crashed into me while checking out a sex club.”

I laugh, grateful for his directness. “Fair enough.”