All around us, guests partake in drink and dance and devilry. The strings of the violin rise above it all, the flurry of the melody matching the quick tempo of my racing heart. If this is the only night that I’ll ever have her in my arms, it won’t be wasted here where we’re in full view of the same people who’ll eagerly place the sins of a father at the daughter’s feet.

I let my palm slide from the warmth of her bare back.

Her dark eyes lift to meet mine, the question in them damn near palpable. Already leaving me?

Pressure rings in my ears.

Temptation coils around my lungs, proving once and for all that even men on the right side of the law will inevitably succumb to darkness. To have Laela just this once, I’ll gladly drown myself in shadows.

My chin dips and my gaze holds hers, and I hold out my hand. “Come here, Miss Donna.”

Tension crackles.

Heat arrows through my chest.

“I’ll resent you for this,” she says, touching her necklace, “won’t I?”

My response is swift and brutal: “Yes.”

She gives a tiny jerk of her chin. “Will I hate myself?”

“You’ll hate me more.”

“I should walk away. Go home.”

I incline my head. “You should.”

Her hand settles over mine, smooth skin pressed to rough flesh. “I should do a lot of this but for tonight, I’m yours.”

Chapter Three

Laela

He drags me from the ballroom like we’re escaping the flames of hell.

Or, maybe, we’re running right for them.

I catch Lucian’s eye. Spot his startled double take when he realizes that he doesn’t know the man leading me away from the crowd. Though his brows furrow, I know that he won’t leave Elaine’s side to question me. For once, I’m grateful that my old friend is too obsessed with his woman to interrogate me on what I’m sure will become a catastrophic mistake come the morning.

I feel slightly unhinged.

Wild.

My heart is beating too fast and I almost kick off my heels, just so I can keep up with this man’s aggressive stride down the starlit hallway.

I don’t get the chance.

One second I’m admiring the broad width of his back and the next my own is colliding with a wall and his lips are again on mine. God, the taste of him. Spice and heat and desire. My hands instinctively clasp the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his thick brown hair to keep him from pulling away. I refuse to be a passive participant when it feels like I’m finally coming alive for the first time in years.

“Fuck, Laela,” he growls against my mouth. “Fuck.”