Dani I’ve never been to a ball. Didn’t even go to my high school prom. Even before my life fell apart, before I ran, before I gave up my relationship and my job and my future, I’d never seen anything that comes close to this. We arrive at a big, stately building, a contemporary museum I don’t recognize. I spend very little time in Manhattan, especially since I quit the job at the cocktail bar. The building’s entrance is framed in tall columns, with a long red carpet extending from the doors to the line of cars at the other end of the block. Hundreds of photographers wrestle for the best spots along the front of the building, shouting at the women and men preening in front of them. I’m at a literal red-carpet event. I don’t belong here. This is a mistake. With clammy palms, I adjust the dangerously low neckline of my dress, the violent thumping of my heart banging against my fingers. A valet opens my door. He gives me a little bow of his head, a show of deference. As if I’m different from him. As if I belong on that crimson carpet. Beyond him, people dripping with jewels and expensive dresses pose in front of cameras, looking smug and rich and in their element. Bonnie didn’t plan this. There’s been some mix-up. I know it de ep down in my bones, but when I open my mouth to tell the driver to take me away, Viviane appears at the door and drags me out. They must have followed in another car. She fluffs my dress and adjusts the straps as Yasmin gives my face one last look, blotting my forehead with enough force to nearly knock me back. Then they st ep aside, and there’s only the long line of photographers between me and the door. It can’t be healthy for a heart to beat this hard. Photographers... no. I can’t get my photo taken. I’ve spent four years avoiding social media; I won’t have it ruined because of this silly charade. I need to leave. Screw my birthday, screw Bonnie, screw it all. Tomorrow, I’ll start my new job and hopefully disappear. I can have a quiet life here in the city. I can stay under the radar. I’ll be some snooty billionaire’s new nanny—also known as the help. I’ll be invisible, just the way I like it. “He’s here,” Viviane says in my ear. I shouldn’t care, but I can’t ke ep my thoughts untangled. I find myself answering, “Who?” then follow her gaze to a shiny silver car pulling up behind us. Squinting at the front of it, my eyebrows jump when I realize it’s a Bentley. I know nothing about Bentleys apart from the fact that they cost a lot of money. The valet hustles over, and a sort of hushed anticipation falls over the staff and photographers and guests. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen st eps out of the back seat of the car. He adjusts his cufflinks before tugging at his bowtie, casting an assessing eye over the assembled crowd. Every powerful line of his body screams arrogance and absolute superiority. Photographers start yelling to get his attention, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I can’t pick out his name from the din his arrival has caused. Blood rushes to my face, my chest, pounding in my ears. I can’t stop staring. He’s tall. Broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, he moves like he knows how to use his body. His face is an unreadable mask, bright blue eyes swe eping over the red carpet, chin tilted up as if he owns the ground he walks on. Hell, maybe he does. Who knows what kind of powerful people come to an event like this?
Which reminds me—why the hell am I here? Viviane swe eps over to him, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. Gone is the assertiveness, the snappy comments. She’s wilting, swaying in the slight breeze like a willow tree as she walks toward him, a dreamy smile on her face. When she touches his arm he stiffens slightly, but she gestures toward me, and his eyes follow. To me. To my chest. Down to my feet. Then back up again. Torturously slow, his gaze feels like a physical touch. I can feel his look as if his hands are swe eping over my skin. As if the heat of his body is soaking into mine. Skin to skin, tangled up in him in a way I haven’t felt since my life imploded half a decade ago. And I melt. My thighs clench, core twisting under his perusal. I’ve never... I’ve never had anyone stare at me like that. Freeze me in place with nothing but a look. Make me burn from twenty feet away. Make me realize how empty I feel inside, somewhere intrinsically female. His eyes are grey-blue, steely, unflinching. When they meet my gaze again, I remember almost too late I need to breathe. I suck in air, which draws his gaze back down to my chest. Then I start blushing. God, I’m a mess. He takes a st ep toward me. Another. Another. My heart can’t take this. When he’s just a few feet away, the photographers still yelling at us, his eyes roam over my face. Up close, he’s even more breathtaking. Strikingly de ep eyes peer at me from under thick brows. A straight nose and strong jaw set off his full, lush lips. His dark hair is sw ept back from his face but a rogue strand falls across his forehead, as if even his hair can’t help wanting to touch his skin. We stare at each other for a minute. An hour, maybe. Then he speaks, his voice gruff. “Who the hell are you?” I start, shaking my head as if a bucket of cold water just got launched at my face. Right. Of course. I don’t belong here. Gathering every scrap of mangled pride I can muster, I pull myself together and answer as steadily as I can. “I’m Danika. Dani. I mean, my friends call me Dani, but you can call me Danika. Or Dani. Either one works.” Ohmygod. Stop. Talking. The man doesn’t move. His eyes bore into mine as they narrow ever so slightly. Then, after a long pause, he shakes his head. “No, you’re not.” His voice is full of gravel. De ep and full, the sound reverberates all the way down to my bones, through my chest. Lower. Holy mother of billionaires, this man is attractive. And he’s questioning my name? Attractive or not, he’s still being an ass. I stand up taller. “Funny that you would think you know my name better than I do. Do you also know what I ate for breakfast?” I cross my arms. “Wanna see I. D., Sherlock?” I pop a brow. His eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. “I know Danika. She comes with me to these things.” He waves a hand toward the red carpet, the photographers, the big, elegant building behind. His eyes don’t leave mine. “You’re not her.” Another Danika. A sharp stab of jealousy pierces through me without warning. Um... where the hell did that come from?
Taking a de ep breath, I pull myself together. I knew this was a mistake. I knew Bonnie wouldn’t have done this for my birthday. But... Tomorrow, I start a job that will allow me to save enough money to finally have a bit of stability. Tomorrow, I’ll be responsible again. Tomorrow, I’ll be invisible, and probably covered in toddler puke. Would it be so bad to enjoy myself tonight? I’ve never worn a dress like this. I’ve never had a team of people glam me up. I’ve never stood in front of a man as gorgeous as this one. So, something snaps inside me, and I find myself shrugging. “All I know is these people showed up at my house and told me I needed to get ready. I tried to tell them they had the wrong girl, but they didn’t listen to me. No one ever does. So I’m here. Take it or leave it.” His lips don’t even twitch, but that crinkle around his eyes returns. “Take it or leave it,” he r epeats, as if he needs to taste the words in order to decide what to do. Pulling away from her assistant, Viviane comes trotting toward us with panic pulling her features tight. “Mr. Van der Berg, I’m so, so sorry. There’s been a mistake. I take full responsibility. I apologize. We—” “Leave us.” The man—Van der Berg—doesn’t even look at her. Well, okay then. His eyes are trained on mine, and it takes all my strength to lock my knees so I don’t collapse. Then, without warning, he slides his hand over my back. I close my eyes for a moment as the pads of his fingers graze my skin, exposed by the plunging back of my dress, and everything inside me tightens. Clenches. Burns. There are five points of contact on my overheating skin. Five points of pure ecstasy drawing all my attention to my lower back. Exhaling slowly, I lift my eyes to see his lips curling ever so slightly. The first hint of a smile on his perfect mouth. “Are you okay?” Sure. I’m fine. Your fingers touching my spine almost made me orgasm, but yeah. Just peachy. “I’m good,” I answer in a slightly strangled voice. “So we’re...” “You said take it or leave it. I’m taking it,” he answers, his lips dipping close to my ear. I don’t even have time to let his words settle low in my gut before he puts slight pressure on my back, and I feel like I’m going to pass out again. “Follow my lead,” he rasps, and guides me toward the cameras. I exhale when we finally get inside, brushing my mop of hair over my shoulder. “That was intense.” “First time?” Van der Berg arches an eyebrow, and a quiver travels between my legs. How does he make even the simplest sentence sound so... sexual? “On a red carpet?” I snort. “Yeah.” “You’ll get used to it.” I don’t have the courage to tell him I won’t, because there’s literally no reason for me to ever be on a red carpet again. But his hand slides over my lower back again, and words vanish from my mind. We’re greeted by an older woman wearing so many jewels I’m surprised she can stand without assistance. The weight of those things must be insane. She presents her gloved and bejeweled hand to Van der Berg, who leans over and presses a kiss to her fingertips. “Gorgeous as usual, Ethel.” “Oh, hush.” The woman waves him off and turns an assessing eye to me. “Who is your friend? She’s not from your usual stable of mares.”
Note to self: never, ever become part of someone’s stable of freaking mares. I arch a brow, throwing my thumb toward my date. “I hope you’re not suggesting that makes this guy a stallion.” Ethel’s lips curl as amusement glimmers in her gaze. “I wouldn’t dare.” “Although, it could make him a jockey. Or a stable hand.” I glance at my date. “Do you own a cowboy hat?” Van der Berg’s jaw twitches as a muscle jumps. “Ethel, this is Danika.” “Dani,” I correct. Her eyes don’t leave mine. “Nice to meet you, Miss Dani. Enjoy the party.” Van der Berg puts his hand on me again, and this time his palm presses flat against the exposed skin of my lower back. I bite back a gasp, the sensation of his hand almost too much. In three heartbeats, I’ve regained control over my rioting body, but the gleam in Van der Berg’s eyes tells me he noticed my reaction. He ducks his lips close to my ear. “That was the richest woman on the continent. You’d do well to treat her with respect.” I roll my eyes, the heat in my core dissipating to nothing. “Money doesn’t earn my respect.” He stiffens and gives me a strange look. I’d decipher it, but a waiter puts a glass of champagne in my hand and I spy another waiter with a tray full of delicious-looking canapés. Food. Yes. I need food. I grab a delicate little pastry filled with who-knows-what from the closest waiter’s tray and stuff it in my mouth. Cheesy, savory goodness explodes on my tongue. Delicious. I must have made a noise, because my date’s eyes are glued on me. Swallowing, I meet his gaze. “Sorry. Did you say something?” He shakes his head. “Where did you say you came from?” “I didn’t.” Another waiter approaches—crostini topped with some sort of cured meat. I’m not in love with the idea of more toasted bread, but I’ll make an exc eption for this. And y ep—worth it. Yum. “You never answered my question,” I tell him, ignoring the way his hand presses against my back, how his thigh touches mine, how his throat bobs when he swallows. My date pulls his gaze away from my lips to stare into my eyes. “What question?” “Do you own a cowboy hat?” Crinkly eyes. “Are you hoping to find out?” “Do you always answer questions with questions?” “Are you picturing me wearing nothing but a cowboy hat right now?” Now I am. “No.” Grabbing another canapé for the road, I take a sip of champagne and glance around the room. The marble floors are polished and gleaming. The walls are a crisp white, with a single huge canvas adorning each wall. A glass staircase leads up to a mezzanine level, and I spy three hallways leading off to different white rooms. The effect is grand, intimidating, and oh-so-glamorous. My date leads me through the throng of people, stopping every now and then to nod to someone. By the time I’ve finished my bite of food and start hunting through the crowd of tuxedos and gowns for the nearest waiter, Van der Berg stops in front of two men. They’re both in their thirties, well-groomed, stinking of money. They nod at my date, then let their eyes drift to me.
“Hello there,” the darker-haired one says. Slightly taller than my date, his face is the definition of masculinity. Rough-hewn features that aren’t as beautiful as Van der Berg’s, but there’s something about him that can only be described as pure male sexuality. His eyes glint with interest—especially when they drop down to my chest for the briefest of moments. I knew this dress was obscene, but I refuse to feel bad about it. It’s not like I’ll ever see these people again. Dark Hair’s gaze flicks to my date. “Where did you find this one?” Wonderful. I love it when people talk about me as if I’m not here. “Marcus, this is Danika.” My date clears his throat. “It’s her first time at the Summer Ball.” “Oh, we know,” the second man, a blond, says, his voice de ep and seductive. “I’d remember you if you’d been here before.” “Leif,” my date growls in a way that sounds a bit like a warning. His hand slides over my back again in a move that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think was possessive. It takes all my self-control to stop myself from clenching my thighs together, from acknowledging the slickness between them. There are a lot of male pheromones being thrown my way, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne with nothing but toast and a couple of canapés to line my stomach. I feel a bit... wobbly. Bonnie might want me to take my hoo-ha for a ride, but honestly, this is too much. My date is attractive enough to star in my steamy dreams for the next decade, and his friends are looking at me like they want to devour me. If I stand here any longer, the images in my mind will quickly de volve into something very X-rated. I need some space. Nodding to the three of them, I manage to string together the right words to tell them I’m going to find the restroom. My heartbeat is thumping loud enough that I don’t hear their answer—if there is one—before I slink away into the crowd.