“It is and on your reservation, you aren’t Asher Haven. You’re Ryan Sinclair.”
“Oh, Sinclair. Fancy.” I place the mask on my face, tugging the string behind my head, and close the door behind me. I could really use a muffin right about now. “You guys could have told me my identity would be safe. Now I feel bad for freaking out at Owen.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I didn’t apologize. You still deserved what I said and wasn’t directed at only you, but to everyone. You lot need to remember that I’m just like you.”
“We’re sorry,” Jaxon says.
I nod, tugging on my jacket, then clear my throat. “Good. Then we can get on with the night.” I stroll to the elevator and press the button. It’s already on my floor, so the doors part and I step inside. I’m alone, besides the men talking in my ear, but they aren’t talking about anything important right now.
Since we are on the top floor, I have a long ride down to the ballroom. I stare at myself in the mirrors surrounding me, my blue eyes stark against the silver of the mask. The elevator stops abruptly, and I turn away from my reflection, so I don’t look so conceited. I wasn’t looking at myself because I was admiring my reflection but because I’m wondering who I am.
The elevator doors open and my heart beats in my chest, wildly and profoundly, like a jackhammer is pounding against my sternum when I see Heather. My god, she looks fucking beautiful.
“Hi,” she greets, and she moves to the far back corner to stay away from the man she doesn’t know.
But she does.
The dress hugs her body, every curve, but doesn’t show much skin besides her shoulders. Heather looks tainted in darkness, yet draped in elegance, and I want to kiss those bare shoulders to see if she tastes as sinful as she looks. She has her mask in her hand, swinging it back and forth as she waits for the elevator to start descending.
She hasn’t pressed a button, but she’s too flustered to notice.
I reach in front of her, knowingly brushing against her arm as I hit the button. She inhales a sharp breath but doesn’t say a word. The tension in the elevator grows. My fingers twitch to pull her into my arms and kiss her within an inch of her life, but I can’t.
No.
I have to.
The space between us can no longer exist because the man I am is less than the man I was when I was with her. She looks too beautiful not to take notice and tell her.
I’m a glass fucking ceiling and she’s the damn object that shatters me. I pull on the emergency handle and the alarm rings for a few seconds before we are encompassed in darkness and the lights of the generator come on.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice shaking. “Please, don’t hurt me. I…I…”
“Heather.” I turn toward her and take my mask off, showing her that she has no reason to fear me. The last thing I expected was to see her in the elevator, but I’m glad I did before we get lost in the sea of people waiting in the ballroom, especially the people waiting for her.
“Asher?” she whispers, her green eyes big, wide, and happy. “Asher!” She launches herself at me and I barely have time to wrap my arms around her before her lips are on mine.
She kisses me.
It takes me a minute to process what is happening because I expected to be the one to figure out when to kiss her first. She rips away from me when I don’t kiss her back and rejection reflects in the light blue flecks of her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I should have thought, but I just—”
I don’t give her time say anything else, I wrap on arm around her waist and cup the back of her skull with the other, pulling her closer. I smash my lips against her again, this time not second guessing or overthinking it, but kissing her like my life fucking depends on it. Her tongue searches for mine and I eagerly meet hers, dancing an erotic tango as our lips mold together like they were always meant to.
Heather’s whimper is the catalyst to my restraint. I push her against the wall and cup her jaw with my hands, moaning into her mouth with how fucking delicious she tastes. God, I want to push her legs apart, undo my belt, and sink inside her tight pussy that was made me for me. I know she was. I’ve always known, it’s why I never knew what to do with Heather Thomas, but I do now.
She’s going to be Heather Haven if I have anything to say about it.
Her hands run up my chest and across my shoulders, then slip down to unbutton my blazer. The jacket falls to the floor and she slides her hands around my sides until she is cupping my shoulders.
The kiss is endless, but I swear, my heart has fucking stopped. I have her here. In my arms. Kissing me.
Out of all the men she could want.
She’s showing me she wants me. Me.
Her lips are a red wine and I’m ready to drink her dry until I’m fucking drunk. I keep my hands at the appropriate spot. She might be kissing me, which means she’s made progress mentally, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to have me feel her up and grope her. I keep my hands around her hips, gripping them softly, but not so hard that it tells her I’m about to hike up her skirt.