Mason Dimitri was a renaissance man in a world that preferred its players rough around the edges. And he knew better than to frequent l’Éclipse too often, despite its allure. He had lieutenants for that sort of thing—for recruiting, for handling the messier aspects of business—because why get his hands dirty when he didn’t have to?
That bloodhound, Octavia, and her ever-vigilant bureau were watching him and his associates like vultures circling a fresh kill. The woman had a nose for trouble and a near-pathological need to sniff it out, which made her a rather persistent thorn in his side. But, of course, it wasn’t anything the mayor and his ministers couldn’t smooth over with the right incentive. Still, he had to admit, her tenacity amused him. It was almost… endearing.
As they stood in the underground car park, waiting for his limo, Mason allowed his gaze to roam over Elnora. The fluorescent lights cast sharp, unforgiving shadows against the cold concrete walls, but nothing could diminish the glow she exuded. She was a far cry from the typical women who got themselves tangled up in the dark web of Table Eleven’s dealings. There was a mystery to her that he couldn’t quite place—an exotic blend of cultures that defied easy categorization. Afro-Latina, unmistakably.
Her skin, the colour of warm honey, glowing even under the harsh lighting, and her hair, now styled in loose waves, specked at the riot of curls that would undoubtedly spring to life when wet. Mason’s eyes traced her figurer, lingering on the curves that defied logic, the way her dress hugged her body as if it had been sewn directly onto her skin. He could feel the tension coil tighter in his gut, a mix of attraction and primal desire.
Under the cover of night, Marcello’s exclusive club provided a little more than what was expected of an underground hub. It was the FedEx of the underworld, or Common ground, and he was in charge of making sure it functioned without a hitch. Friends and associates of the mafia’s inner circle and the Collective did business here, as they could mingle with other like-minded individuals in protected seclusion.
And Mason was the one who made sure it all ran smoothly, like a well-oiled machine. After all, it was his domain, his empire, and he liked to keep it that way—controlled, precise, with just enough chaos to keep things interesting.
The silent auction of a dame was the highlight of the night once every month. It was a spectacle that drew the most twisted minds out of their dens, eager to buy into the lives of the desperate women auctioned off to the highest bidder.
But tonight, Elnora had walked into this den of iniquity like a breath of fresh air. She was a far cry from the usual fare at Table Eleven—those women who had long since given up on the notion of control, their futures signed away to men like him. No, Elnora was different.
It was his meeting with Adrien’s cartel to finalize securing the Costal Footbridge that brought him here tonight. But then the buzz hit the crowd when the live stream for Table Eleven went online, and there she was. Elnora, stunning in a way that made him forget about everything else, even if just for a moment, and he just knew he had to have her.
She was fire and ice wrapped in a package that left him breathless. As she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hips swayed ever so slightly, igniting a fire deep within him. She glanced over her shoulder at him, sizing him up with those hazel eyes he’d never soon forget, and his lips drew back in a smile. The way she looked at him—like she could eat him alive—electrified him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. All he could think about was how her body might feel under his touch, how that skin might taste.
“A secret underground entrance, huh?” she said. “How old-fashioned!” Elnora added, this time with a touch of accusation in her voice.
As they locked eyes once more, and his lips curled into a tight smile. Oh, she was going to be fun.
“It’s no secret, Elnora,” he replied. “Not to the right people.”
Her eyes narrowed at him, a subtle flicker of suspicion in their depths, before she turned her attention back to waiting. Mason couldn’t help but wonder: where did Elnora come from? What twist of fate had landed her on Marcello’s line-up—a lineup that seemed utterly out of place for someone like her? What was she really doing here, at Table Eleven, mingling with the likes of men like him?
Normally, he couldn’t care less about where Marcello found his women. They were commodities, simple as that. But with Elnora, he found himself needing to know. And the idea that she might be hiding something from him was as tantalizing as it was frustrating.
He could have just asked her, sure. But where was the fun in that? He wanted her to unravel the mystery on her own, wanted to watch as she peeled back the layers, even if it seemed like she had no intention of doing so anytime soon.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft hum of the approaching limo, the headlights cutting through the gloom. He tore his gaze away from just as she slanted a suspicious look at him again. If she was so wary of him, why had she agreed to leave with him in the first place? Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.
The chauffeur scrambled out of the limo and rushed over to open the door. “Apologies for the delay, Mr. Dimitri.”
Mason ignored Hector’s nervous apology and simply waved Elnora inside. She climbed in without a word while he lingered for a moment, wondering why the hell he had broken one of his cardinal rules for her. He never bid on Table Eleven. Never. Yet here he was, with Elnora now sitting in the back of his limo, a silent evidence to his lapse in judgment. Antonio was going to have a field day with this one; he could already hear the taunts about losing that long-standing bet.
But then again, he’d won, hadn’t he? And she was his prize.
To do with as he pleased.
Unlike the women usually auctioned off through l’Éclipse, she didn’t seem the least bit troubled by the implications of that. And that—well, that was killing him.
“Sir?” Hector called, his voice cutting through Mason’s thoughts.
With a sharp nod, Mason slid into the back seat next to her. As soon as the door clicked shut, she adjusted herself to face him, her gaze serious. It was a look that was far too intent, far too knowing for a woman who was supposed to be just another one of Marcello’s dames.
It was out of character for her. And Mason couldn’t decide if that excited him—or made him even more suspicious.
“I don’t suppose we’re headed somewhere to grab a meal? Or a drink?” she asked, her tone casual
There it was again, that strange air of nonchalance. Did she think she was here to be wined and dined? Or maybe she believed she was auditioning for the role of mistress? He paused. Well, there was that.
“Are you hungry?” Mason asked, though he knew her answer didn’t matter. Not one bit.
What he knew was that he had to get his act together and stop dithering around. He had business to attend to back at his compound, and getting involved with the auction tonight had already thrown his schedule off. A dangerous move, even for him.
“Hungry?” she asked. “Of course not.”
“Then why ask?”
“You seem a little tense,” she observed with a grin. “And I have no idea where we’re headed.”
She shrugged, feigning indifference that only served to unsettle him. Staring into those stubborn eyes, her pink lips curved into that maddeningly wicked smile, he realized why he wanted her so badly.
Elnora was an exquisite fantasy.
“Where do you think we are headed?” Mason genuinely wondered.
Did she not understand how this worked? She was his. The limo turned down Essex Avenue, and the anticipation coiled tight in his gut. He couldn’t get her to his place fast enough.
To unwrap his fascinating present. His eyes slithered over her with purpose, taking in every detail, until their gazes locked once more.
Without hesitation, she said, “indulge me.”
A smile played on Mason’s lips as the warm tease in her voice tickled him. Elnora’s eyes dared him, taunted him, and as he adjusted on the fine brown leather seat, he knew exactly how this would play out.
“Oh, I intend to.”
She chuckled quietly, almost to herself, before she looked away, licking her lips as if to hide her expression from him. He hated that. He wanted to see everything, to know everything.
So he moved closer, closing the space between them. Elnora turned to him, surprise flickering in her eyes as she looked at him. It was clear as day that she intended to hold out, regardless of how blatant it was that she desired him.
Mason inhaled her scent—a mix of cherry blossom and clean soap, intoxicating in its simplicity. He cupped her face, feeling her shiver beneath his touch, his gaze dropping to those pink lips that had been taunting him since the moment he laid eyes on her.
“Careful now, Icarus,” she purred, her voice a seductive whisper. “You just might get burnt.”
It took all of his effort to restrain his desire, his fascination, his wonder. He smiled a little, and traced the contour of her lips with his fingertip. Her lips parted slightly, quivering under his touch, and for the briefest moment, Elnora struggled to meet his gaze.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispered.
Her eyes twinkled into his, and he struggled to catch his breath. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in until his lips claimed hers in a fierce, possessive kiss.
As his lips collided with Elnora’s, the ferocity of his desire consumed him. He tasted the faint sweetness of cherry blossom on her lips, mixed with a touch of the wine she had sipped earlier. His hand moved from her face to her neck, feeling the quickened pulse beneath her skin. Every inch of her seemed to melt under his touch, yet there was a fire in her response that both challenged and intoxicated him.
Her breath hitched as his hand moved lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone.
“Elnora,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a low, rough growl. What was she doing to him.
She pulled back slightly, her hazel eyes darkened with desire and something else—something that told him there was so much more to her.
A wolfish grin spread across his face, a gleam of raw intent in his eyes. “You’re mine. Every inch of you.”
Her laughter was soft, almost a purr. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Both,” he said, capturing her lips once more, sealing his words with a kiss that left no room for doubt.
