Page 29 of Watching Her

I left the charity event, heading toward the elevators, instantly annoyed at the number of people waiting in line. My agitation only growing, I found the stairs and slammed my hand on the door. By the time I made it to the floor below, I’d come close to allowing my anger to get the better of me.

As I’d seen the day before, the corridor was packed with people coming and going, almost all wearing some version of what I’d seen my sweet Penelope wearing. Only she’d gone to great lengths to appear true to the era where others had merely adorned cheap representations.

But they were all wearing masks.

Anonymity.

How delicious.

Now where to obtain a mask? My initial desires were answered, two girls at a table selling them for a mere pittance.

Where the music upstairs was a beautiful rendition of all things classical and in my mind wrong with the mundane life of those pretending to care for those in need, both the music and the atmosphere on this floor were lively. The book lovers were having a party.

Plus, there were disco lights creating swirls of color ebbing past the four sets of open double doors. And the laughter if nothing else would draw the typical person inside to see what everyone was so obviously happy about.

The contrast alone was fascinating.

As I approached, both girls lifted their heads. I could tell by their expressions my presence was unexpected.

“You’d look best in gold,” one offered while pointing out a mask.

“Silver. Look at his eyes,” the other insisted.

While the first girl kept her eyes on me, she nodded profusely. “She’s right. Silver.”

“Then by all means silver it is.” I paid for the mask, noticing their eyes followed me as I headed for the door.

“Oh, my. Aren’t you a luscious addition, but I do need to ask you for a ticket.” Yet another girl, also garishly dressed, was holding court by the door.

I patted my tuxedo jacket pockets, offering a sly smile. “Sadly, it would appear I’ve left my ticket in my room.” When I pulled out my wallet instead, offering two hundred-dollar bills, she appeared befuddled. “Would this do for the inconvenience?”

“I think I can make an exception.” She offered me a wristband, which I accepted for no other reason than to blend in. “Drinks tonight are free, compliments of the hotel, which we love. And there’s some yummy food on the back wall if you’re hungry. I hope you like to dance as we have a fabulous DJ.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

With the mask in place, I headed inside, immediately reminded of my college days and the bars I’d frequented after every hockey game.

Only the people inside were of all ages, from early twenties into their seventies. I stood in the entrance, debating getting a drink. I was pleased to see Jordan had taken me at my command, the room transformed into something straight out of the nineteen-twenties.

I was here with a sole purpose in mind.

Indulging in my proclivities.

Tonight wasn’t the right time for a full seduction, even if we were both adults and I had the time. The game itself was far more enjoyable than usual.

In a crowded room, it didn’t take long to spot Penelope. She stood out from the others, her presence a true beacon. She was conversing with several others in a group, all laughing and chatting while enjoying a drink.

I circled the area, remaining in the shadows. I’d learned from my father that you could discover everything you wanted to know about someone by simply observing their behavior. The way they reacted to others. While she was listening intently to what was being said, a master at engaging at the right point in the discussion, she was keeping a watchful eye around her.

Not only because she’d taken it upon herself to ensure the event went better than planned, but also because she’d taught herself to be very aware of her surroundings.

Her animation drew me in, pulling me toward her. While the mask could only hide a limited amount of my identity, it was enough to create an air of illusion. I suspected that would be more of a comfort to the lovely Penelope than she’d want to admit.

I should be grateful she’d been intoxicated the night before, uncertain of who’d caught her before tumbling into my room. Yet even with her eyes unfocused, she’d felt the same chemistry, a jolt of current that had already locked us together in a predatory dance.

There was a sudden strange tightness in my chest when a male model approached the group. More so when he decided to stand next to her. Anger surfaced when I had no right to feel as if she already belonged to me.

Yet I was possessive by nature, which required me to follow the rules as previously established for every contest past or present.