was the world she had to be part of to design flowing gowns, then so be it. She hadn’t felt this creative, this lit up, this passionate since her days at art school. Working at her family’s fabric store and slugging through as a nobody designer was hard.
But at that moment?
At that moment, it was all worth it.
She knew she was suddenly on the brink of greatness.
Song after song played while Chantal watched the gowns twirl on the ballroom floor. She lost track of time, munching on a full tray of appetizers she had wrestled away from one of the waiters. When the last crab cake was consumed, she laid the tray down to continue watching the gowns twirl through the music.
Suddenly, a squared-jaw man who smelled like heaven stepped up next to her. He was tall and muscular — the kind of man who would be all wrapped in Margie. Chantal swallowed hard, craning her neck to look up at the masked man.
“You have been watching them all dance, but you have made no attempt to join in. You should.”
Chantal swallowed hard. “No, it’s okay. I prefer to watch. I like seeing how the different materials interact as they twirl.”
The man chuckled. “Well, sure.”
“It is an occupational hazard. I’m a designer, but I’ve never seen gowns all twirling like that. This is really great research.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at this night of pure debauchery.”
Chantal snorted out a laugh. “That is also a great way of describing tonight.” She gave the masked man a warm smile.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” The stranger’s voice was deep, low, and did all kinds of things to her lady parts. Illegal things, or at the very least, should be illegal.
Her mind was racing. He was flirting.
Chantal was wearing a mask. No one knew her there, and she could be anyone she wanted to be. She didn’t have to be the sputtering little designer. She could get her wish. She could allow herself to lean into hope. Maybe not have expectations, but an open mind.
She could be just like Margie, confident and demanding. What would Margie do? She would be all playful and flirty. The bubbles of the champagnes came rushing back into her head, dancing and giving her all kinds of ideas.
Margie was a sexy, commanding lady.
Chantal could be that too. She just needed to forget who she was for a second.
“You can call me Chacha,” she answered, using her nickname and letting her voice go all breathy.
The stranger chuckled. It was a low, predatory sound that made her shiver. “That’s not a real name, love.”
“No, but you have not earned the knowledge of my real name.” Who am I, and what have I done with my regular brain? she thought to herself.
“I haven’t earned your name yet, love.” The man leaned down into her space. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “I will earn it before the night is through.”
It took a lot of effort to keep from melting into designer goop right there on the carpet. Chantal was just about panting with desire. The man smelled like sandalwood and sex. His voice was warm, like an orgasm’s afterglow. His lips were full, and his scruff had been softly coarse against her cheek.
It was an opposing sentiment that had made her a bit loopy for a stranger. What would the facial hair feel like against the inside of her thigh? His mask was black and framed his soulful eyes perfectly. She wondered if they changed colors when he came.
Good lord, who the hell was she?
Chantal wasn’t this wanton creature who went around having insanely vivid sexual visions around sexy strangers. Nope. She was a shy and clumsy woman. This was only Chacha.
The moment couldn’t end. She didn’t want it to, so Chantal leaned into this new persona, throwing caution to the wind and to the champagne bubbles. This guy, whoever he was, didn’t know her real name. He didn’t know what she looked like. Bolstered by the glasses of champagne she had downed, and by the three layers of support undergarments she was wearing, Chantal leaned closer to the man, her hand going to his arm. She squeezed him, feeling the hard lines of muscles under her fingers.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? But I don’t think you can.”
“You underestimate me, Chacha.”
She let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t think so. You can try.” She shrugged like she was bored. The man’s eyes darted to the line of