Page 27 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)
Chapter Twenty-seven
Masquerade Ball in Your Court
SARAH MICHELLE
The doorbell chimed, its melodic echo reverberating through Sarah Michelle’s chest as she stood in her living room clad in a breathtaking high-low ball gown.
The skirt barely covered her thighs in the front, while the back flowed into a dramatic, sweeping train.
The strapless bodice hugged her figure, accentuating her waist. It was embellished with sparkling details that caught the light with every movement.
And the sweetheart neckline enhanced her cleavage, making her feel feminine for a change.
The dress shimmered as if made of light itself, imbued with a hint of enchantment Sarah had woven into the iridescent ivory fabric.
It rustled like a whisper of magic as she moved.
The effect was almost the same as her wings.
The final touch was an eye mask, adorned with rhinestones that gave her an air of mystery.
Andromeda, always ready with a sarcastic quip, only wished her goodnight, refraining from any jabs about Sarah getting dolled up for Tall, Blond, and Magical. And even Nox, her grumpy ferret familiar, kept his scowl to himself for once.
Not wanting to ruin the impact of the outfit, she put a warming spell on herself, skipping the coat, and, heart fluttering, Sarah Michelle opened the door.
Lorcan Black, in a tailored black tuxedo, nearly took her breath away.
The jacket clung to his broad shoulders, making him look unfairly, otherworldly handsome.
And Sarah Michelle was pretty sure he hadn’t used any magical enhancements to achieve the result.
He wore a silk black eye mask that complemented his tuxedo, making his already striking features also mysterious.
His blue-green eyes darkened under the silk as his gaze raked over the dress clinging to her curves and the daring stretch of legs peeking out from the high-low skirt.
After a heated moment, a roguish grin tugged at Lorcan’s lips. “If the goal was to ensure the councilman stayed thoroughly distracted tonight,” he drawled, “Our mission is going to be a resounding success.”
She dismissed the compliment with an eye roll, but her cheeks still flushed—thank the fairies, he’d eased the tension with a quip.
With a gentlemanly flourish, Lorcan offered Sarah Michelle his elbow. “Shall we?” His voice was as smooth as the silk of his mask.
Sarah Michelle hesitated, not sure her heart could withstand the contact—being so close to him. But it was sink or swim. With a sigh, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. His warmth seeped through the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, stronger than any warming spell.
As they walked down the walkway from her front door, Sarah Michelle marveled at how well they fit together, even when, by all logic, they shouldn’t. Their bodies were attuned to each other, moving in perfect sync.
As they approached the curb, Sarah Michelle’s eyes widened as she spotted the sleek, black limousine idling before them. Its polished exterior gleamed under the streetlights, the elongated body stretching out.
“A limo? You hired a driver?”
Lorcan chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant warmth through her. “It’s the only way to go to a benefit downtown without hassling for parking.”
She didn’t even think he was joking. But she was too affected by his proximity to argue, even playfully, that a regular cab would’ve sufficed.
He held the door open for her, helping her in and joining swiftly.
As the car purred to life and pulled away from her house, Sarah Michelle tried to calm her racing pulse.
Working a case together was dangerous enough—arriving at this ritzy Halloween gala on the arm of her charming frenemy was courting disaster.
She sent up a silent prayer to the powers that be to please let them get through this night without losing focus on the mission and not allow their emotions to take over…
or without combusting from the effort of denying their impulses.
No one answered her prayers. Sarah Michelle sat straight in the backseat, every nerve ending alight with awareness of Lorcan’s solid presence beside her.
The supple leather seats felt cool against the bare skin of her arms, only making his warmth feel more intense.
The air hung heavy with the faint trace of his intoxicating cologne, that alluring blend of citrus and spice that made her head spin.
Lorcan leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Relax, Shelly. You’re wound tighter than a cursed clock.”
His teasing words, meant to soothe, only ratcheted her tension higher. Wild, unbidden thoughts raced through her mind—images of herself turning to straddle his lap, capturing his tempting mouth with her own, losing herself in his embrace.
As if sensing the direction of her forbidden fantasies, Lorcan turned to face her, his ocean eyes darkening with unmistakable hunger. Time suspended as they stared at each other, the air between them sizzling with pent-up desire.
Then, as if pulled by an irresistible force, they crashed together, lips meeting in a fierce kiss that obliterated every rational thought.
Sarah Michelle followed through on her imagination, straddling him.
She reveled in the firmness of his chest, in the strength of his arms as they banded around her.
But it paled compared to the exquisite sensation of Lorcan’s mouth moving over hers, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips, seeking entrance…
They kissed languidly, with abandon, losing track of time and anything else that wasn’t each other—so much for staying focused.
The limo jolted to an abrupt stop, breaking the spell and sending them springing apart, chests heaving.
Sharing a rueful glance, they took a moment to compose themselves, smoothing mussed hair and straightening clothes.
Then Lorcan flashed her a charmingly smug grin that said checkmate—game over, sweetheart.
Sarah Michelle had never been happier about losing.
He exited the car, circling to her side and holding out a hand to help her out.
Together they ascended the grand stone steps of the Town Hall. At the top, the impressive carved doors hung open to reveal the transformed interior.
The utilitarian space was barely recognizable, completely overhauled by a plethora of spooky decorations.
Black and orange balloons bobbed near the high ceiling, strings dangling like eerie tendrils.
Some held paper bats afloat that flapped in an unseen breeze.
Faux cobwebs stretched across corners and bulletin boards, lending a haunted air to mundane notices and flyers.
Velvet-draped tables were scattered around the perimeter, lit by flickering LED candles set in elegant obsidian candelabras. Intricately carved pumpkins glowed on every surface, their dancing lights casting playful shadows on the walls.
In the center of the great hall, a dance floor had been cleared, presided over by a DJ booth encircled with more cobwebs and faux tombstones. Pulsing music reverberated through the space.
The thumping bass line matched the rhythm of Sarah Michelle’s quickening heartbeat as Lorcan’s hand settled on the small of her back to guide her inside.
As they stepped farther into the room, countless stares pressed down on them. She adjusted her mask, hoping it provided a sliver of anonymity, but suspecting it did little to disguise their identity to the magical community.
They were a sight even for unaware human eyes, but for the witching community, they’d be the gossip of the century. Witches and wizards alike turned to gape at the unlikely pair—a Black and a Callidora, together at a public event. Whispers rippled through the crowd, heads turned, jaws dropped.
Lorcan leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “We’re causing quite the scandal.”
If only he knew what she wanted to do to him right now, he’d reconsider his definition of a scandal.
At her lack of response, Lorcan looked at her sideways and he must’ve recognized the heat in her gaze because he grinned roguishly. “Unless you want to make a real scandal. Because I’m game.”
Sarah Michelle fought the urge to lean into his touch, instead shooting him a pointed look that she should’ve reserved for herself. “Tone down the charm, Black. We’re here to do a job, remember?”
He grinned, unrepentant, and snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. “Part of that job is blending in as partygoers,” he pointed out, pressing a glass into her hand. “Relax, Shelly. Live a little.”
She scowled but accepted the drink and took a sip, the bubbles cool and fizzy against her tongue. The sensation was a momentary distraction from the tension coiling in her stomach.
They wove their way through the throng of guests in classy costumes. The scene looked more like a Venetian masquerade than a small-town party in Massachusetts. Still, the extravagant costumes were a good excuse for Sarah Michelle to scan the room, searching for their target.
She spotted Councilman MacGregor dressed like an English lord from the eighteenth century in a white wig and powdered face.
He wore a black velvet frock coat, lace cravat, and shiny black buckled shoes.
He was holding court near the far wall, surrounded by an eager crowd of sycophants hanging on his every word, a half-empty champagne flute in hand.
She elbowed Lorcan, ignoring his surprised grunt. “There he is,” she hissed. “We need that glass once he’s finished his drink.”
Lorcan nodded, his expression turning serious as he balled his hands into fists. Facing the man who most likely had killed his best friend mustn’t be easy.
She dropped a hand on his arm. “Lorcan, if he’s guilty, MacGregor will pay for what he’s done. But stop looking at him with murder in your eyes, or someone will notice.”
Lorcan nodded and tore his gaze away. Still, he drained his entire glass of champagne and grabbed another from a passing server.
They hovered nearby, trying to look inconspicuous as they waited for the councilman to abandon his empty glass. After what felt like an eternity, MacGregor finally set the flute down on a nearby table and turned to greet a new arrival.
Sarah Michelle sprang into action, darting forward as Lorcan moved to shield her from view.
She slipped on a glove from her clutch and lifted the glass, securing it in an evidence bag.
The smooth surface was cool against her fingers, even through the barrier of the glove.
Satisfaction rushed through her at the thought that this glass could be the proof they needed to nail MacGregor.
“Got it.” She tucked the plastic bag into her magically enlarged clutch. “We can go now.”
But Lorcan caught her hand and tugged her closer. “Dance with me first.”
Sarah Michelle hesitated, her mind warring with her heart. They had accomplished what they came for; there was no reason to linger. And yet, as she met Lorcan’s gaze and found it alight with a playful challenge mixed with something sweeter, more vulnerable, she could not refuse.
Not when he looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe. Magic thrummed through her, but she felt powerless.
She placed her hand in his, marveling at the warmth and strength of his grip.
He led her onto the dance floor, pulling her close as the music swelled around them.
They moved together as if they had been practicing for years, their bodies once again in sync.
Sarah Michelle lost herself in the rhythm, in the feel of Lorcan’s arms around her, in the intensity of his gaze.
As they spun and swayed, the other couples faded into the background until it felt like they were the only two people not just on the dance floor but in the entire world.
The music swirled around them like a spell, binding them together in a moment outside of time.
Wrapped in that enchantment that had nothing to do with magic, a sudden, startling realization washed over Sarah Michelle.
She was in love with Lorcan Black.
The force of the emotion hit her like a physical blow, and she stumbled in his arms. But Lorcan was there to catch her, his embrace tightening around her as if he could sense the tumult in her heart. His heartbeat was steady against her own, a reassuring anchor amid her inner chaos.
The last notes of the song faded away, but neither of them made any move to step apart.
Instead, Sarah Michelle rose on her toes and kissed him.
Right there, in the middle of the crowded dance floor, with half of Salem’s magical community looking on in shock, she kissed Lorcan Black as if her life depended on it.
The rest of the world could go hang for all she cared.