Page 13 of Masked Seduction

Jenna.

The woman who invades my fantasies with maddening regularity, who defies me at every turn, who’s becoming an obsession I can’t seem to break. And now she’s here, in my club,dressed like lust incarnate, eyes wide and unsure behind that elaborate disguise.

An unexpected surge of dark, hungry anticipation fills me. My fingers tighten around my glass, knuckles whitening as I watch her. There’s no escaping this now. Jenna has walked right into my territory, straight into my world.

Tonight just became infinitely more interesting.

Will she recognize me? The question churns in the back of my mind, low and hot. She shouldn’t. The beard dye, the mask, the lighting—I’m practically anonymous. But women like Jenna notice details. She could surprise me.

Would I stop her if she did?

Before I can answer myself, she and her friend slide into a booth. Two men quickly slip into view, making a beeline for the two ladies. They’re confident in the way jackals are confident—sharp-eyed and predatory. One of them moves toward Jenna’s friend, trying too hard to be casual. The other sets his drink down beside Jenna. Even from my vantage point I can see her shoulders stiffen when he leans in and says something to her.

Neither woman is interested. I can spot it immediately in their posture, in the polite but cold smiles they offer. But the men don’t move on. If anything, they double down—smirking, gesturing, edging closer.

I narrow my eyes. No single men are allowed here. Club rules. Any man inside these walls is supposed to enter with a partner. It keeps the balance, keeps the wolves from circling too freely.

I raise two fingers. Dmitri, the bouncer stationed nearest my booth, walks over with the efficiency of a man who knows I don’t like repeating myself.

“The men in the booth with the two women,” I say, nodding in their direction. “Do they have women with them?”

He follows my line of sight and nods once. “They each walked in with a woman but split up immediately. One’s already in a private room. The other wandered off. Last I saw, she was with a couple.”

Convenient. I keep my face expressionless.

“Problem?” Dmitri asks, tone carefully neutral.

“Not yet.” I take a slow sip of whiskey, watching Jenna glance at the guy beside her with a look that’s more warning than invitation. “If it becomes one, I’ll handle it.”

Dmitri nods and backs off, but I can feel the weight of his gaze, waiting for my signal.

I hate this. The idea of Jenna being approached, flirted with, hunted, while standing inmyclub undermyprotection. It sends a hot, violent streak through my blood. A fierceness I can’t shake.

She doesn’t belong to them.

Those curves are for me.

That smart mouth, the fire in her eyes, the way she moves—it all hits me like a loaded gun, aimed low and hard. I’ve tried to remain professional. I’ve tried not to think about what her moans would sound like or how those hips would feel in my hands.

But now she’s here.

Now other men are looking at what’s mine.

My fingers tighten around the glass. I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping it until the edge digs into my palm.

I watch. I wait. Every second those men linger, my anger builds, heavy and silent, coiled just beneath the surface.

If they touch her—if they so much as brush her skin without invitation—I’ll make them regret ever stepping foot in this place.

It’s not just about sex or territory anymore.

It’s about her.

And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

CHAPTER 5

JENNA