Page 23 of Soulbound

A shiver swept through her, blood rushing through her veins as the music began to die down. She found him again. The man lifted a hand to his crow mask, and slid it back off his face as he relinquished the woman he was dancing with, his gaze locked on Cleo's face.

Cleo swallowed.

Hard.

Sebastian was the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes upon, but there was something about this stranger that made her flush with heat. An intimate mocking in his green eyes, perhaps? A certain carnal slant to his full mouth? But beneath the handsome features lay a hidden undertone. Premonition surged through her. Danger, it all but screamed.

The kind of danger one desperately wanted to give in to.

This man was pure temptation, and from the look in his eyes when their gazes collided, he knew it.

Then the dancers twirled, and the man vanished and Cleo was left alone in the middle of the dance floor, feeling like she wanted to follow him down some dark, twisted rabbit hole.

Good grief. What sort of magic was this? For it had to be magic affecting her so badly. Her head was spinning, her body alight with the kind of anticipation only her husband had ever stirred in her before. She wanted to cast good intentions straight out the window, and do something shocking. Lust, violence, hunger, need. Remington had been underselling the danger significantly, and none of them had understood.

She needed to find the others.

Now.

Cleo turned and slammed into a hard body, all her good intentions evaporating from her mind. Hands caught her upper arms to brace her, and they were terrifyingly gentle. Every inch of her throbbed with lust. Cleo gripped his coat, trying to clear her head.

"Has he left you here all alone?" said a melodious voice.

Cleo sucked in a sharp breath. "Who?"

How had the stranger moved so fast?

"The man who watches you." That voice was molten honey, and it whispered through her like pure sin. Before she knew it, he'd captured her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. One finger stroked the inside of her wrist, even as his full, dangerous mouth whispered against the silk of her glove. "The man who hungers for you, but will not touch you." The dangerous stranger glanced up from beneath dark lashes. "The man you wish would touch you. You crave his touch so badly it calls to me." The stranger closed his eyes, a look of tortured pleasure crossing his face. "Sweet mercy, but the longing hurts so badly it's almost pleasure."

Cleo sucked in a sharp breath, and jerked her hand to her chest. The second he stopped touching her, she felt like she could think again, and her cheeks heated. "That man is my husband. And you are not he."

"No, I'm not." His expression turned dangerous. "For if I were your husband, you would have known my touch, and you would crave no other. And I would never allow such a rare bloom to wander so freely... where others might pluck it."

"Who are you?" she demanded, though she had a certain suspicion she knew.

Again she was the recipient of a hot-eyed look. "If you want my name, sweet dove, then you must win it."

"And how would I win it?"

His thumb stroked over the back of her gloved hand. "A kiss, perhaps."

Despite everything, the slow stroke of his thumb sent tremors through her. "Is your name worth so much?" she asked lightly, a little uncertain how to handle him.

Devilishly handsome strangers did not go around offering to seduce her. Or at least, they hadn't so far, in her limited experience.

"Shall you find out?" he teased.

"No kiss," Cleo insisted, though she didn't tug her hand away. "Besides, I think I do know your name, Mr... Gray."

His eyes flashed pure heat, but his smile widened. "And now I am at a loss, for I don't know yours."

Cleo smiled a very dangerous smile. "What price would you pay for it?"

The sleepy, seductive mask fell away, replaced by a look of sudden interest. "Is your name worth so much?"

Her own words, thrown back at her. "The intrigue is in the mystery, Mr. Gray. I guess you shall have to find something worthy of my attention if you wish to find out."

"Not a kiss," he mused. "A dance then?"