Page 145 of The Enslaved Duet

Sinclair wasn’t that man. They didn’t have a relationship of trust and passion, but of drive and mutual admiration.

But Sin was the type of man who would fall head over heels for the siren’s call of my beautiful, vivacious sister, and he was just sinful enough to indulge in that desire even when he shouldn’t.

“Be careful, hmm,bambina?” I called to her softly.

She blinked, refocused, and then frowned as the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of my escort for the evening. Her eyes dropped to the high cut of my corset, her gaze tingling over the branded skin of my bum before they cut back to mine.

“You too, Cosi, you too.”

Cosima

The opulence of a New York City high society function was not dissimilar to those of the upper crust elite and the Order back in England. The women were filled, covered, and sparkling in millions of dollars’ worth of plastic surgery, and brand-name designers and jewels while the men all wore a variation on the classic suit and tie as if individuality was frowned upon in such circles. It was. This was the major reason that Mason Matlock, one of the wealthiest men in New York and the heir to a coffee chain franchise, used me as a very pretty beard. Bigotry was frowned upon, but still, those who were too different often felt the brunt of society’s sharp tongue, and Mason didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout. His mother’s family was also Italian and Roman Catholic, so I had a clear understanding of his situation. I didn’t think he was a coward for hiding, not when I had been hiding for so many years. We all had our crosses to bear, and I was happy to help my friend carry his once in a while.

The noise was calamitous for such an elegant function, but I was grateful for it; between the band and the gossiping, there was little need for me to speak with the man standing next to me at the bar.

“You look beautiful.” Wesley Longhorn gazed down at me with deep admiration, and I wished, not for the first time that night, that my dress wasn’t quite so low cut and that Wesley wasn’t quite so tall.

“Thank you,” I murmured and smoothed a hand down the corseted front of my gold crystal Versace dress.

“So what’s it like? Being a model.” He took a large sip of his scotch and winked at me. “I can tell just by looking at you, that you’re a party animal.”

“Can you?” I asked coolly, my back ramrod straight with tension.

“Oh, yeah.” His hand found my waist and smoothed down over my hip. “A girl like you has got to love a good time.”

I struggled not to roll my eyes, but it was getting increasingly difficult. The truth was, men like Wesley Longhorn, son of one of the biggest talent agents out there, abounded in the industry. Tossing a drink in his face, as satisfying as it would have been, would only hinder my career, not his.

I had experience with men worse than him, and I knew how to handle them.

So, I smiled beatifically at him. “The truth is, with my husband and two kids…” I watched his facade fall feature by feature until his classic all-American face was melted like cheddar cheese. “I don’t have much time for going out. And I’m always on the lookout for a good sitter; do you like children, Wesley?”

I was still laughing when Mason appeared moments after Wesley had scampered away. He stared at me questioningly, but when I offered no explanation, he smiled.

“I leave you for five minutes, and you get into trouble.”

I pouted up at him. “You leave me for five minutes, and Ifindtrouble. What else do I have to entertain me while you are gone?”

Mason’s face creased into his familiar smile as he laughed. He was thirty-seven years old, much older than me by anyone’s standards, but his seasoned good looks reminded me subtly of Alexander’s experienced appearance, and I had no doubt his age was the very reason I found him so attractive. His dark brown hair was brushed away from his forehead to emphasize the square cut of his jaw, his Roman patrician nose, and his dark eyes.

We had first met one night a month after I’d move to the city, when I’d been especially tired of my robotic existence and caved into my curiosity by visiting a local BDSM club.The Bindwas an exclusive establishment run by one of Sinclair’s old friends, which was how I secured an invitation. I’d gone alone, unsure what I was looking for but needing something to settle the wild restlessness in my soul. It was there I’d found Mason, arguing with a man who was trying to strap him into a saddle horse. I’d intervened, getting in the large Dominant’s face until a club monitor arrived to escort him out. Mason and I spent the rest of the evening drinking at the bar and talking about our mutually dissatisfying love lives and large mixed Italian families. We’d been friends since then.

“I’m so glad you could join me tonight,” he was saying in his deep, methodical voice, thinking through each word before he uttered it. “You always brighten up these things.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Mason, these ‘things’ are important. For you and me.”

He sighed heavily. “My uncledidsay he was proud of when I told him we were still seeing each other, though he put the pressure on to make the rumors a reality and get a ring on your finger.”

I laughed in solidarity because we both had complicated relationships with our father figures, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. A camera phone flashed as someone took a photo of us, but that was the point of these things. Mason had helped my celebrity by toting me around town when I’d first arrived, and I continued to help with his overbearing, homophobic family by being his date.

His lips pursed, but he relaxed when I put a hand on his arm and led him back to our table to take our seats. When he placed his on top of mine, he looked down at me with somber eyes. “You are important to me too, Cosima, and I can tell you’re unhappy. Even more than normal, which I have to note, is saying something.”

I looked away quickly, slipping my hand from his grasp. “You barely know me.”

“I’ve known you for two years. I’d say that’s a considerable length of time,” he countered, his voice stiff with irritation.

He deserved more than my irascible defensiveness, but I found myself protesting again. “I’m just your arm candy, Mason. Chill out.”

Suddenly his arm was on mine, and I was wrenched around in my seat until I faced him fully, my knees locked between his own. His expression was cold with brutality. “Don’t you dare. Don’t do yourself and our relationship a disservice by pretending this is a transaction and not an emotional connection. I’m here as your confidante just as you are mine. What is wrong with you that you can so easily forget that?”