Mister Black: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 1 (In the Shadows) (5 page)

“Did. I. Stutter?”

Black manages a menacing tone without raising his voice. I watch the exchange, impressed with how quickly he moves. And the sheer lethalness he projects.

He must dig his thumb deeper for emphasis, because Nick suddenly winces in pain, hissing out, “Fine. I’ll go outside.”

Black nods toward the French doors. “Head out. I’d better not see you in here for at least a half hour.”

The second Nick walks outside, Black’s eyes fill with satisfaction and he says in a low tone while placing his hand on the small of my back, “The bastard’s lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I think that vampire definitely had his share of alcohol for the evening.”
That was generous?
If Cass were telling me this story, I’d be inclined to think of Black as an arrogant Neanderthal, but witnessing his primal instinctiveness in action, I realize his job is more than just a career choice; it’s an extension of him. He defused the situation quickly and efficiently. Like a professional.

Shit, what would he do with me if he found out why I’m here?
Anxious, I use the song’s fast pace as an excuse to edge back from him a bit while I glance around for Cass.

As soon as my line of sight locks on her dancing with a guy with light brown hair dressed in a formal white uniform, I’m fully brought back to the reason I’m here. She sure had ditched Damien fast. I wonder how Mr. Uniform fits into her “Celeste revenge” plan.

I realize Black is watching me, so I tilt my chin toward Cass and her dancing companion. “Who’s the Navy guy?”

He clasps my waist once more and spins us around, only glancing in their direction once we’ve made a full circle. “You recognize his uniform as Navy?”

“Everyone knows formal white is Navy. Who is he?”

“Not everyone.” He shakes his head, his lips tilting in bemusement. “That’s Calder.”

“I thought wearing a mask was a requirement to get into this exclusive bash. Why isn’t he wearing one?”

He shrugs. “Cald’s decision not to change the uniform is respected.”

“Oh, he’s really in the Navy?”

With his nod, I realize exactly what Cass is doing. A girl like Celeste would never cozy up to a military guy. One in a costume, with millions in the bank, sure, but she’d consider a sailor on a government salary way beneath her social tier. I glance around, and sure enough, some people have started to notice. I frown, watching Cass and the guy interact as they dance. Completely oblivious to the snide looks and furtive comments being bandied about, the guy dips his head down to hear what Cass is saying. When he straightens and lets out a deep laugh, wrapping his arm around her waist to tug her close, my college roommate grins.

The second I see her turn and swipe two glasses of champagne off the tray of a waiter walking along the edge of the dance floor, I stop dancing, my worry radar going off. “Excuse me. I have to speak to my friend.”

He clasps my hand before I can walk away. “Leave them,” he says in a clipped tone.

“You don’t understand—”

“He’s going back on mission in forty-eight hours. Let him enjoy his last bit of down time.”

When I try to shake off his hand, his mouth tightens in a stubborn line. “It might be a year or more before he comes back. Let it go.”

I raise my eyebrow, but realize he’s right. Cass can’t do too much damage to the guy’s heart in one night. Let him have some laughter and fun in his life. He probably doesn’t get much of that if he’s always going off on missions. I stop trying to pull away and turn back to him. “What kind of missions does he do?”

He draws me close as a slow song starts up. “Stuff he can’t discuss.”

Hmmm, mysterious.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Cass.
“It sounds like you know him pretty well. Is he a friend of yours?”

“More like a brother. We practically grew up together.”

The intriguing Mr. Black has said just enough to make me want to know more about him. I tilt my head, feeling at a disadvantage, since I can only see the lower half of his face. “Is your hood your mask for the evening?”

“Curious?” A slight smirk curves his lips. “What if I’m scarred under here?”

You’d still be sexy as hell
. “You afraid to show your true self?”

“Absofuckinglutely,” he says without hesitation, his voice gruff as he slides his hands up my back, then slowly turns me to the soft music.

I let out a low laugh, appreciating his directness. “For all I know, you could be totally silver under there and twenty years my senior.”

“Would that matter?” he says smoothly.

“Not at all, Mr. Black. I just don’t want to do anything that might give someone of your
advanced
years a heart attack.”

Expelling an arrogant chuckle, he hooks his arms at the base of my spine. “How do you know I won’t do something to make
your
heart pound out of control?”

“Well, they do say that with age comes wisdom,” I goad, really, really wanting that hood gone now.

His lips twitch. “Mastery in anything comes with doing, not age, Miss Scarlett.”

My blood whooshes through my veins, making me tingle all over. His ability to switch from direct bluntness to innuendo is so freaking hot. He’s definitely mastered that. “Really? And here I thought age and wisdom go hand-in-hand.”

“Not always,” he says, releasing me.

I hold my breath in eager anticipation as he moves to slide the hood off. When the green material lands on his shoulders, revealing hair even darker than Damien’s, I grin my approval. It’s so dark I can’t tell where his black mask ends and his hair begins.

The second his eyes connect with mine, full of seductive promises, my heart jumps several beats. One single brown eye and one brilliant blue eye stare back at me behind his mask.

I
t can’t be him
. But all I can think about is the young guy who has haunted my dreams these past eight years. I shake my head, but the spots forming in my eyes only get bigger right before my knees give out.

He catches me, hauling me fully against him. “Are you okay?”

Blinking to stay conscious, I press my hands to his rock hard chest, my pulse whooshing in my ears. His youthful, pretty boy features have grown more rugged and angular. He has a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before. Did he have a dimple when he smiled earlier? It’s not like I can ask him to smile for me now. His hair’s shorter and his shoulders are much broader. He’s grown a good four inches. Is it him? Here, of all places? Or am I losing my mind?

“I—need to go to the bathroom,” I say, extricating myself from his firm grip. Pivoting around, I bolt away and dodge left around a couple dressed as Morticia and Gomez, then veer right past a group of girls dressed as the Spice Girls. I pause when I finally realize I have no freaking clue where the bathroom is.

A strong hand clasps mine, and he tugs me through the costumed crowd, up the few steps, through the bar/living room, where others are hanging out on barstools and sofas, ice melting in their cocktails. The main room is packed, but the crowd starts to thin a little as he leads me to a door along a far wall.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” I pause when he leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his voice steady and calm despite the loud revelry around us. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Go back to the party. I’ll be out soon.”

“I’ll wait.”

“But you really don’t have to.”

He touches his mask, then locks a determined gaze on me, nodding toward the bathroom. “You entertain me, Scarlett. A beauty wrapped in intriguing layers. I’m not letting you out of my sight all evening.”

Layers? What does he mean by that?
I don’t know what to say, so I just walk into the bathroom and shut the door. With the music muffled somewhat, I splash cold water on my heated cheeks and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Of course, there are other dark-haired men out there in the world with one brown eye and one bright blue eye. It’s possible he’s not the guy from my past. But the age is about right. I start to nibble on the tip of my thumb, when the movement he’d done just before he gestured for me to head into the bathroom—pressing his thumb against his mask, right where his nose meets his brow—hits me. It’s the same mannerism that guy had done that night when I wouldn’t talk to him. That must be how he expresses frustration. Too many similarities to discount.

Oh God! It
has
to be him. No wonder I was drawn to him; I even named him Mr.
Black
. Blackie-Black. Sounds like a band name. I exhale a low, half-hysterical laugh, my brain short-circuiting as my shaking hands grip the sink. I stare in the mirror, trying to get control of myself. Okay, so it’s him, but I don’t look anything like the skinny redhead he helped all those years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember me. I was a blip in his evening of prankster boredom.

I stare at my reflection. My nose is free of freckles now. I’m a couple inches taller, with a woman’s curves instead of the boyish figure I had back then. And until the color grows out, I’m blonde, not the redhead from that night. I doubt he remembers anything from that evening, other than he helped a freaked out girl get home.

I’d lain awake so many nights as I grew older, hoping I’d run into Blackie again, dreamed about it even. I’d planned out what I would say and exactly how I would thank him for helping me. Then he’d shock me by pulling me close and telling me he’d never forgotten me.

Now that I’m faced with reality, I’m terrified. My dream guy was young and didn’t ask probing questions. This
man
runs in completely different circles, and he doesn’t miss a thing. With his profession, he’ll ply me with questions, wanting every detail.

He has no idea the things I’ve done. And he never will. I stare at the closed door, my heart aching a little that he’ll never know the positive impact he had on me.

With a heavy sigh of regret, I glance around and try to refocus. I can’t let myself be distracted any longer from my purpose for coming here tonight. First, I need to figure out how to ditch my highly-perceptive dance partner. Then, I’ll find Mina. When my gaze lands on the raised window next to the toilet, an escape plan forms.

I peer outside at the dark, heavy clouds that have rolled in with a storm about to break. Thankfully the bathroom sits right next to a covered terrace. Glancing over my shoulder, I quietly lift the window sash, then move the bathroom chair under the window so I can climb out. Turns out, that’s not an easy task while wearing spike-heeled boots and a long cloak.

Somehow I manage to slowly inch my way out the window on my belly. All I have left to do is lower myself over the sill, then drop the last foot to reach the ground. As I maneuver, ready to lower myself down, my cloak snags on the chair. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” I mutter.

Just as I swat at the cloak to try and unhook the material, a knock sounds at the door. “You okay in there?”

“I’m good. Just need a minute,” I call out, heart speeding up while I desperately yank to unhook my cloak. The chair tilts and starts to crash to the tile floor. I panic and swing the cloak around. Thankfully I catch the small chair on the material, which only manages to trap my cloak even more.

Hanging half inside the raised window sill, I hope and pray Nick stayed right next to the French doors, or he’s getting one hell of a panty show with the wind whipping my short skirt up my back. Ever so slowly I tug the cloak and finally free it, leaving the small chair on its side.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, I lower myself down, then drop to the ground.

As soon as I turn the corner of the terrace, intending to find my way inside through one of the French doors, I see a huge black dog blocking Nick’s way back into the house.

The dog tenses at my movements, darting his gaze to me. When Nick tries to side-step him, the massive animal snaps his attention back to Nick, curling his upper lip in a snarl. Sharp white teeth flash in the darkness as a low growl erupts from his throat.

Now I know why Black had smiled briefly once Nick walked outside. That guy has a devious streak.

“Nice, doggie,” I say nervously.

The dog doesn’t make a move toward me, but he’s not letting Nick budge. When Nick raises his hand and says, “Go get Gavin or Damien to call this mongrel off,” the dog aggressively snaps at the guy’s pants. I panic, worried he’ll connect, so I stomp my high heel on the stone, hoping to distract the dog. Instead, he just growls deeper at Nick. The second I open my mouth to yell at him to back off, thunder booms quickly followed by a flash of lightning.

The dog yelps and pins his ears back, then takes off running across the patio, apparently seeking a safe place to hide. Relieved, I don’t say a word to Nick as I quickly follow him back inside the house.

While Nick immediately heads for the dance floor, I keep my gaze on the wall where the bathroom is located. I can’t see Black’s dark head because of the crowd, but just in case, I keep my head low while scanning to check on Cass. Finally I spot her still dancing with Mr. Uniform. She’s laughing and drinking, having a great time. Her dance partner is a good-looking guy, and I’m sure the uniform only makes him hotter in her eyes. Makes me wonder if Cass has given up her mission for a general good time.