A Date for the Masquerade by Dover L.P. & McLaughlin Heidi

Author:Dover, L.P. & McLaughlin, Heidi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Books by L.P. Dover LLC
Published: 2020-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

6

Owen

I’ve been awake for three hours and in my office for two, pacing the floor and watching the clock slowly tick away at the minutes. I’ve never watched the clock so much in my life until now and never realized how painstakingly slow time moves when there is something you desperately want.

I want Ensley.

The problem is, I’ve had her. . .twice. By twice, I mean two nights. I’m not a guy who only pleasures his woman once and bails, at least not with Ensley. I can’t seem to get enough of her. I wish she felt the same way about me because I hate waking up to an empty bed in the morning. I even “accidentally” set my alarm so I could see her in the early morning. Only when the damn thing blared at five in the morning, her side of the bed was cold. I’m going to have to learn to cuddle or something, so I can feel her slip out of my arms next time.

Next time.

It must happen.

We have to happen without our masks. I can’t continue like this, but something tells me Ensley enjoys it. Sure, there’s a thrill to it, not knowing who you’re with, but I’m really hoping she’s only like this with me. I don’t want to think about perfect Ensley screwing half of the guys in the city who are wearing masks. The thought makes me shudder.

The more I think about the whole mask thing, the more creeped out I am at myself for allowing it to happen a second time. I wanted to tell Ensley who I was or am, and I should’ve but one look at her, dressed up as Daisy to my Gatsby, and I was a fumbling fool. But I wasn’t going to deny her. Ensley wanted to keep our masks on. Believe me, I had the temptation to slip mine off as soon as I entered her. I wanted her to know it wasn’t Jay Gatsby making her feel this way. It was Owen Jameson.

Finally, the clock reads nine. I rush to my desk and sit. Only, the force I landed in my chair causes me to roll away from my desk. To make matters worse, I try to stop myself and take half the papers and file with me.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I look at the floor and the mess I created. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

You’re in love.

I look over my right shoulder and then my left, wondering where that sentiment came from. I’m not the guy who believes in an angel and the devil battling it out when it comes to my decisions, but I swear there’s a voice in my head telling me how I feel.

The papers stay on the floor. I’ll get my assistant to sort through them for me later. And I’ll likely blame the wind or something. She doesn’t need to know how excited I was to make a phone call this morning.

I inhale deeply, close my eyes, and let the air out of my lungs slowly.

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