And the people.
God, the people.
Scantily dressed women draped across black velvet lounges, their bodies adorned with jewels, silk, and precious little else. Gorgeous men in tailored suits with hungry eyes prowl the edges of the room like predators deciding which prey to chase. In the shadowed alcoves, some guests have already abandoned all pretense of socializing. Soft moans drift through the music, punctuated by gasps and the wet sounds of mouths and bodies meeting.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't look away. I came here for this. I came here to feel alive.
The center of the room commands my attention like a magnet pulling iron. A raised platform serves as a stage, and on it,dancers move in ways that make my mouth go dry. Silver glitter covers their bodies from head to toe, and when the soft beams of light, designed to mimic moonlight, caresses their skin, they appear to be a moving body of water shimmering beneath a midnight sky.
I'm so mesmerized that I don't register the presence at my side until a voice pours over me like warm honey laced with smoke.
"I've been watching you since you walked through those doors."
My breath catches. I turn, and the world narrows to a single point.
He's tall. Taller than me even in my stilettos. A deep green mask covers the upper half of his face, making the dark eyes behind it even more striking by contrast. His suit is black and perfectly tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a chest that speaks of disciplined strength. At his collar, tattoos peek out, dark ink against deeply tanned skin. And on the back of his right hand, the head of a viper stares at me with ruby red eyes that glitter in the candlelight.
My gaze travels up slowly. I can't help it. The suit jacket stretches across muscles that bunch and shift as he moves. His jaw is strong beneath a neatly trimmed beard, and his lips curve into a smile that's equal parts charm and danger. Long dark hair frames his face, pushed back from his forehead in waves that make my fingers itch to touch.
But it's his eyes that hold me captive. Dark as midnight and twice as dangerous, filled with a heat that makes me feel like I'm the only woman in this room of beautiful people.
He holds out a pink hibiscus that nearly matches the coral-colored ones painted over my breasts.
"For you, jungle flower."
Jungle flower.
“Your smile is my heart’s undoing. Do you not receive flowers often?”
His voice is low and rich, the kind of voice that could talk a woman into anything. The kind of voice I want whispering filthy things against my skin.
Slow down, Ilona. Damn.My libido needs to hit the brakes before I throw the first man I meet into bed.
I take the flower with fingers that tremble only slightly. "How did you know I'd love this color?"
His smile deepens. He reaches for my hand, and I expect him to kiss it, the way men do in movies when they're trying to be charming. Instead, he simply holds it, stepping back to take in the full canvas of my body. His gaze roams over the painted yellow-and-coral-colored hibiscus flowers, the curling vines, the rich, green leaves that barely preserve my modesty. And everywhere his eyes touch, my skin burns.
"Because it matches the art you're wearing and I have the idea this shade is one of your favorites." His thumb traces a circle on my inner wrist, right over my racing pulse.
“You might be on to something,” I admit with a hint of a smile on my lips.
A group of men passes nearby, their eyes dragging over my painted curves with undisguised appreciation. Instinct has me pulling my hand away and wrapping my arms around my middle, trying to cover myself, to shrink back into the wallflower I've always been.
But this stranger’s hands find mine, warm and strong, and slowly unwind them from my body.
"Let them look." He positions my arms at my sides, his palms sliding down to rest at my hips. "They can appreciate your beauty, jungle flower. They can want. But they cannot touch what isn't theirs. Not without permission."
The possessiveness in his voice should alarm me. I've spent my whole life belonging to a man who saw me as property. The last thing I need is another one.
But this is different. He's not claiming ownership. He's claiming protection. And the distinction makes heat pool low in my belly in ways I've never experienced.
"And what about you?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my witty deflection nowhere to be found. "Are you going to touch?"
His laugh is low, a sound that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my senses as he steps closer. So close I feel the warmth of his body brush against mine and his scent fills my lungs. Sandalwood and black pepper and something smoky underneath, like he's just walked through fire and emerged unscathed. The scent wraps around me, sinking into my pores, and I know I'll never forget it for as long as I live.
"That depends entirely on you." He leans in, running his nose along the sensitive curve of my neck. His breath is warm against my skin, and when he nibbles at my earlobe, I gasp and lean into him like I've been doing this all my life. "I don't take what isn't offered freely."
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling my back flush against his front, and I feel him. All of him. Hard and thick and pressedagainst the curve of my ass with nothing but thin fabric between us.