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And then he saw her.

A goddess in the costume of a vixen. How fitting.

Instead of red or orange clothing, however, she wore a medieval-style blue gown covered in red and orange gems. Instead of a tail, she carried a long, gauze shawl. She still wore the mask of a vixen, however. Her dark brown hair—a wig?—was collected in an intricate coiffure, a single red rose attached to the side.

And that’s how he knew it was her.

The woman he’d been corresponding with. The woman who stole his heart through the letters. His fingers tightened on the drink, and he forced himself to relax lest he shatter the glass. His faux fiancée made her way toward him with a beguiling smile. She didn’t say a word, she just glanced into his eyes, took him by the arm, and tugged him away.

Thorn paused by the edge of the dance floor, holding her hand tightly in his grasp. “And where are you leading me, pray tell?”

She didn’t answer, just flickered her eyes toward the private room covered by thick curtains.

So, she wanted a tryst, then? Or did she just want to get away from people’s eyes? Thorn would be damned if he let her get away with her plan. No, they were staying exactly where they were. And he would unmask her before the end of the night.

He tugged on her arm, drawing her closer, until she stood only inches away. “What, not even a dance first?”

A nervous chuckle ripped from her lips. “You know I can’t dance.”

Thorn leaned closer. He knew that voice. Or at least, it sounded familiar. Sultry, low, breathy. He needed to keep her talking. “I know you can. We have danced before.”

She swallowed. “I am too nervous now. I am certain I shall fall.”

He smirked. “I shall catch you.”

His hands slid down her arms and then he entwined his fingers with hers. “Just one dance,” he whispered.

Uncertainty flashed in her gaze as he took a step, guiding her in a slow, sensual waltz. She didn’t seem like a worldly seductress. Then who was she? And what was her goal?

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. He couldn’t quite decipher her expression with her mask on and in dim lighting, but she held herself stiffly in his arms. Her movements were tense, too, almost wooden. As if she truly couldn’t dance. Or maybe she was extremely nervous.

Why? What game was she playing?

“The letters you wrote spoke to my heart,” he said.

She cleared her throat delicately. “Truly?”

“Quite.” He spun her around, and she tightened her fingers over his hand. He caught her tighter against his body, but she stiffened again, not letting him draw her close. “What you said in those letters… Was everything true?”

She glanced at him once more before hiding her gaze again. “Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know.” That’s what I am trying to figure out. “After all, we are to be married soon.”

She didn’t say anything. Thorn stopped abruptly, and she stumbled into him. Her body colliding with his brought on a long forgotten feeling, the need, the ache, the longing to fill another’s body and soul.

He raised his hand and traced her cheek with the knuckles of his fingers. What game are you playing? “All I wanted to do all this time was to have you in my arms again,” he whispered. “To kiss you. To consume you. To—”

She lunged at him and kissed him on his mouth. Hard. It wasn’t an artful kiss, it was a kiss of desperation. Was she desperate to have him? Or was she trying to hide her true agenda behind that kiss? Perhaps she just wanted to silence him.

Either way, her mouth crushed against his, their teeth clicking. Usually, Thorn would have eased her away and laughed. But for some reason, this artless seduction surprisingly worked. His arms closed around her waist, and he pulled her closer.

A couple bumped into them, causing their kiss to break.

Thorn led her away from the dance floor and pushed her against the column, then kissed her again. He crushed her lips, pushing his tongue inside her warmth and licking at the corners of her mouth.

She moaned and melted into him. Thorn gentled his kiss, his hands rubbing down her sides.

But she didn’t subside. Her hands were in his hair, her body pressing against his. Thorn groaned and rubbed his crotch against her softness. Damn him. He wanted her. Whoever she was. Whatever her agenda was.