Strung Read Free

you for asking." 
    "So, do you think this is for a good cause?" he asks gesturing across the room.
    "The cause?  I suppose the cause is good.”  I shrug.
    "But?" he urges gently.
    "But, I wonder at the expense that's gone into putting a lavish function like this together."
    "What's your point?" he urges, appearing genuinely interested.
    "Well, it'll probably cost more than it will raise.  Just another attempt by some socialite, to feed his or her self-inflated ego."  I sip my champagne.  I know these things.  Robert was very good at it, so I am pretty much an expert.
    He gazes at me thoughtfully, his lips curving in a slow and sexy smile.  I feel the raw power of masculinity exuding from this mysterious Adonis and I want to stand here all night, basking in his presence.  I long to know what he is thinking but his mask is keeping his expression a firm secret.  Finally, he clears his throat gently and speaks; his previously dulcet tones slightly frosty.
    "So you think my ego needs feeding?"
    Oh, shit!  Brain to mouth malfunction!  Trust me to make a meal of small talk!
    "I don't know.  Does it?”  I snap, mentally punching myself with both fists.  Okay, snapping is a bit unfair - but he did ask for my opinion and I gave it fair-and-square!
    "Truthfully?" he tilts his head again, and then suddenly smiles widely.  "I don't know.  I've never thought about it," he finishes, taking me completely by surprise with this unexpected response.
    "But I can assure you, that I never lose.  At anything.  This event will make more than it costs."  He raises his glass, taking a generous sip.
    I stare, fixated, as his lips part slightly.  Small creases form as the glass presses against his bottom lip.  When the glass is lowered, his lips are damp again and I squirm, spellbound as his tongue sweeps them clean.  The chiselled outer edges of his mouth tilt slightly up, forming the most adorable dimples on either side.  I lick my own lips.  Only when his smile widens to a full-blown grin, do I realise I have been staring.  He is laughing at me.  Feigning interest in the crowd, I turn away to hide the shades of purple I am sure are visible below my own mask. 
    "The real question of the evening is yet to be asked," he speaks softly behind me, his amusement still perceptible.
    "Oh?”  I gaze ahead, unseeing, all my senses, finely tuned to the magnetic draw of man behind me and alarm bells that are blaring in the pit of my stomach.
    "Why is the most beautiful woman in the room hiding behind a potted plant?"  I sense him lean closer, his warmth caressing my bare shoulder and hear his intake of breath, as if he is about to speak again.  I freeze in anticipation and dread.
    "Shit!" he eventually mutters under his breath. 
    Nice!  Excellent way to flirt with a girl.   Then I spot the object of his curse.  An elegant woman, in her late fifties I think, is making a beeline for us - floating across the dance floor like a ballerina.  She appears engulfed by a cloud of baby blue chiffon, and her slender neck is dripping in diamonds.  Her smile is reflected in her eyes, as she breezes to a halt in front of us.
    "Now dear, this will not do!  Hiding behind pretty ladies will not excuse you from our dance," she pouts humorously at my handsome stranger.
    "Mavis, where is your mask?" he grins back, his voice laced with a playful fondness, that can only be bred from familiarity.
    "I'm wearing it, Darling!  I have spent enough money on this face for it to be a mask.  Hell I haven't seen my own face in years!" she laughs a genuine, easy laugh.
    "You don't mind if I steal my Toy Boy do you, dear?" she directs her question at me.
    Toy Boy!  Christ, is she kidding?
    "Excuse me," he says politely, offering me a gallant bow and she takes his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor.  He moves her into a lively spin around the dance floor, guiding her with polished ease.  Every so often, I imagine his eyes on me as he flashes by in a