I had barely slipped my phone back into my purse when it buzzed again. I pulled it out with a shaky hand.
Freddie: Be careful what you wish for.
I read the message twice before I realized my heart was racing with the shock of his reply. Did that mean he was in the club? He’d come after all? I twisted my head around, looking for him, but he wasn’t on the second floor, as least not from what I could see.
I hit send on a message that told him where I was, but it wouldn’t go through. I’d been able to send a text just a minute earlier, but now the cell reception decided to turn spotty. Perfect. I tried again and then glanced around our table. He wasn’t on the second floor. I shoved my phone into my clutch and stood from the table.
“I’ll be back,” I promised the group, though no one seemed to notice my departure.
My first idea was to go down to the mask shop, but he wasn’t in the crowded room. I stood by the door, watching people filter in and out and trying to spot his tall frame. I tried to text him again from that spot, but my phone still wouldn’t cooperate.
I walked back into the club and stood just to the side of the dance floor, spinning in a circle. I glanced up to the second and third floor balconies. There were plenty of people hanging over the railing, shouting, dancing, and drinking, but none of them were Freddie. I drew my gaze higher, up to the ceiling of the club. I hadn’t realized it before, but it was made of glass. Thousands of pieces of shattered glass fragments pieced together like a puzzle. My broken reflection stared back at me. I looked like a lost red devil in the center of the room. While everyone else moved and danced and drank, I stood frozen, trying to find someone I had no business looking for. It was in those fragmented pieces of glass that I first found him reflected back to me, dressed in black, masked, and walking up behind me.
There’s a sensation that comes with shock. That fast flood of endorphins that riles your senses. Your stomach twists and your hands shake and your heart beats so fast that even you aren’t sure who is controlling it: you or him. That’s how it felt when Freddie stepped up behind me in the club. His hand pressed against my lower back, skimming against my bare skin.
I closed my eyes, listened as he whispered hello in my ear, and fell into the kind of madness I’d avoided for so many years. For so long, I’d lived in the confines of my regimented life, but now I was in Rio, and Freddie still had his hand on the small of my back.
Inviting him to the club had been a mistake, but he was there and I wasn’t going to say no.
I wanted to taste madness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Freddie
ANDIE WAS A red temptress standing alone in the club, and I wanted to devour her. Her dress was nothing, some fabric tied behind her neck and little else. No bra. Bloody hell. Her back was completely exposed and as I walked closer, I dragged my gaze down her spine, getting my fill of the tan skin I wasn’t allowed to touch.
I’d spent enough time memorizing her body to recognize it, even behind the mask. She was beautiful. Blonde hair hung loose across her shoulders, silky and long. Gray eyes and long lashes stood out against the red lace. I didn’t stop myself from touching her back. She was looking up, watching me in the mirrors when I stepped close and whispered hello.
“You look beautiful.”
She didn’t reply. She twisted around and faced me, dropping her gaze from the ceiling so she could meet my eyes. There was a darkness there that she usually kept hidden. Her playful, cheeky smile was tucked away. Instead, her full lips held the promise of a smirk—the kind that told me she and I wouldn’t be spending the night as friends.
“Do you need a drink?” she asked, eyeing my empty hands.
I nodded and led us to the bar. It was crowded—the whole place was, really. I stayed close to Andie, tucking her into my side so I could feel her body there beside mine. She didn’t protest, though I could sense a stillness inside her, a fight over whether she should let this happen. I didn’t give her enough time to think it over.
“Is anyone waiting for you?” I asked after placing my order with the bartender.
She shook her head but kept quiet, eyeing the bottles of alcohol behind the bar.
“Do you want to have a dance?” I said, though I prayed she’d say no. I hated dancing in front of other people. To me, if you did it right, dancing was intimate and raw—something better reserved for private rooms and dark corners.
She shook her head again.
The bartender slid my drink across the bar and I took the glass in one hand and Andie’s arm in the other. I led us away from the bar before she could ask where we were going, and I found the first flight of stairs that could lead us toward a place I wasn’t sure we were ready to find.
The second floor was packed with annoying drunk tourists and locals, so I kept hold of her and took her up another flight, all the way to the top floor. There were no questions or protests from Andie. When we were nearly up the second flight, I glanced back to find her eyes on me, confident and curious.
“I haven’t been up here yet,” she said, eyeing the space tentatively.
The music was still as loud as it was on the first floor, thanks to speakers blasting in every direction, but the crowd had thinned enough so that it wasn’t hard to find an empty spot.
They’d used tinted bulbs to cast the space in red light. The other floors had been dark, but this was different, red and smoky and intoxicating. The fragments of glass were closer than ever. When we sat and I pulled Andie to the soft leather seat beside mine, I glanced up and took us in from above. My gaze caught on her thighs. Her dress had ridden up when she sat, and she was trying to tug it down, to no avail. I smiled and turned back to her, leaving the mirrors for later.