Cinderella is about to get wicked…
But can a naughty fantasy have a happily-ever-after?
Lainey Kline has one goal before she leaves Melbourne forever: transform herself into a sexy siren, sneak into the season’s most glamorous masquerade ball and seduce Damian McKnight. Only there’s a teeny little problem—one deliciously hot night isn’t nearly enough. Now Lainey wants more. But while getting naked is one thing, taking off their masks is quite another…
“Dare is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!” —Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
"Sexy with a dash of playfulness, UNMASKED will whisk you away. A devoured every second of this book." Author, Kelly Siskind
From chapter four...
Holding her, Damian nudged the door open with his foot and let it swing shut behind him. The click of the automatic latch was like a single firework in the quiet room, the sound echoing off the tiles and rattling around in her brain.
He set her on the marble countertop. Lainey glanced around. The room was like no other bathroom she’d ever seen—the taps were gold and ornate, and fresh flowers sat in a vase that was most likely crystal.
They even had a fancy hand soap dispenser that resembled a Fabergé egg.
“Let’s have a look at the damage.” He crouched in front of her, pushing her dress up so he could get to her foot.
His fingers made quick work of the strap on her sandal, and with one hand bracing her ankle, he slipped the shoe off.
The action was so soft and caring that Lainey’s heart caught in her throat. The warmth of his fingers was like an aphrodisiac, potent. Intoxicating. Her blood hummed at the contrast of it all—the firmness of his grip mixed with the careful, tender touch.
“I think you can keep the foot,” he said, his tone serious. But the twinkle in his eye gave him away.
It appeared Damian did still have a sense of humour, much to her delight.
“You think?” Lainey peered down and wriggled her toes. The light glinted off the shimmery black nail polish she’d chosen because it reminded her of the stars against a night sky. “The word think isn’t something I want to hear when we’re discussing amputation.”
He chuckled and lifted her foot higher to inspect the sole. “I’m going to rub my thumb across the ball of your foot. If you feel any pain, then there could be glass under the skin.”
She nodded, her breath stuttering like a car engine failing to turn over. Lainey wasn’t sure she’d be able to detect pain—or anything else—as Damian inspected her.
For an encounter that shouldn’t have been in the least bit sexual, every nerve ending in her body was singing as though it was Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve and every other damn holiday all at once.
“Do you feel anything?” He looked up.
Seeing a big man like him on his knees, looking up at her through that sexier-than-sin mask, touching her as though she were the most precious thing in all the world…
“I think I’d be a statue not to feel something,” she said, her voice low and soft. “But I’m not in pain.”
He held on to her foot for a moment, his eyes fixed on her. Her calf was cradled in his palm, the heat from his skin working its way through her, turning her veins to threads of fire. Thank God she had a mask on so he couldn’t see her face heating up. They stayed there—locked in that moment, frozen by intimacy—until he cleared his throat and slipped the shoe back onto her foot.
“So I’ll be alright, Doc?”
“Better than alright.” He stood. The tuxedo fit him perfectly, hugging his shoulders and tapering down to his waist in a line so mouthwateringly divine, it stole Lainey’s breath. The only thing ruining the effect was the red wine stain. “I’m glad we checked—the last thing you want is a glass splinter.”
“Exactly. Cinderella had glass on her feet, and look how that turned out.”
He raised a brow. “She got the prince, didn’t she?”
“The prince had to rely on the fit of a shoe.” Lainey shook her head. “What she got was a dude with a bad memory and a foot fetish.”