Page 6 of Reaper's Desire

ISABELLE

I'm drunk.

Not just tipsy, not just pleasantly buzzed—I'm gloriously, recklessly, beautifully drunk, and I don't care. The music is so loud it's vibrating through my bones, the bass pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat, and I'm dancing with strangers whose faces I won't remember tomorrow. My dress is riding up my thighs, my hair is sticking to the back of my neck, and I'm laughing too loud.

This is freedom. This is what I came here for.

I spin, arms above my head, and the strobe lights flash across my vision—white, blue, purple, white again—and I feel like I'm floating. The alcohol has dissolved every inhibition I've ever had, every careful thought, every worry about what people think or what I'm supposed to be. I'm justhere, in this moment, in this body, and it feels fucking incredible.

Someone hands me another drink—something pink and sweet—and I take it without asking what it is. I down half of it in one swallow, the sugar and alcohol mixing on my tongue, and hand the glass back to whoever gave it to me. "You're fuckinggorgeous!" a girl shouts in my ear in a British accent, her smile wide and genuine.

"So are you!" I shout back, and I mean it. Everyone here is gorgeous. Everyone here is perfect. We're all just bodies moving together, lost in the music, lost in the heat, lost in the anonymity of it all.

I keep dancing. The crowd shifts around me, people coming and going, and I don't care. I'm in my own world, my own bubble of sound and sensation, and nothing else matters. Not my father, not Vivienne, not the suffocating weight of being a Montague. Not the charity galas or the business dinners or the endless expectations. Here, I'm no one.

I close my eyes and let the music take over, my hips swaying, my body moving on instinct. The heat is oppressive, the air thick with sweat and perfume. I'm alive. I'malive.

And then I collide with someone. Hard.

I stumble, my eyes flying open, and a pair of hands catch me by the waist, steadying me before I can fall. "Shit—sorry," I gasp, looking up.

And then I forget how to breathe.

He's tall.Tall. At least six-three, maybe more, and broad-shouldered in a way that makes me feel small even in my heels. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He's wearing a linen shirt that fits him perfectly, short-sleeved, and I can see the muscles in his forearms flexing as he holds me steady. A thin gold chain hangs from his neck, and I can see tattoos in the open space of his shirt, ink twisting along tanned skin beneath dark hair.

He's devastatingly, impossibly attractive. And he's looking at me like I'm the only person in this entire club.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice low, with a Mediterranean accent. The sound of it sends a shiver down my spine.

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah. I'm—yeah."

His hands are still on my waist. I can feel the heat of them through the thin fabric of my dress, and I realize I don't want him to let go.

"You sure?" he asks, his eyes still fixed on mine, like dark pools of deep black water. I imagine they're probably brown, but in the darkness and strobing lights of the club, they look black. A devil's eyes.

A shiver runs down my spine. "I'm sure," I say, and my voice comes out breathier than I intended.

He doesn't let go. Neither do I. The music shifts, the beat slowing slightly, and the crowd around us presses closer. I'm acutely aware of how close we are, how his body is almost touching mine, how his hands are still on my waist. I'm suddenly glad I didn't go off and fuck the bartender on his break, because I might have missed this. There have been gorgeous men all over me all night, butthisone sparks something in me. Heat blooms through my belly, flooding through my veins, and I want to get closer to him, to feel his skin on mine, rub his scent all over me. I feel primal, animal, almost.

"Do you want to dance?" I ask, and his lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Yeah. I do."

He pulls me closer, and suddenly we're moving together, our bodies pressed against each other, grinding to the music. His hands slide lower, resting on my hips, and I loop my arms around his neck, letting myself melt into him. His body is rock hard, and he smells fucking delicious, like citrus and sandalwood.

This is different from dancing with strangers. This iselectric.

Every place our bodies touch feels like it's on fire. His chest against mine, his thighs brushing mine, his hands gripping my hips like he doesn't want to let go. I can feel the heat radiating offhim, and I tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes are locked on mine, intense and unreadable.

"What's your name?" I ask, even though I'm not sure I want to know. There's a rush to the anonymity of it all. He's just a body and so am I, and we feel so fucking good together that I want more.

"Does it matter?" he asks, his voice rough.

I think about it for a second, then shake my head. "No. It doesn't."

"Good." His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me even closer, and I gasp as I feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach. He's aroused.Veryaroused. And he's not trying to hide it. The realization sends a bolt of heat straight between my legs.

I press closer, deliberately, and his jaw tightens. His eyes darken, and I see something flicker there, raw and hungry and barely controlled.