Page 7 of Autumn Ritual

“Just walk on in, why don’t you?” I groused, fluffing the dress around me.

He stopped short, staring at me from behind his mask. Maybe it was the contacts, but a frightening energy seemed to pulse around him. It came off in waves. My lizard brain yelped in warning.

If I could flee upstairs, I would have.

“A devil mask?” I asked coolly, hating the tremor that wanted to seep into my voice. “What’s up with that?”

One shoulder lifted a fraction.

Who the hell was he? I stared hard, trying to find any subtle clues that would tell me about my forced date. The mask covered his entire face. There was a slit near the nose for him to breathe, but none for the mouth. His hair was short and dark. In a town full of Italians and their descendants, that wasn’t helpful. There were no visible tattoos, either.

As I silently studied him, he stuck out his hand. I’d been too flustered by his sudden appearance that I completely missed the bouquet of black roses wrapped in matching tissue and tied with a midnight satin bow that he held.

“They’re beautiful,” I gasped without thinking.

His arm jerked, insisting I take them.

Inching forward, I plucked the bouquet, burrowing my nose in the blossoms. The lush scent flowed through me.

“Let me go put them in some water.” I turned, realizing too late that I’d put my back to the monster. I scooted to the kitchen, stopping in the formal dining room to grab a vase from the hutch. The skin at the base of my neck prickled, but I didn’t hear his footsteps.

As I filled the vase with tepid water, awareness brushed along my spine.

He hadn’t touched me. But his attention was like a caress.

After placing the flowers in the water and folding the tissue, I rounded on the man bold enough to demand a date.

He was right behind me.

The seductive scent, part alpine, but mostly him, rushed through my veins. I took a steadying breath, trying to battle the heat unfurling through me.

Get a grip!

I met his stare, flattening my hands on the counter. “Look, I don’t know what you said to my father, but this—” I gestured between us “—is inconvenient. I’m not some mafia princess waiting to be swept off her feet by a Made Man. I’m going to the ball because Papà asked, not because you twisted his arm.”

His eyes hardened.

The mask made it hard to read him.

“You will not try anything with me,” I insisted. “I’ll hurt you, badly, if you do.”

His chin dipped slightly in acknowledgement.

I pursed my lips. “I can hurt you, and I will. So don’t get any funny ideas. And don’t demand another date from me. I’m off the market.”

A rough breath, one that could have been a laugh, escaped him.

That sound made my fists clenched. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

I marched past him, giving him a wide berth. I’d expected him to argue. To tell me that he could do whatever he liked with me, because he was more powerful than my father. The counterarguments I’d spent hours forming remained unused in the back of my mind. He hadn’t engaged with me.

He hasn’t said a word!

At the front door, I stopped short, glaring back at him. Or rather, up at him. He was so close. A fresh scent of his cologne made my nose tingle. I took shallow breaths, refusing to drink him in.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I demanded.

The devil shook his head.