really seen anyone in quite as outrageous a getup as hers. Then, across the room, she saw a sleek, exotic-looking woman dressed in eye-popping leather.
With a start, Trish realized it was her reflection, thrown back at her from an ornate mirror hanging on the wall.
Giddiness rushed through her. Sabrina’s guests weren’t staring because she looked ridiculous, they were staring because she looked good. Gaping wouldn’t do, and yet Trish wanted nothing more than to rush over to the looking glass and drink it all in, gawk at her image until she could convince herself that it was really her. For tonight, anyway.
But oh, what a night it would be.
Sabrina’s home was built vertically, the rooms rising around a central atrium, each side offset half a story from the other so that the rooms stairstepped up from one another. Trish glanced up and found her gaze snagged by that of the Marquis de Sade, who leaned carelessly on the waist-high barrier of the open loft overlooking the living room. Thin leather strips dangled from the ebony handle of his flail. An ornate silver mask covered his face from the hairline of his white-powdered wig to below his nose. Trish could see only his mouth, defined by the clean lines of a modified Vandyke. And she could see his eyes, looking out through the holes in the mask.
Staring directly at her.
Trish glanced to either side to see if he was looking at someone else, and then back up to find his gaze still pinned to hers. Something skittered through her veins. The thing was not to get embarrassed. She looked good, she knew it. Better than good. Maybe that was why he was staring, or maybe he was admiring her outfit. Maybe he was into Gaultier. Perhaps, she thought with a smile, he thought he was looking at a kindred spirit.
Lee the doorman nudged her. “So, can I get you a drink?”
“What?” Trish blinked, dragging her gaze away from the Marquis. “Um, actually I should probably find Sabrina first.”
“My cousin? I saw her a couple minutes ago. I’ll show you.”
“Are you even old enough to be at a party like this?” Trish asked, squinting at him.
“Are you kidding?” He gave her an affronted look. “I’m at UCLA. I’m almost nineteen.”
It wouldn’t do to smile. “Oops, my mistake.”
“I can think of one or two ways you can make it up to me.”
She gave a startled laugh. “Sorry, cradle-robbing is not my thing.”
“Once you try it, baby, you’ll never go back.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a roguish wink, although he had to narrow both eyes a bit to do it.
“I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” Trish promised, struggling to keep a straight face. She tensed, though, when he started toward the staircase that zigzagged its way up the side of the atrium. Toward the Marquis. “Where are you going?”
Lee glanced back at her. “You wanted to go to Sabrina. She’s up on the roof with some friends, I think.”
The Marquis watched her walk across the room. And he wasn’t the only one, she realized uncomfortably, catching a head or two turning out of the corner of her eye. She glanced again at her image in the mirror across the room. That’s who you are tonight, she reminded herself and laughed. Work it. A cowboy with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel winked at her and hefted the lariat he held. “I’ve been really bad, mistress. Want to tie me up and teach me a lesson?”
Trish gave him a mock severe look. “It’ll take more than just rope to teach you a proper lesson.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Lee led her up the risers of the stairs. She could feel the gaze of the Marquis on her. Being watched like that added an exaggerated level of self-awareness to her every move. She climbed the stairs, knowing he was studying her. She pushed back the spill of her hair, knowing he would see. Then the plaster bulk of the next flight of stairs crossed between them, blocking her view of the Marquis, at least until she nearly reached the landing.
Anticipation had her wondering what it would be like to see him up close. Then suddenly she was stepping onto the landing at the level of the loft, practically close enough to reach out and touch him. A current of air whispered over her bare shoulders and brought out goose bumps on her skin. She swore she saw his eyes darken. He stared at her, running his fingers slowly through the knotted thongs of his flail.
It suddenly seemed outrageously erotic.
Their gazes locked with the snapping jolt of static electricity. Her footsteps slowed. Something about the fact that the mask obscured most of his face focused her attention on the lean line of his jaw and the hint of a cleft in his chin. As though he knew what she was looking at, one corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. He brought two fingertips to his lips and blew her a mocking kiss.
Trish flushed and started up the next flight of stairs.
And finally she was at roof level and stepping out into the cool night air. A small knot of people stood at the far end, looking out at the lights of the city. A glance at them calmed the nerves that danced in her belly, because she knew these people almost as well as she knew herself.
The laughing woman with the cap of dark hair was Sabrina, and at her side her lover, Stef. Irrepressible Kelly waved her hand around as she told a story with the help of her boyfriend Kev, who, as usual, looked as if he’d been hacking at his hair with garden shears. Delaney, still the corn silk blonde, hooted. Maybe the generic-looking man at her side was her date, Trish speculated. Or maybe not. More likely he was there with cool, self-possessed Paige. He had that innocuous, trust-fund-preppie look that most of her men seemed to have.
They might all be older and wiser, but the Sex & Supper Club was still together, and just as close as they’d ever been. She would have walked through fire for any one of them.
After all, she’d walked into the party alone, hadn’t she?
Sabrina swung toward them in the dimness. “Hey, Elliot, who’s your friend?” she asked casually.
Trish gave Lee a sidelong glance. “Elliot?”
He blushed. “My friends call me Lee.”
“Oh my God, it’s Trish!” Kelly yelped, suddenly breaking away from the group and rushing over to Trish. “I didn’t recognize you. You look amazing.”
In an instant, Trish was surrounded. “Look at your hair,” Delaney said, running her fingers through the silky strands. “You look like something out of a Vogue spread.”
Trish couldn’t stop the grin. “Cilla did it. You know her, just some old rag from her closet.”
“Yeah, an old rag that cost about as much as a small car. So who knew you were a size three?” Kelly marveled.
“Size five, Cilla says,” Trish corrected in embarrassment.
“Like that’s any more real than a three,” Kelly said unconcernedly. “Where is Cilla, anyway?”
“She had to go take care of something for her fashion show tomorrow. She said she’ll be here in a couple of hours. Where’s Thea?”
“She’s
