Wicked Masquerade

  FORBIDDEN SECRETS

  BOOK 1:

  WICKED MASQUERADE

  by

  Diana Rose Wilson

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2017 by DIANA ROSE WILSON

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68229-251-7

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

  Editor: Mary Caelsto

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Jeffrey: with love, respect and honor.

  Chapter 1

  Friday, October 30, 2015

  Ursa Myller looked at her reflection in the mirror again and wondered if Marcie would put her on the blacklist if she called to cancel less than an hour before the party. It could be sudden stomach flu. She definitely felt queasy looking at her costume. The thing was a confection of expensive white lace, silk, feathers and beaded opals. Bathing suits covered more.

  She did not have the right figure to pull this off.

  “Just wear it. You’ll look great and you’ll have the mask to hide behind. What do you have to lose?” Marcie’s argument had seemed valid at the time. So, she’d taken the package as her friend smiled with a secret gleam in her eyes. “I can’t wait until you meet him.”

  Him. Some mystery guy Marcie seemed to have the hots for. The woman wouldn’t stop talking about him: Leo Wolfe. And just how would she know him when she met him? Masked and disguised? She held up the elaborate mask with the dark eyes and feathered headdress. She felt more like an albatross than the majestic being Marcie intended.

  The doorbell announced her doom. No way could she cancel with the limo here. What had she gotten herself into? She pulled the silver cloak over her shoulders and tucked the mask and headdress under her arm as she went for the door.

  The man outside was dressed in a black suit and tie with a domino mask covering his eyes. He looked like a bouncer, wide chested and bull necked. His voice crackled out, low and growling, “Miss Perez requests the honor of your company at the Masquerade.” The blue of his eyes gleamed as he watched her and waited for the response.

  What was the right phrase again? Marcie made her memorize it. “It is my pleasure to accept the privilege of the House Mistress’s generous invitation.” She wondered what the brute would do if she didn’t have it exactly right.

  “Your mask, lady.” He motioned a meaty hand toward the bundle under her arm, looking expectant.

  While she fumbled to get the feathery tangle in place, he walked her down the steps from her apartment and spoke in a low voice to her, “Do you know your word, lady?”

  “Yes. Tangerine.” She felt herself smile but the expression melted away as the man spoke without a change of his stern expression.

  “You understand you may depart at any time, for any reason. All you need to do is speak the word and find any doorman who will see you safe. Yes?” When she nodded, he inclined his head and offered her a large envelope before opening the door for her.

  She clutched the package in her gloved hand as a perfumed cloud swirled from the interior. Inside the limo, she found herself seated with five other women in masks. Theirs were not as elaborate as hers, but in gem colors like a rainbow. The door clicked closed behind her and she adjusted herself into the seat while the group eyed her.

  Although she couldn’t make out their faces, she could tell these were Marcie’s friends. They had long, lean bodies, suggesting they sustained themselves on a diet of cardio, silicone and tears. Thin and graceful with the best breasts and asses money could buy. In those costumes, they were the personification of a man’s wet dream.

  What in the hell was Ursa doing there among the Glamazons? She was barely five feet zero and a size nine for god sake. Stomach flu. Yup, she was definitely coming down with something!

  One of the women smiled behind the red scarf covering her eyes and offered her a flute of Veuve Clicquot. “Welcome to the pre-party,” she said in a throaty whisper. The others joined in her delighted laughter. The sound was musical, overflowing with excitement.

  Ursa accepted the glass, hands shaking, and the woman’s smile widened. “You don’t have to be afraid. No one is allowed to touch you unless you ask them. And all you have to do is say your word and they will stop.”

  “Or they’ll get their ass expelled,” murmured another of the women with eyes bound in sapphire silk, lifting her glass in salute.

  “No one wants to have their key and tokens revoked,” said another woman, this one with a purple scarf around her eyes, stretching out her impossibly long legs.

  Ursa bowed her face over the glass, bubbles tickling her nose. “I’m pretty sure I won’t have to worry about anyone getting grabby.”

  The woman with the ruby sash, who’d given her the drink, let her head tip to one side. A length of tawny curls tumbled over the swell of her breasts. “All you have to do is ask.”

  “Ask?” She moistened her lips and looked around at the women. They were each so impossibly beautiful it seemed ethereal. They were clad in gemstone hues and poised, with utter confidence.

  Ruby’s lips curled up into a mysterious smile and she leaned back into her seat. “It’s your first time, I see. Have a look at your packet. You’ll understand after you read it.”

  Ursa frowned, feeling all their attention on her as she sipped her drink and then set it aside so she could fumble at the envelope with her silken gloves. The parchment was golden, closed with blood-red wax and imprinted with the seal of an owl. A large silver key trailing a wide blue ribbon fell into her lap along with a lemon-scented card and several wooden disks dangling from blue ribbons. She squinted at the card.

  Welcome to the Masquerade, darling. You are gifted with suite 13 for the pleasures of your visit. Please keep the key on your person when outside your rooms. The wooden tokens of the owl are for your partner(s) to designate those claimed by you. No other patron(s) may molest them without your consent. The game is played this way—you select your friend(s) to accompany you for the weekend and offer them the token. They will accept or decline your offer. It need not be sexual company for there will be other activities in the atrium, pool, gardens and public areas. The key holder decides their fates. If your offer is refused, it is your obligation to behave with dignity and respect the wishes of the guest(s). There are many other guests to fulfill your needs.

  Guests are discouraged from propositioning key holders. It is up to you to communicate your desires and limits.

  While outside your suite, you are required to wear your mask and it is suggested that you communicate with your partners to ensure they firmly understand your comfort level in maintaining the secrecy of your identity. You are not allowed to force your partner(s) to reveal themselves to you, nor should you ever feel compelled to expose yourself. You or your partner(s) ma
y break the bond of the token at any time for any reason without question. The house requests both parties act with respect in such matters or risk expulsion from the house.

  When you select a partner(s) and they agree to your company, provide them your token and safe word. Do not change this word for the length of your stay as the house and staff knows this belongs to you and it will safeguard your partner(s) and yourself. Should you or your partner(s) find yourselves in a situation either deems uncomfortable, only speak the word and find a doorman who will see to amending the situation. The house does not tolerate bending or breaking the ethics of consent. Be rough, be joyous and be safe.

  Ursa felt her mouth go dry and she read over the card three times before looking up to find the women looking at her from behind their various masks, their smiles knowing. She noticed they were all wearing their keys around their necks, now that she realized what to look for. “I thought…”

  “That we were the entertainment?” The woman in an emerald mask laughed in delight and waggled her finger from side to side. “Oh no! We are patrons and key holders. We decide who to spend time with and they get to dangle on the string. You see a handsome man, or a lovely woman, you want their attention, you step to them and ask for them to keep you company. So long as they aren’t wearing a key or someone’s token, you’re good.”

  “You can always talk to the key holder of that token to negotiate some time together, though,” the woman in amethyst noted, her voice dreamy.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Ursa admitted, feeling her heart beating way too fast as she counted the tokens. “I knew this was a sex party but I… I…” She squeezed her fingers around the disks, trying to hide them.

  “You thought it would be a sex-orgy party where some masked man would just toss you on your belly and screw you without your approval and you wouldn’t be required to make the first move?” asked the woman in a topaz mask, sounding both understanding and sympathetic.

  “Something like that, yes. I can’t talk to a good-looking guy.” She could barely keep her foot out of her mouth to talk with a guy, period. When she went to take another drink of the bubbly, she realized that the glass was empty.

  “The Mistress of the house has a keen eye for what people need. Maybe she thought stepping outside your comfort zone is what you need. You are the holder of a key, so you decide what you want this weekend and how much you want and what you need,” the woman in ruby purred happily.

  “I’m only here for the night,” Ursa said as the woman in emerald poured her more champagne from the orange-labeled bottle. This was far outside her comfort zone!

  “You might be surprised how fast time flies,” Emerald murmured. “Breakfast in the atrium is not to be missed.”

  “But what if I ask someone and they say no?”

  “There are plenty of guests at the party,” Sapphire answered. “Don’t worry, you’re beautiful, Owl, and deserve all the joys the house has to offer. No different than the rest of us.”

  The five women, Ruby, Sapphire, Amethyst, Emerald and Topaz, lifted their glasses in salute and they toasted to pleasures to be.

  They shared their tokens so they could remember each other in the press of the party. Ruby was Otter, Sapphire was Fox, Amethyst was Badger, Emerald was Bear, Topaz was Lynx. Ursa felt almost comfortable by the time the limo slowed.

  “If you stay until morning, meet us in the atrium at sunrise and we’ll have a fine breakfast together and share our stories,” Topaz said cheerfully as she turned to Ursa, her smile warm. “We always have such a wonderful time first morning.”

  “If I stay,” Ursa answered, feeling warmth radiate into her cheeks. The other women looked just as eager to include her in their morning-after fun. Still, she imagined she would be running for the gates before the strike of midnight to get the hell out of there. A quickie and then she was gone.

  “We’ll hold a seat for you, Opal Owl,” Ruby said knowingly and slid out of the limo with the help of the hand extended to her.

  Ursa was the last to depart the comfort of the limo, feeling choked and breathless. Outside, she could hear harp and piano playing through the thrum of voices. When she hesitated longer, the driver in his simple mask leaned forward and offered her a smile.

  “Miss? May I assist you?”

  She checked again that the tokens were safe inside the clutch and that the key was visible against her modest cleavage and sucked in several breaths, struggling for calm. Then she accepted the leather-gloved hand and allowed him to help her out. A long line of limos trailed the driveway and drivers were handing guests out into the sunset evening. Everyone wore a mask, face wrap or headdress, each person’s identity concealed. The resplendent costumes in an array of colors stole her breath away. The driver gave her arm a pat and she realized she still clutched onto his arm. The women in their gem-colored outfits were deep in the throng of people moving toward the steps of the house.

  “Miss, don’t forget your ticket.” The man offered her the envelope and card she had nearly forgotten, his eyes fixed on hers. “Enjoy your weekend.”

  Somehow, she staggered along the walkway without falling on her face. Once she began moving in her stilettos, she realized there were not nearly as many people as she’d first imagined, only that they were all arriving at the same time. Classical music drifted over the grassy hillside and she saw the musicians situated on the expansive patio to one side of the lawn. She’d only seen Marcie’s apartment in Oakland. This place out in Saint Helena inspired awe. The exterior looked like a French villa perched high on the hill with marble steps leading up into the main house. The circular driveway featured a large fountain and tiered gardens with lush tropical plants and a lawn that taunted the current drought with its lush texture.

  She paused in her progress up the stairs to look around and marveled at the view of Napa Valley stretching around her. The hills rolled off into the distance and then dropped, stretching into the sunset against the distant mountain. Parcels of land formed random triangles of fields, and there were simple farmhouses and vineyards in yellows and oranges, others in brown and green as the vines made ready to drop their leaves for winter. It was far removed from the grime of her normal city life in Oakland.

  The brilliance of the costumes swirled around her—feathers, silks, furs—with everyone smiling at her as they passed. She snapped her gawking mouth closed and adjusted her mask to remind herself that no one knew her here.

  Only Marcie!

  Her friend wouldn’t deny her the pleasure of admiring the vista and the landscape and the house itself.

  When she reached the door at last, she found the way blocked by two hulking doormen in fine black suits and domino masks. One of the men inclined his head. “Lady Owl.” A white-gloved hand extended for her invitation. With trembling hands, she managed to remove the ticket stuck inside the envelope. The size of a credit card, it was made from metal and had an owl stamped into the face with five stars arched over its widespread wings. Under it was printed Patroness-Diamond ~ October 2015 – October 2025.

  One of his eyebrows arched as he looked up from the card and his voice was filled with a touch of awe. “Ma’am, this card will allow you access to the library, the cellar and rumpus rooms as you desire. May you enjoy all the delights the house has to offer. Should you need anything, any doorman can assist you. With anything.” He offered her back the card with a bow, dark eyes glinting warmly behind his mask. The other man swung the door open.

  Golden light sparkled out from the vast foyer as she stepped inside, heels wobbling unsteadily against the slippery marble. The space was so enormous that the crowd seemed diminished in the marble-tiled space. A musician played the piano while masked visitors lounged on the red-velvet sofas and couches. Many people sitting were not wearing keys and the majority of those guests were men, mostly in their twenties, although with masks it was hard to judge ages.

  Gorgeous women looked comfortable behind their masks and headdresses. Handsome men wer
e just as confident as the ladies, talking together in low voices. She felt her cheeks heat and touched her mask again.

  People looked at her, sizing her small, curved body in the silvery cloak she had not checked at the door. It allowed some modesty, which she needed while getting comfortable. An attendant with a tray of wine passed by and paused at her side, murmuring about the selection, “Cabernet Franc for the red, or Viognier for the white.”

  She selected the red and looked for a place to stand that would be out of the way just as the piano song ended and a familiar voice rang out above the low hum of voices.

  “Guests and patrons.” The woman in a deep indigo dress stepped into the center of the room, her golden key nuzzled against the swell of her breasts. The bejeweled corset gave her tall frame a wasp’s distinct silhouette. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to the October house event. This is always my favorite party for the California house. I welcome the newcomers and ask that our veterans take time to show them the ropes, so to speak. It is good for your karma.” She turned her masked face, scarlet lips curved into a smile when she met Ursa’s eyes. Even with the gilded wings at the temples and ornate mask worked in feathers and leather, she would be able to tell that was Marcie.

  “All four stories of the house are open to everyone as are the gardens, pool and atrium. Private spaces are locked and you should have the proper key if you are allowed access. I didn’t think I needed to state this before, but we do not allow pizza deliveries. Rhino’s absence is not an accident. We are not a frat house. The kitchen can accommodate your needs. You only need to make your requests in a timely manner if you desire something outside our regular meals. Respect the house and treat it as you would your own. Clean up after yourself and honor others under the same roof.”

  House Mistress paused and smoothed a hand down her stomach. “If you have any questions or concerns, any doorman can assist you. I will see you all in the morning at breakfast.” Smiling, she stepped back and the music picked up again, a lively jazz tune replaced the classic melody.