Mardi Gras

by, a few empty plates in her grasp, he lowered a hand to her arm.
“Have you seen Mia?”
She shook her head. “Now that you mention it, no. But Jack said she was coming.” He gave a slight nod, then let Liz go on her way.
Yet he couldn’t stop a wayward pang of envy for his best friend. Liz had it all. In fact, he’d gotten the opportunity to get a taste of Liz in bed back when she and Jack had first met—they’d wanted to experiment with a threesome, and who was he to stand in the way? Fortunately, things had never been awkward after that. He’d understood it was a one-time experience and from that point on, he’d been happy to get to know Liz as a friend and Jack’s future wife. But as he’d implied to Jack earlier in the week, he often found himself wondering how Jack had gotten so lucky to have his soulmate walk right into his life when he wasn’t even looking for anything like that.
Hell, maybe he did want to settle down. If not, then why was he so jealous of Jack’s happiness lately?
He was having stupid thoughts, that was all. And if he was smart, he’d quit dwelling on those stupid thoughts and do what he’d planned to do at this party—find some lovely, wild woman who wanted to cut loose and have some Mardi Gras fun.
It was at that precise moment he saw the lady across the room. Even behind her mask, he felt her watching him.
A redhead with a smokin’ body. They made eye contact and she slowly licked her upper lip. Sexy as hell.
22
Mardi Gras
As he felt the first hint of a reaction in his cock, he decided that maybe his wish was coming true—the redhead must be a friend of Liz’s and she looked exactly like a woman who wanted to get together and get naked.
If his experience held, they’d have a good night or two—or five, or ten—of sex, and then it would be over, but that was okay. Despite his brief moments of wife-envy, he’d pretty much accepted that having sex without romance was just part of how his life worked. And if he’d needed a sign to prove it, the sexy lady in black and silver was it.
Even now, with her gaze intent upon him from behind that alluring mask, she dipped her finger into her glass of wine, then sensually slid it into her mouth, sucking it dry. His chest went warm and his groin tightened further. Very nice, baby, he thought, and hoped like hell she could read the response in his eyes.
Just then, someone bumped into her—a guy, someone else Ty didn’t know. The dark-haired corporate type began talking to her, making her smile, and an unbelievable, and unreasonable, ire rose inside him at having their silent flirtation interrupted. It made his cock go even harder, made him want her even more, feeling as if Mr. Clean Cut over there had just invaded his territory.
Just as he was contemplating walking over and finding some way to stake his claim without seeming like a madman, the guy moved on. Looking after him, the lady in the mask switched her glass from one hand to the other, and in the process dropped her cocktail napkin. It fluttered to the floor at her feet.
To Ty’s surprise, she cast a quick glance in his direction. To make sure he was still watching her?
Then she turned away from him and bent over at the waist, going down, down, making her skirt rise so far in the back—past the sexy, lacy tops of her stockings and well up onto black garters stretched tight—that he stood waiting to catch a glimpse of the mound between her thighs. The skirt didn’t quite go that far, but by the time she retrieved the napkin and stood back up, he was so stiff it almost hurt.
23
Lacey Alexander
Just then, a piece of silverware tapped against a wineglass, and the buzz of voices filling the room went quiet, leaving only a slow Cajun waltz in its place. “There’s plenty more jambalaya in the kitchen for anyone who wants it,” Liz announced.
Standing beside her, Jack added, “And if you’re ready for dessert, we’ve got fresh beignets and, even though it’s a little late in the season, a great big king cake.”
“Never too late for king cake!” someone yelled in a heavy Louisiana drawl.
Traditionally, the king cake was supposed to be served on January sixth, the epiphane and official start of the Mardi Gras season. A plastic baby, to symbolize the new year, was baked into the cake, and whoever got the piece with the baby had to host the next soiree. But, tradition aside, king cake was a pretty common treat right up through Fat Tuesday—it wouldn’t be a Mardi Gras party without one.
Turning his attention back to the hot redhead, Ty found she’d left her spot to move toward the dessert table. He decided to hang back and avoid the crowd for the moment—he’d approach her when there weren’t so many people around her.
Looked like she’d volunteered to help hand out the cake as Liz cut it—he watched as she picked up two purple paper plates topped with cake and took a few steps into the room until two partygoers relieved her of them. The same scenario repeated three times until it hit him that he was totally caught up in staring at her. But he couldn’t help it. He was getting intoxicated by her lush cleavage and that sexy see-through blouse, and her black strappy heels were so hot he thought he might like to feel one of them digging slightly into his back. Oh yeah.
Just then she grabbed up another slice of cake and started weaving through the crowd until she reached…him. She held up the plate with a come-hither smile.
“Hungry?” she asked in a low, drop-dead sexy voice.
He felt the question in his cock. “Very,” he replied, peering down into warm