“Good evening, and thank you for coming to my party! I’m Lady Periwinkle.”

I smiled and took the outstretched hand of the strange woman who greeted me at the mansion’s door. She was indeed dressed all in purple—periwinkle—from her lace-encrusted hat to her pointy lavender shoes, just poking out from under her gauzy dress. I could not judge her age; she could be anywhere from twenty-five to a well-preserved forty-five. I think her hair was blond under all that hat, though it was hard to tell. Her dark eyes sparkled with life and joy, and made me want to be her friend forever. “Emma Foster,” I said, wondering whether I was supposed to shake her hand or kiss it. I settled for a gentle pressing of the fingers, the lightest squeeze. She squeezed back with just slightly more pressure; I felt warm and welcomed.

“Of course, of course!” she trilled. “Do come in—and remember, character names only! It’ll be so much more fun that way.” With that, she turned and gestured to the room behind her.

It was an entryway, and it was bigger than my apartment on the other side of the city—an apartment I shared with a roommate and a cat. Sounds of a party wafted in from a room beyond the entry hall: laughter, clinking glasses, the soft strains of a string quartet.

I’d known this would be an interesting evening, from the moment my boss Trevor had handed me the engraved invitation last week. “Costume party, one of our biggest clients, she asked for you specifically,” he’d said. I had needed no further prompting, though I was puzzled that I hadn’t met her before. I’d worked at the downtown art gallery for nearly three years now and thought I knew all the important clients. And how had she known to ask for me for tonight? “Sadly, I’ll be out of town, but you should not miss it,” Trevor had told me.

Now I smiled again at this fascinating woman and followed her inside.

“May I take your coat?” she asked.

“Thank you.” I unbuckled and shrugged out of my trench coat, handing it to her. My phone and car keys and wallet were in its pockets, but I trusted that would be fine. If they weren’t safe here, they wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

Her eyes widened as she took in my costume. “Oh, my. What a marvelous disguise, Selina,” she purred, taking my arm as she drew me with her toward the grand, brightly lit room just past the entryway. “Very…daring.”

I glanced down at myself. I’d bought the Catwoman outfit for a Halloween several years ago, then at the last minute had been too shy to actually wear it. I hadn’t even been sure it would still fit, when I’d tried it on earlier this evening.

But it had fit. And what’s more, it looked darn good. And, most importantly, as I wouldn’t know anyone here, it had felt safe to wear.

It’s fun to pretend to be somebody else. At least for one evening.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to stifle my self-consciousness. My hostess’s steady hand on my arm continued to send calmness through me, though. This was going to be all right.

A costumed butler stepped silently into the room from a side hallway. Lady Periwinkle let go of me to hand him my coat, then turned back to me. “And now to the gallery.”

“Gallery?” I asked, confused.

She waved to the room ahead of us. “My multi-purpose room.”

“Ah.”

She gave me an impish smile. “Masks on!” she chirped, raising a fringed, periwinkle mask to her own eyes.

I complied, grateful for the further anonymity my cat’s-eye mask gave me as I drew it down over my face. She took my arm once more and we stepped into the gallery—though I’d have called it a ballroom. It was a giant, beautiful space, big enough to play soccer in. With an audience.

“Darlings,” Lady Periwinkle said. Though she hadn’t raised her voice, nearly everyone turned to look at us: dozens of masked lords and ladies, monsters and beasts, fairy princesses and goblin soldiers. Even the live string quartet at the back of the huge room paused a moment. “It gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce ‘Selina Kyle’, my newest friend. I know you will make her feel more than welcome here.”

Nods and smiles greeted me from all across the room. The cellist, a strikingly handsome young man dressed as Count Dracula, gave me a particularly brilliant smile before the quartet began another number.

“Champagne?” asked Lady Periwinkle, as a passing waitress offered us a tray.

“Thank you.” I took a bubbling glass, as did my hostess. We toasted, clinking the glasses together gently. The silver tone of real crystal met my ears as her amused eyes met mine over her glass.

“Only the best,” she whispered. “Always, ever, only the best.” Then she turned, as if responding to a distant call for attention. “Do enjoy the party,” she murmured, looking back at me a moment and patting my arm absently before sweeping off to the front hall once more.

Abandoned, yet at the same time feeling quite welcomed, I stood at the outskirts of the party, taking the measure of the room. Come to think of it, probably I did know people here; but would I recognize them, disguised? Unlikely.

I couldn’t decide whether this made me feel bolder or more shy.

“Is it terribly hot?” came a low, intimate voice near my left ear.

Startled, I turned, finding a fey Robin Hood by my side. I stifled a gasp: though he too wore a mask (forest green, matching his feathered cap), his stunning emerald eyes seemed to look right through me. “Is…what?” I stammered.

He gave me a slow, languorous look, up and down. “Your costume. All that skintight vinyl. You must be burning up in there.”

“Actually, it’s leather,” I said, absently running a hand across the curve of my waist, feeling the smoothness of the material. “So it breathes, a bit.”

His gorgeous eyes widened behind the mask, following my hand for a long moment before looking back up at my face. “I’ve never seen leather…give quite like that.”

I smiled. “It’s a new process. Lambskin, lined with a very stretchy composite.”

“It must have cost a fortune.”

I shrugged. “I know someone in the business. They cut me a deal.” And what in the world was this conversation, anyway? Whatever I had expected from this party, it wasn’t a discussion of the intricacies of fabric.

Time to turn the tables. Deliberately channeling Catwoman’s own boldness, I looked him over as appraisingly as he had done me. Tall, broad-shouldered; dark hair under his adorable cap; those green eyes, over a bold nose, strong jaw, and very, very kissable lips. His rough-spun clothing fit him like a bespoke suit for a Saville Row banker. “I like your costume as well, Robin. Very authentic. Should I be worried about being robbed?”

He laughed, and it was as if the sun came out. In my belly. No, a few inches below my belly, to be perfectly honest. I shifted slightly and took a sip of my champagne to cover my sudden flush. “Why? You’ve just made it clear you are not the wealthy I steal from.” His eyes raked my leather-clad body once more. “With your ‘someone in the business’ discounted costume.”

Lady Periwinkle returned to the room, escorting an older couple elegantly dressed as some sort of retro sci-fi-movie royalty, in long draping gowns covered with moons and stars and spaceships; silver-painted faces and very believable antennae completed the look. She did not announce them to the room at large, but merely walked between them, chatting gaily as she led them to a table over by the string quartet.

Robin Hood watched them go before turning back to me and reaching out his hand. “I’m Justin, by the way.”

“Emma,” I said, and then yanked my own hand back just before it touched his. “Wait, we’re not supposed to use real names! ‘Lady Periwinkle’ said character names only!”

Robin—Justin—laughed again, and my heart skipped a beat. “Oh, our lady does love her games. She doesn’t mean it. Besides, I won’t tell if you don’t.” His eyes danced with merriment.

“Really?”

His hand was still extended. “It’s your first time, isn’t it? Come now, I won’t bite.”

I grinned back at him. “Yeah.” Then I took his hand and gave it a polite shake. He held my hand a moment longer than strictly necessary, allowing me ample time to appreciate how warm, and how firm yet soft, it was.

Sheesh, Emma, give it a rest, I told myself. Desperate much?

The thing was, I wasn’t desperate. True, I was taking a little break from romance after Sam had left last year. Though there had been indications that he wasn’t The One—indications I’d ignored fiercely, the more obvious they got—I had fallen hard enough for him that I knew my heart needed some repair time. And having no boyfriend meant plenty of time to focus on my career.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you around.” Justin let go of my hand, only to turn and take my arm, much as Lady Periwinkle had earlier. Except…the effect was much, much warmer.

This man burned with some internal fire, let me tell you. And though I tried not to, I could not stop my mind from going all sorts of interesting places as I let him lead me to a table, not far from where the sci-fi royalty had been seated.

This table, however, was full of younger folk, many of whom were dressed as superheroes, movie villains, and other comic book characters (like me). I met a Superman, a Mega Man, a Wonder Woman, and an odd little grey fuzzy fellow who told me that he was an aardvark. He gave me an unhappy sneer when I clearly didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, and returned to talking to the young woman (some sort of blue goddess) next to him. Everyone else was friendly enough; in fact, the Superman gave me a smoldering ‘come-hither’ look, which I found amusing. I’d always thought of the Man of Steel as rather straight-laced.

Drinks flowed. Strangely, there was nothing to eat, only the endlessly replenished glasses of delicious champagne. The string quartet played livelier and livelier numbers; people got up to dance, elegant formulaic dances that looked just beautiful when performed by so many costumed folks. I fell into conversation with the Wonder Woman, who told me her name was Grace and that she worked for a print shop downtown, not far from our gallery. There, see? I told myself. Making professional connections is all. This must be why Trevor wanted me to come.

Yet all the while I talked with Grace, I could not let go of my awareness of Justin right next to me. It was like sitting beside a roaring fire made of puppies and delight. Maybe the fact that he never stopped touching me had something to do with it—tiny little brushes of my elbow, his knee bumping against mine briefly, a gentle hand on mine. It should have felt invasive, intrusive…but it didn’t. Quite the opposite. I found myself yearning, leaning in, breathlessly awaiting the next sweet contact.

What in the world was the matter with me? It had to be the champagne.

The string quartet gave a final flourish and laid down their bows. The audience erupted with laughter. “Thank you!” said the cellist—Count Dracula—looking out at us all with dark, dancing eyes. “Now that you’ve gotten warmed up, I hope you’ll keep moving for our next group, the Blue Night Notes.”

A jazz combo was already taking the string musicians’ places, and within minutes, a smooth dance number started up.

Dracula strode over to our table, grinning at us all. Me in particular. “Ah, the moment I’ve been waiting for,” he said, holding my eyes. I was as mesmerized as if he’d been a true vampire. I almost forgot about Justin beside me…

“I’m so sorry, Finley, but she’s already agreed to dance with me,” Justin said, drawing me to my feet before I even realized what was happening. I flowed smoothly into his arms; he spun me around, holding me from behind so we could both look at Dracula—Finley.

There was a spark of electricity between the two men; the rest of the table paused to watch. I saw the Superman shift in his chair, as if ready to leap up and defend my virtue. Then Finley smiled again, showing very convincing fangs, and the tension was broken. “My turn will come,” he murmured, turning his head after a long moment to look down at the table. At Grace.

“I’ll dance with you,” she breathed.

The vampire reached down an elegant white hand, which she took.

Justin led me to the center of the floor, our steps to get there already becoming part of the dance. Our bodies moved in perfect rhythm, sweeping and gliding and rocking to the gentle beat of the music. I had never danced with anyone so skilled, so perfectly capable of conveying his intentions with the lightest touch or shift of his weight. I lost myself in the dance. In his emerald eyes. In his touch.

“You are driving me mad, you know,” he murmured in my ear, after we had danced three, four, nineteen songs, I don’t know how many. We danced for hours, it seemed, and I never tired, just drank in Justin’s scent, his powerful male-ness. His body pressed gently against mine; I could feel his generous arousal. His hand rested on my lower back, just above the swell of my ass in the tight leather. Just above Catwoman’s tail, swishing and swaying with us to the music.

“Mmm,” I purred. Could the champagne still be affecting me so strongly? I hadn’t had a sip since we got up from our table…how long ago now? Time had slipped away from me entirely. I didn’t feel drunk, not on the wine, anyway. I felt that everything I needed, to sustain me forever, could be found in these strong arms.

I felt drunk with Justin.

The music stopped. The musicians smiled and bowed as the crowd applauded them. I did not want to clap; I did not want to take my hands off of Justin, ever. But he released me, and so I did the polite thing.

We stood next to one another—half an inch, that was a million miles. But it broke the spell, at least briefly. I told myself I had to remember who I was, where I belonged, where I had come from. I did not come from the kind of world that had costume parties in gorgeous mansions; I was here because my boss sent me. Because it would be good for the gallery, to put in an appearance at this obviously wealthy woman’s home.

And here she was: Lady Periwinkle, standing before the two of us as we left the dance floor, returning to our table. “What a delight!” she cried, looking us both over. “I had been so hoping you would meet. That you would…appreciate one another.”

“She is marvelous, milady,” Justin said, all Robin Hood once more, though a courtly and polite one. He swept his green cap off his head as he bent into a deep bow. “I thank you ever so much for the opportunity.”

I looked between the two of them, pleased but befuddled. She had been delighted to see me when I’d arrived this evening, too, though I knew I had never met her before in my life. I most certainly would have remembered her.

What in the world had my boss told her about me? And why was she trying to set up me and Justin?

No matter: I needed no convincing to be attracted to the man. “And I thank you too,” I told her, belatedly finding my tongue. My words came out…not quite slurred, but I didn’t sound entirely sober either. I put a hand up to cover my mouth. “I’m sorry, too much champagne.”

She laughed, a high, tinkling sound. “Of course, my dear. I see. Do feel free to take one of the guest rooms. I never like to see anyone driving home when they shouldn’t.”

“Oh, gosh, no, I—” I started, but Justin took over.

“So we are further and further in your debt, milady,” he said smoothly, putting his wicked, sweet hand at the narrow of my waist once more, guiding me toward the back of the ballroom, toward a hallway I hadn’t even noticed was there.

Toward a bedroom.