Cora tried to pull herself free from the man’s grip, but he held on despite how she tugged. She sagged, her legs suddenly too heavy and clumsy for her to walk with.

This was the drunkest she’d ever felt, and she’d only had two glasses of champagne. And a shot of tequila, which had burned her throat like liquid fire.

The man from the restaurant slid an arm around her waist, maneuvering her into one of the alcoves studding the ballroom. It was furthest away from the bar and the crowd, but much closer to the DJ box. Here, the music was so loud that it made her clothes shiver against her body.

Something soft under her—a booth—and then a warm body flush against her urging her deeper inside the dark well.

“Who are you?” she asked, when she should have been yelling for help. But, for some reason, she didn’t feel in danger. Not right now. Her body was warm, the air fuzzy and thick around her. Like a hug.

“Simon,” the man said, speaking into her ear.

Simon says, ‘spread your legs, bitch.’

Cora laughed.

Simon gave her a quizzical look, his brown eyes glittering as a strobe light caught them.

He snatched up her hand, feeling her pulse. Then he leaned close, thumbing back her eyelids in a smooth, practiced motion.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, his voice different now. No longer soft and sensual, but brisk and business like.

She’d preferred the man who’d dropped to one knee with a gift in his hand. If he hadn’t done it in the middle of a crowded dance floor, letting everyone in the vicinity know who she was, then she’d have accepted it.

It would have been the first present she’d received today. The first present in the last ten years that hadn’t come from her father.

She held out her hands, cupping her palms. “Give it,” she said, but the words came out soft and slurred. She giggled, and ran her hand down the man’s chest. She’d seen him put the box back in his pocket, but she couldn’t remember which one.

Clumsy fingers couldn’t hold their grasp, and her hand slipped into his lap.

He was hard.

Her hand flinched away, but he grabbed it back and lay her fingers over his dick, urging her to stroke him through his suit pants. He slid closer on the bench, and took the gift box from his pocket.

“Looking for this?” Simon asked, his mouth right by her ear.

His voice had gone soft again. It sent a shiver through her.

He drew her hand off his lap, and levered open the lid of the box. In the darkness, she couldn’t quite make out what was inside, but when cool metal brushed her skin, she knew it was jewelry.

“Thank you,” she said, her mouth garbling the words into something unintelligible.

Simon tugged at the bracelet as if to make sure it was securely closed. Then he turned concerned eyes back on her.

“What did you take?” His voice was stern again.

She shrugged, and then shook her head. No, she hadn’t taken anything, had she?

Had she?

Dios Mio, he was so much hotter than she remembered. Flawless skin, thick long hair, and such intelligent eyes.

Simon ducked his head, and pressed his mouth to hers. A shock coursed through her, sending a warm, tingling wave between her legs.

What the hell was she doing?

Cora tried to push away, but she had no strength in her arms. Simon deepened their kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth, sucking at her, urging her to respond.

Was she having an out-of-body experience? Because things were happening that she had no control over.

This was wrong. This guy could be DEA, FBI, anything, and she was sitting here making out with him?

But it didn’t matter how tumultuous the thoughts were racing through her mind; she just got wetter and wetter.

Simon pulled back, panting into her mouth. “Christ,” he murmured into her ear as he grasped roughly at her breast. “I should be arresting you. But all I want to do is fuck you.”

His words sent an electric whip over her skin. Cora’s back bowed, pushing her breast firmly into his hand.

Then her body went numb.

Panic made her heart flutter in her chest.

“What’s…wrong…?” she asked.

Simon drew back, blinking at her in sudden confusion. He touched the corner of her mouth with a finger, and then looked deep into her eyes.

“You’ve been drugged,” he said, putting his mouth by her ear.

Her heart should have started pounding. Instead, she laughed.

Who would drug her?

No…Who wouldn’t?

Her men had known this party was a bad idea, but she’d pressured them into accepting it because she’d wanted to prove to everyone that she wasn’t scared, that she wouldn’t back down.

“You…” she tried to imply.

“Christ, no,” the man said. Simon drew away from her and began backing out of the booth. “Let me see if I can find someone to—”

A silhouette blocked his path. Vaguely familiar.

Hope soared through her.

And then crystallized a second later when light flashed on the side of the person’s face.

Neo.

He had to see she was in some kind of trouble. He would help her, wouldn’t he?

Neo stepped aside and gestured. She recognized both men who stepped from the shadows; Santino because he wasn’t wearing a mask, and Miguel because he was still wearing his terrifyingly lewd devil’s mask.

Santino grabbed Simon by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out of the booth. And then they were gone, and it was Neo sliding onto the seat.

She hadn’t moved, because she couldn’t.

Neo lifted her hand from the table, laying it over his palm and patting it. He gave her a mirthless smile before leaning closer.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said.