Ashley

Knox had always been a good dancer. The ladies on base and at the officers' club were in constant competition to snag him as a partner. It didn't hurt that he was charming and handsome, too. A man who can dance is a rare commodity. This was one commodity I wanted to show off to the rest of the single community here in the ballroom. If I had to flaunt him myself, I wasn't above doing it and enjoying it.

I'd had a few mismatches this evening, leaving some singles downhearted and disappointed. It happens. Chemistry is unpredictable. I wanted these singles to have fun too. If I got lucky, maybe some of them would hit it off. It didn't hurt to parade the smooth-dancing Knox before the single ladies and dangle him tantalizingly in front of them.

I hadn't danced with Knox in years, not since before Ruck died. I was happy to find that we still moved as smoothly and comfortably together as we had before. He still had a sense of humor that was almost incomparable. And the loss of several of his fingers and part of his left hand didn't seem to handicap him. It was me, mostly, that was still surprised by it. Me who had to remember to clasp his left hand differently.

Maybe the bachata hadn't been the best dance to dance with him. It was highly sensual, and Knox, who loved to act, played up every bit of pretending to be my lover. I thought it was funny. He was teasing me as only Knox could. Dancing with him brought back so many happy, poignant memories, and the feeling of youth again—I'd been so young when I married Ruck. I couldn't help enjoying myself. It was good to dance with an old, familiar friend. Good to laugh while we danced. Good to know my partner's moves almost as well my own.

I would, of course, have loved to dance with Lazer. I half expected him to cut in and take over. I glanced around for him. But he was constantly otherwise occupied, either with his friends, solving a problem that came up, answering staff questions, or helping a client.

I would have loved to completely lose myself in the fun of dancing with Knox, but I was still on duty too. Selfishly, I wanted to keep dancing with him. Professionally, I was looking to hand him off to some lucky woman. At the same time, I was keeping an eye on the dancers around us and giving myself atta-girls for so many matches well made. Despite the few failures, my success percentage was high, by what I could judge. I was leading the way to having fun, trying to show others that you could have it even if you weren't dancing with the love of your life.

I let Knox dip me and bring me back up. Trust. I trusted him as a dance partner. He stuck out his leg, bending at the knee. I knew what he wanted me to do. I looped my leg over his and slid my leg over it and around his waist at his back. He grabbed my butt and hoisted me up. I looped my other leg around his waist. He spun us for several rotations and slid me back down him, our chests in contact, until my feet touched the floor. He caught my hand and eggbeatered me out, then caught me tightly in his arms.

I'd been monitoring Dylan and Laura dancing with each other. They were a striking pair. Head and shoulders above the crowd, they stood out. But they could also dance. And yes, I had found out what Laura's favorite song was and asked the band to play it on my signal.

Sometimes my clients think I'm asking them silly questions during our initial interviews and trying to put them at ease. Simple things like asking their favorite color or song or flower. But I'm taking notes that can be used by potential matches, and me, to impress them and build bonds of intimacy. You can't get to know someone who's uptight and closed to you. It doesn't hurt the mood if one of my clients just happens to put on a date's favorite song or give her a favorite flower or wear her favorite color. It opens the door to more meaningful, honest, deep conversations.

When I saw Laura and Dylan dancing together, I looked for my opportunity to make the biggest impact and keep them together just a little longer. Those few extra minutes of intimacy can put a relationship on the right path forever. In the early hours and days of getting to know each other, every minute counts. Every impression must be a good one.

As patiently as I could, I waited through dance after dance, watching them from the corner of my eye, pleased that they were spending so much time on the dance floor and in each other's arms. When it looked like they were tiring, but so close to making an inseparable bond with each other, I subtly signaled the band. The bandleader nodded. I smiled to myself. Lucky for me, the song was a slow one and had a message they needed to hear and believe. Love is elastic. It can bounce back from a bad start and past misperceptions. Maybe that was why Laura liked it so much.

As devious and conniving as I was, I was surprised when the crowd parted to give Dylan and Laura more room to move. I was touched by the power of their emotion as they danced together, pleased that they were so beautiful together, and momentarily horrified when Dylan fell to the floor and began slithering toward Laura in a parody of the music video. He was being so Dylan—unable to take even the most romantic of things seriously.

But my worry was quickly proven wrong. He knew her better than I did, which was perfect. As I watched, she smiled. To my amazement and delight, she laughed and began imitating the music video too, down to the dramatic conclusion. When she raced from the room, I froze. Knox bumped into me. He hadn't been expecting my sudden halt. His gaze followed mine.

The room went quiet. I held my breath, just like everyone else, as we waited to see what would happen. Laura was brilliant. When she burst back through the doors of the ballroom, she conveyed a clear message—she was coming back for Dylan. It was like an allegory for their relationship. I relaxed.

Every relationship has a pivotal moment. Very rarely do outsiders, particularly matchmakers, get to see them. This was it for them. I had a gut feeling. They'd sealed the deal. There might be rough moments ahead, but this would work. I broke into elated applause with everyone else.

The moment was perfect. Until I got a glimpse of Lazer. He was staring at Knox and me with the darkest expression I'd ever seen on him—pure, unadulterated anger.

---

Laura

We necked in the elevator. We necked in the hall. We couldn't keep our hands off each other all the way to Dylan's suite. My heart was thumping out of control as he unlocked the door to his room and I held him tightly around the waist from behind. Would the masks come off now? Would the truth of who we really were ruin the moment?

We both knew, but by not admitting, we could pretend to be the strangers we both were and weren't. We'd known each other for years. But only our adolescent selves. The intervening years had honed us, whittled us and shaped us into better, more confident people. Kinder and more accepting, I hoped. I knew I'd grown. It appeared Dylan had, too.

We both knew what this was and what going to his room meant. We weren't up here to talk. Sure, it was quieter here, and private. We could have poured out our hearts without others hearing. Maybe later we would.

A bedside lamp was turned on low. The outer curtains were open, revealing the city lights beyond through the privacy gauze of the inner lining curtains. There was a mint on each sumptuous set of pillows, and a red rose draped across them. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver ice bucket on a table set for two by the window. A delicious array of handcrafted chocolates was artfully arranged on a plate.

I raised an eyebrow. Not that Dylan could see it. I pointed to the rose. "You were expecting company?"

He laughed. He was good at hiding it, but I detected a trace of nerves and embarrassment. "Damn that Cam. This is the honeymoon suite." He studied the table and shook his head, softly swearing beneath his breath at this Cam person again. "My buddy Cam got me good. Now I see why he wanted me to have the room."

He shook his head. "He ribbed me about Ashley thinking I had the best match and the best chance of success. Sorry." His voice was full of awe. "I can't say I disagree. About having the best match, I mean."

I smiled. "I got that."

"The ballroom is a venue for lots of weddings that go late into the night. Bridal couples often spend their first night here when the wedding celebration goes late into the night. This looks like the honeymoon package to me. When someone books the room, the staff must set it up like this as a default." He sighed. "Or Cam pranked me."

I shrugged. "Chocolates and champagne don't offend me."

He grinned, tossed his duster over the back of a chair, and set his cowboy hat on the dresser. He was still masked, and so was I.

I pulled my purse off my shoulder and set it next to his hat, glancing at him in the mirror above the dresser. Sometimes the only way to get an answer was to be direct. I turned to face him. "Masks on or masks off?"

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Do you know who I am? Do you want to?"

I nodded and slipped out of my shoes. "I know who you're supposed to be. I know who I think you are. I like the man I've met tonight. Is that the answer you're looking for?"

I took a step toward him and began slowly unbuttoning his shirt. With his boots on, he was a good six inches taller than I was. Oh, the pleasure of those six inches. It made me feel normal and average. Crazy that being average made me feel sexy. When was the last time I'd been out with a guy taller than I was? With a man who made me feel small and feminine?

I kissed his neck as I unbuttoned the last button of his shirt, pulled it free from his pants, and let it fall open. He wore a white tank top undershirt, just like the character he was portraying. "I know what the space cowboy you're dressed like would do. You're dressed like him right down to your undershirt."

"Authenticity in cosplay is key."

"Is it?" I looked up into his eyes. "I've seen the episode at the ball. Your space cowboy would leave the mask on because mystery is sexy. And who wants to destroy an illusion? Tonight's a fantasy. There's time tomorrow for reality and explanations. For plain talking, as your cowboy would say. Why complicate things now?"

He pulled me to him and kissed me deeply. A man who knows how to kiss is as delightful to find as a man who knows how to dance. I let him lead, opening my mouth to him when he teased my lips with his tongue. Sucking his lip, pressing myself to him.

Cowboys are easy enough to undress. I had no problem maintaining lip contact as I slid his shirt off his shoulders, revealing firm biceps and taut shoulders. His undershirt came off next. The old, soft Dylan that the other guys made fun of during games of skins versus shirts teams was long gone, and now would have been the envy of most of them, if not all. My fingers itched to touch him. There was no reason to deny myself. I ran my hands over the hard planes of his chest and his ripped abs.

He was still beneath my touch, breathing shallowly as I admired his body and caressed him, kissing him where I liked. Licking him. Pausing to suck his nipples.

Finally, he murmured something obscene about restraint and limits, grabbed me, and spun me around to face the mirror, my back toward him. He held me by the waist, staring at the back of my laced corset.

I looked back at him over my shoulder. "Stumped, cowboy?"

"I'm pretty good with costumes, but how the hell did you get into this one and how do I get you out?"

"I had help getting in," I said. "Help that involved a lot of breath-holding and a foot at my back. It's complicated." I turned and cupped his face in my hands. "Maybe it's best to leave me in the top half."

Wearing a mask made me bold. "This lower part comes off easily enough." I slid my pants off while undulating and doing a move from the bachata. I stepped out of them, revealing a tiny pair of thong panties.

I slipped my fingers into the waistband. "These shouldn't be too much of a barrier for you." I pointed to the bed. "Take off your boots."

He grinned. "Whatever you say, ma'am." He sat, pulled them off, and tossed them aside. Before I could help him, he unzipped his pants and slipped them off, along with his underwear, producing a condom between his fingers as if by magic. He held the condom up. But that wasn't the thing that was up that caught my attention. Dylan was as amply endowed as I'd imagined. Big man, big pleasure.

I took the condom from him and whistled softly. "Quality brand." I ripped open the wrapper.

"Only the best." He grabbed my hand. "This is against the rules."

"Is it?" I pulled the condom from its wrapper and slid into his lap, facing him with my knees one either side of his hips, his big, beautiful erection between us. "Five dates. That's the rule, isn't it?" I slid the condom onto him and stroked him. "Why, I feel like I've known you forever, cowboy. Since we were children, at least. Feelings got to count for something on this planet."

If you stretched the facts a bit, we had been on five dates. I watched him make the same mental calculations.

"Funny thing about that." He grabbed my thighs. "I feel the same way."

"Good. We're in complete agreement." I pressed my forehead to his, rose on my knees, pulled my panties aside, and slid onto him. The best way to do a big man was on top. It put me in control of the thrust. It was a good thing my knees were on the soft mattress—they went completely weak. "Mmmmmm."

He took my face in his hands and kissed me. I rode him slowly and kissed him passionately, working my hips as if dancing the bachata the way I'd wanted to all night—full contact, full passion, no holds barred. He ran his hands down my neck, over my shoulders. He held me tightly at the waist, undulating with me.

I wanted to savor this moment. I wanted to ride it forever. I was wild with want. I was full of paradoxes and full of him.

If love was a dance, we were dancing it. Every move we'd feigned during the dance, we made with full, naked contact now—touching, exploring with our hands, mouths, and lips. After all the tease of the dance, we were lovers at last, free to act on our impulses, safely hidden behind our masks.

He fell onto his back, pulling me with him. He looked up at me. "You're a beautiful sight." He thrust up.

I gasped.

While I was distracted with pleasure, he rolled us over.

"This is a beautiful view, too."

Making love with a man who looks at you while you move together is sexy and intimate in a way I wouldn't have imagined. Most of the men I'd had sex with had been too lost in their own pleasure to care about staying connected to me. Dylan was different. His eyes held mine, even though he couldn't be sure of it.

His thrusts were powerful, but measured, as if he was afraid of being too rough with me. His gentleness wasn't something I was used to, either. Most of the men I'd dated just assumed a big girl like me could take anything. I was touched.

I wasn't a screamer, but I liked to murmur and moan to show my appreciation. But even if I'd wanted to, I would have been unable to hold my moans in. This was where I wanted to be. This was the man I wanted to be with.

He was so gentle and slowly rhythmical, so considerate and patient as he brought me toward climax that it took me some time to realize he was holding back.

I cupped his face. "Let yourself go, cowboy." I arched up and kissed him.

That kiss pushed us both over the edge into sublime waves of pleasure. The power of my climax shook me all the way to my soul. Or so it felt.

When it was over, he gently collapsed on me, holding the bulk of his weight off me.

I held him to me and stroked his hair. His mask scratched at the bare skin of my shoulder, but I didn't care. I barely felt it.

We lay in contented silence. This was the way things should be.

Finally, he lifted his head. "Champagne?"

"I was thinking chocolate."