Free Hard As Stone (Beautiful Betrayal Book 1) by Alex Elliott

huge victory celebration. We’re hanging out in her dad’s West Village penthouse for the weekend. Our only plan is to dance all night, and I don’t care that within the last hour, I’ve downed far too many shots to recollect.
    I’m twenty-six and with the help of Brooke, just put one over on my grandparents. I’m alive and well with a job interview. Feeling the zeal of power, I’m not about to sit and worry about my future tonight. Not when there’s a bounty of handsome men around who smile at me, charming enough to make even me believe that I could do something offbeat and off-the-wall. Say, ditch my friends in a New York City second and lose myself.
    When in Rome?
    Wearing a pound of makeup and this itty-bitty borrowed dress, I agree that Brooke has a point. The men giving Kat and me a once-over have no idea who I am, and don’t frigging care. To them I’m not a disappointment or a doorway to Nantucket. This club is a tease. A sensory delight. And I swear, I’ll do whatever is required to land that paid internship. I’m going to love escaping from Boston and starting my life. My life!
    “We’re almost sprinting,” I gasp.
    “Don’t want to miss the best part.” Katrina doesn’t stop until we’re out in the middle of the dance floor. Soon afterward, she’s sandwiched between two guys and shouts, “Come join us.”
    “I’m good.” I close my eyes. This is what it’s like to be free. I lift my arms, swivel my hips, absorbing the notes of the blaring music. When I open my eyes, I see him. From flying high, I’m tumbling fast.
    My brain sizzles.
    I stare across the dance floor at a man. The one from before. And this second time assures me I wasn’t wrong. He’s gorgeous in a rugged dark way. More like some mythical hunter. Orion . I shiver from his power. Projected. It’s his eyes.
    Brighter than exploding twin stars. They consume me. Obliterate my next thought and the one after.
    I gather he’s not just some run-of-the-mill handsome hunk. He’s got this stare that slices through the bodies gyrating next to me, and right into the center of my being. I want to look away—Christ, I tell myself look the hell away—but I can’t. Instead of being mortified that he’s staring a hole in me, I’m excited.
    He’s seated maybe twenty feet away, behind the cordoned off VIP area at a table with four other men. All of them handsome, sophisticated, and dressed in dark suits. He doesn’t seem to be focused on their animated conversation. No, he’s zoning in on one target. He lifts a glass to his mouth and over the rim, he watches me dance. There’s something so familiar about him. No way could I have met him at one of my family’s parties. He’s not only gorgeous, there’s an extreme intensity about him. Proof that I’m caught in a mind-screw-fest as I dance for him—nearly a whole song.
    Mesmerized, I let go as though I know what he wants. I don’t feel cheap or sleazy. He makes me want to be daring. Provocative. And in return, I want to tempt him like he’s tempting me. Trailing my fingers down my breasts, I alternate rotating my shoulders slowly to the music, and yeah, I imagine that his mouth is on me, drinking between my legs, driving me wild. Best of all in my fantasy, he doesn’t care who my family is as he forces my legs wider apart, imprisoning me under him until I forget everything except how insane he makes me feel.
    My dress—a tiny scrap of shiny white material—rises up my thighs, the hem tickling my skin. Luckily there are people all around and steamy clouds float up from the floor, or the slice of man cake would be getting a shot of how little I’m wearing. And just as I think that thought, the crowds part, and guess who gets an eyeful of me and my dirty dance routine? My admirer leans over, setting his glass down, and I’m aware that his eyes have just gotten a panoramic view of my hips and the strip of lace I call my thong.
    He breaks eye contact. He’s saying something to