Valentine Teller was startled and repeatedly refused, "Sir, I'm sorry, I don't want to dance."
But she had no choice but to agree; a hand was already placed on her waist, and another hand opportunistically captured her soft wrist, leading her into a slow dance in the ballroom.
"Sir, I really don't want to dance."
She tried to break free from his hand and run out of the dance floor, but the hand gripping her wrist tugged her back into a warm embrace.
In an instant, a familiar scent filled her nostrils.
Valentine Teller widened her eyes in fear.
She looked at the face beneath the mask.
Although the light was dim, Valentine Teller still recognized him.
Eyes as bright as stars were full of spirit, tightly pressed thin lips were sensual and firm, and a tall nose stood proudly.
Mark Reed?
It was actually Mark Reed!
"Mr. Reed, let go quickly, I don't want to dance."
