And then she heard footsteps behind her—a soft tread like a predator that concealed its very ferociousness from an unsuspecting prey. Refusing to give in to the shiver that began at the base of her spine, she slowly turned, her hand still encased in Gaspard’s.
The light from outside the gazebo enveloped him in a halo as he stood at the lower steps. Jasmine couldn’t seem to breathe; her lips tingled, remembering, yearning.
A black tuxedo lovingly draped his broad shoulders, the snowy white collar contrasting against his olive skin. His freshly shaved jaw glinted and Jasmine once again felt the shocking awareness of every inch of space that Dmitri occupied.
He fairly breathed sex and masculinity and power, irrevocably out of her reach.
Until their eyes met. And then it was as though the world melted away around them. Every inch of skin that the silk touched felt hot; every muscle curled tight.
She reached out behind her, the wood grain smooth to her touch, hoping it would cool down this...heat inside of her.
He took the steps and a little chill pulsed down her back as his face was finally bathed in light.
Tight lines bracketed his mouth, that cool facade completely gone. His looks. His mood. His cloak of debonair charm. Everything had fallen away. Suddenly, he seemed like the Dmitri she had known once, and it tripped all her alarms.
“Hello, Gaspard.”
Pure steel clanged in his voice.
Gaspard turned, blanched and then schooled his expression back to politeness. All in the space of a breath. “Dmitri.”
The gazebo, which she had thought lovely seconds ago, suddenly felt like a battleground. Why did Dmitri look like he had seen a ghost?
He took another step, his gaze lingering on Gaspard’s hand over hers. “I see that you’re already hovering around Jas like a vulture.”
“Jas?” the man said, flicking his gaze between her and Dmitri. His nose flared as if he was a hyena scenting something. “But Ms. Douglas has been regaling me with tales of where she grew up...” He looked at Jasmine again, lingering on her diamond pendant and her dress. His brow cleared. The conclusion he so obviously came to was like a slap to her senses. “Is she one of yours, then?”
“I’m not anyone’s, Mr. Devue.” Jasmine wanted to slap the man and then thump Dmitri. “Really, Dmitri, don’t—”
Cutting her off, he clasped her wrist and pulled her roughly to his side.
She resisted, or tried to. As a result, she ended up being slammed against his side.
Her breath left her in a soft gasp, a hundred different sensations swarming at her.
His hip pressed into her belly, the hard ridge of his muscled thigh straddled her legs and his forearm knocked into her breasts. His body was like a hot, hard cage around her shuddering muscles and shivering skin.
Sharp, instantaneous, all-consuming need filled every nook and crevice.
All the while the infuriating man stared at Gaspard, his expression disturbingly menacing. His arm stayed around her waist. “Jas is a childhood friend of mine and is in Athens as my guest.” At least he hadn’t said she was his possession. “She’s not without protection, Gaspard. Do not come anywhere near her.”
“Why don’t you let the lady decide?”
“Unlike the women you terrify, I have nothing to lose.” There was not even a facade of civility in Dmitri now.
Something crawled to the surface in the man’s face, Jasmine was sure, before he spoke again. Something that made her uneasy. “Leah has my information, Ms. Douglas, if you would like to see me.”
With another dark glance at Dmitri, the man left.
Jasmine felt her face flame as she saw that a few people had noticed the exchange. Saw the tasteless conclusion that they immediately came to.
They thought she was Dmitri’s mistress and Gaspard had been poaching.
Bile coated her throat. The entire evening fell apart, instantly became dirty to her in a way that was reminiscent of her old life.
She turned to Dmitri, clutching the fury that threatened to split her from the inside. “What is it with you? Are you so sadistic that not only will you humiliate me but you won’t let another man talk to me?”
Instead of the infuriatingly calm expression she usually got, a tic played in his jaw. “You don’t know that man. It’s got nothing to do with what’s going on between you and—”
“Stop, just stop.”
She looked around, trying to recall the simple joy she had felt this evening when she had put the dress on, when she had looked at herself...when she had, despite her effort not to, imagined the look in his eyes.