She was mentally and emotionally exhausted when they all finally left her alone, seriously wishing she could go to bed instead of having to go out.
Then Vito materialized from the second bedroom like a freshly groomed panther, his black tuxedo a second skin, the white of his pleated shirt and bow tie a blaze that set off his swarthy skin tone, hollow cheeks and straight black brows. His hair, just a shade too long to be a conservative business cut, gave him the perfect balance between decadent playboy and powerful executive.
His silk pocket square exactly matched the reflective, lake blue of her gown.
She’d never worn anything so elegant or daring, with its strapless bodice and low back. The sweep of the skirt was gathered in loose edges, forming a slit over her left leg, and was ruched together with a sparkling broach on her hip, making her feel graceful and sexy at once.
She felt sensual. Beautiful. And, as she stood looking at the beautiful man before her, she felt for the first time like she was his match.
Vito was trying to make it to the end of a trying day. He understood the concerns of those around him, the questioning of his choice in female companionship, but he couldn’t understand why he was so angered by all of it. He kept telling himself it was the bank he wanted to defend. To protect.
But it was Gwyn. He wanted to sweep a sword through the air to cut down all this resistance against his being with her.
And this was why.
She stood before him like a water deity, wearing that swirl of river blue and sapphires that gleamed like bubbles against her neck and ears. Her hair was caught in a low knot against the back of her neck, wisps framing her introspective expression, mysterious and enthralling.
She was a prize, a weapon, an illicit substance. She was something he wanted. Badly.
His libido was becoming a monster, first hooked by spending nearly every moment with her for the past forty-eight hours, then feeling her absence as he’d pushed her to the sidelines to weather attacks from close quarters.
It had left him keyed up, mood balanced on a knife’s edge, the outlaw in him looking to ignore any sort of rules or propriety and simply take her, make her his. This wasn’t the first time he’d chafed against the constraints he placed upon himself, but he always maintained this veneer of civility painted onto him by the family who had kept him alive, safe and living within the law.
She didn’t want cheap gratification, he reminded himself, and heard Paolo again. If she’s a victim, don’t make her more of one. He kept remembering that look in her eye as they’d played house for an hour with Paolo’s children. If only the world understood how laughable it was to think she was inferior to him.
“You look nice,” he said gruffly, trying not to let the vision she made break the shackles controlling him. He moved to hold the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
She made a noise that might have been one of injury and muttered, “That’s what she said,” as she passed him into the hall.
“What did you just say?” he asked tightly.
Gwyn grappled her feelings back into their box, telling herself to quit taking his lack of real interest in her as a slight.
“It’s just something people say. One of those online memes,” she said, striding purposefully beside him toward the elevator. “Why are you so grouchy?”
The hotel was pure opulence, the carpets cushioning each step, the rail dripping leafy plants in terraced layers down to the lobby forty stories below.
He pressed the call button for the elevator and said, “I’m not.”
She glanced around, saw they were alone and said, “You know, we may not have much, but I thought we had honesty. If you don’t want to tell me, say it’s none of my business. But don’t lie.”
His gaze widened at her audacity, making her swallow. But honestly. She was doing everything she was told, letting him treat her like a puppet after she’d already been misused. What else did he want from her?
The elevator arrived and an older couple stepped off, leaving them to enter the empty car alone, replacing what might have been an air of relaxed camaraderie with a charged energy that bounced off the refined walls.
At least it wasn’t one of those glass boxes that made you feel airsick as you descended. It was red velvet and had mirrored panels split by a flat rectangle of gold for a handrail. A chipper, understated soft shoe drifted from the speakers, sounding incongruous.
“If you must have the truth, cara, I’ve been warned several times today that our relationship is ill-advised,” he said, stabbing at a floor number, then thumbing hard into the door close button. “I know they’re right, but I don’t care. I want you, anyway. If we’d stayed in the room, I would have kept you there.”