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How the hell did Stephano manage that? To have this level of intel on someone?—
“You’ll have to excuse me, Gigi,” Jean-Michel says as he stands, his hand on my shoulder with a soft brush. “It’s been a pleasure, but as you can see, we’re well taken care of. I wish you the same.”
I’m still flailing for words when he turns to kiss the woman, his hand on her ass, squeezing her to him. She shoots me a small, victorious smile, as if I’m one of them and she won the prize.
I sit, clinging to my half-empty glass of champagne, and watch as the bidders pair up with one, sometimes two women, or leaving in groups for their own rooms in the St. Chalamet. At some point, the waiter comes to top up my glass, and I let him.
He wishes me the same.
If Jean-Michel knew my usual modus operandi, he’d wish harder. Much, much harder.
Soon, the lounge is empty. One bodyguard does a last check before bidding me goodnight and exiting through the front door. Then it’s all quiet. I’m all alone. In the St. Chalamet presidential suite, and several of those party packs are left unclaimed.
Stephano must still be here, because I never saw him leave, and I had my eye on the front door the whole evening. My pulse, which has been running sprints between marathons today, shoots out of the starting blocks again.
I kick off my heels. Rushing all the way from Monte Carlo earlier to meet with the Scaleras killed my feet. I pad over to the console table and tug at the ribbon on one of the boxes. I lift the lid and brush the golden tissue paper away.
Wow…
I’m still peering into the box, digesting its contents, when the tingle of someone else’s presence eases down my spine. The peculiar feeling you get when you know you’re being watched.
I turn, only to see Stephano standing mere meters away from me, hands shoved in his pants pockets, stripped of his tux jacket, his white shirt partly unbuttoned to reveal a smooth, tanned chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His arms are corded with muscles, and there’s a hint of a tattoo on his inner forearm.
“Like what you’re seeing in there, angel?” he asks softly as his gaze takes me in.
“It’s extra, and a nice…special touch?”
He quirks his brow with a smirk as he comes closer. “Tell me, did this evening turn you on? The idea of it? That box’s content?”
“No.” But it’s a lie. Everything tonight has been fine-tuned to turn me on, the idea of him most of all.
“Then why are you still here?” he asks.
“I—” I break off, not knowing how to answer him.
“I told you to leave, angel, and yet, here you are, last woman standing, as if you’re waiting.”
I shrug, heat spreading between my thighs at the way he’s looking at me, intense, almost predatory. “It was a fascinating evening. And auctions are part of my day-to-day.”
“Is that so?”
He’s so close and even taller now that I’ve shed my heels. As I look up at him, I feel the heat radiating off his body. “Art. Art auctions.”
“Hmm. In my experience, when a woman is still at a party long after the rest of the guests have left, she’s only staying for one thing.”
He’s crowding me now, and I back away, edging along the console table until my butt and back hit the wall.Cornered.
“That’s rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it?” I retort, a blush flooding my face.
“But I’m right.”
He leans closer, pressing one hand to the wall above my head. My breath catches. His other hand is still in his pocket, and all I want is for him to touch me.
“You’re a bit of a challenge, aren’t you?” he says as he lowers to my ear.
The rush of his warm breath over my skin sends sparks of desire all the way to my sex.
“The question really is, angel, if I can make you come without touching you with myfilthy Mafia paws.”
