The Fiancé by Stefanie London
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ava
ISTANDIN the middle of the opulent bedroom suite, staring at the dress. It’s a black, glittering sheath with intricately beaded fabric, a high neckline and a slit that goes all the way up to midthigh. With each step I flash the full length of my leg, but the modest neckline and dark colour keep it chic. I’ve never been thin and there have been times when I’ve dreaded dressing up because clothes never seem to look on me the way they look on a model or a mannequin.
But this dress is made for curves. It hugs me, enhances me. It makes the most of my best features—my broad shoulders and my strong, muscular legs developed from years of playing netball—and it skims over the bits that I don’t feel so confident about.
Am I playing dress-up? Am I hoping the fine fabric and daring shape of this dress will help me appear glamorous and worldly when I’m anything but? Maybe.
I bend down and slip my foot into my trusty black stilettos. These shoes have seen me through weddings and other dressy events. They fake an extra few inches, and somehow... I look like someone who goes to the opera all the time.
I glance at the clock. Five minutes and we’re supposed to leave. I lost track chatting to Emery, filling her in on everything that’s been going on here...well, everything but the truth of Daniel and me. She told me I seem happy. Happier than she’s ever seen me. It’s hard to write that off as good acting, because I’ve never been good at faking it.
Grabbing my clutch, I check my reflection one last time. After a day in the pool, my skin has taken on a warm, golden glow.
Emery’s right, I am happy.
“Sex and sunshine will do that,” I mutter to myself as I head downstairs to meet Daniel.
Holding the length of my dress in one hand and clutch in the other, I take my time navigating the villa’s big, sweeping staircase. My heels click and the rustle of beaded fabric fills the quiet, cavernous room.
Daniel is waiting at the bottom, his head tilted up toward me. He looks magnetic—a black tux fits his muscular body perfectly and not even the bow tie softens his darkly masculine edge. He’s clean shaven, and his jaw is razor sharp. Dark, smouldering eyes draw me down step by step, as if I’m being pulled toward him by his will alone.
“Wow.” He shakes his head and holds his hand out to guide me down the last few steps.
I allow him to help me, more because I love the feel of his hand in mine than because I need it. “You’re looking pretty wow yourself.”
“I said it first.”
I laugh. “Is this the part where we call shotgun and race for the car?”
He chuckles, and the warm, rumbling sound skitters along my spine. How is it possible for a man to be so damn handsome?
“I’m glad you wore the dress,” he says. “I’ve been dying to see how it would look on you.”
“And?”
“Reality makes my fantasy look pale in comparison.”
I don’t know how to explain it, but even as the sexual tension between us hums and snaps and fizzes, I feel something else. Something more. Something...tender. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced that before.
“It’s a beautiful dress.” I draw in a shaky breath. “I feel guilty accepting such an extravagant gift. All the dresses and the other bits... I can’t keep them, of course. They’re a loan.”
“Well, I certainly won’t have use for them after we...”
And like that, the fairy tale is shattered.
Don’t fool yourself. It was never going somewhere.
But that doesn’t stop the clench in my gut.
“I want you to keep them,” Daniel says, but his eyes are colder now. Like the off button for his emotions has been tapped.
Should I be surprised? Daniel has made it clear that he’s emotionally unavailable, and despite the fact that I keep pushing and pushing... He doesn’t want me knowing about his private life, because that stuff is real. The dresses and the private jet and the luxurious holidays are superficial. Meaningless. Safe.
Another way that Daniel throws money at his problems.
And what about the fact that you’ve come alive in his arms?
That was neither real nor superficial. It’s something wholly and uncomfortably in between.
“We should get going,” I say, closing myself off, too. “I don’t want to miss the start of the show.”
Daniel presses his hand to my lower back, and my traitorous body fills with fluttering warmth. I think we need a team meeting—brain, heart and lady bits all in a room so we can, once and for all, get on the same damn page.
Remember why you’re doing this.
For the life I want to build—a career that fulfills me, a home I can make my own, and the desire not to settle for security when it comes to love. This is a lifeline and nothing more. It’s a safety net that will stop me from ending up back at home with my mother and ruining that relationship. And it’s proof that while some people may be okay with a hollow relationship, I do need more than sex and money.
I need a lot more.
Outside there’s a car waiting. Daniel holds the door and I climb in, sliding along the back seat and watching as he follows. The weight of his gaze is like a warm bath. I want to sink lower, deeper. I want to drown in him.
This is temporary. Don’t forget that.
The Opéra Nice Côte d’Azur is stunning, with columns and ornate detailing artfully lit to make it stand out against the inky night sky. Inside, the sheer beauty of luxury from another era steals my breath. I’ve always had a fascination for old buildings. It was one of the things that drew me to Europe after high school. Backpacking around countries with rich heritage and crumbling structures and craftsmanship that doesn’t exist anymore was like falling into a fairy tale. But being here, having balcony seats to one of the most prestigious operas in the world, is a whole other experience.
A grand staircase complete with red carpet takes us up to the floor where the balconies are located. Rows and rows of red seats fill the area below us, and there are velvet curtains and gold decorations as far as the eye can see.
“What a magical place.” The balcony has three seats in front and two behind, and I hope we’ve got the ones right at the front. I don’t want to miss a thing. “Do you know the other people joining us?”
“No one will be joining us.” Daniel shakes his head. “I made sure we had a section ourselves, because I don’t want anyone interrupting our time.”
My mind immediately wanders into the gutter. “You bought five seats for two of us? Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Why not? The theatre gets their money and I don’t have to deal with people I have no interest in talking to.”
I laugh. His world is...something else. “Do you do that often?”
“Solve problems?”
“Throw money at things unnecessarily.” It shouldn’t annoy me. After all, he’s entitled to do with his money exactly as he pleases.
Daniel raises a dark brow. “It’s not unnecessary if it’s something I want.”
Ah, that old chestnut. I didn’t exactly grow up in poverty, but the life of a single parent isn’t easy. My grandmother took care of both my mother and me, ensuring we never went hungry, but I’ve never had the privilege of being able to focus wholly on my wants.
“I’m not judging you,” I reply.
“Yes, you are.” He leans back in his chair and his hands rest lightly on his knees, a heavy silver watch poking out of the cuff of his shirt. He’s never without a watch, I’ve noticed, and never late. “But it doesn’t matter. It won’t change my behaviour. When I want something, I find a way to get it.”
“That must be nice.”
“You’re very disapproving for someone who’s also benefitting from this situation.”
“Okay, maybe I am. It’s hard not to be a little jealous.”
“Don’t be too jealous, it’s not like money solves all problems. It won’t fix the problems with Marc and me.” He rubs a hand along his jaw. “Nothing will fix that. If we can get it to a point where he’s civil to me in public, I’ll take it.”
“That seems like a low bar.” I frown.
“I’m ambitious, not stupid.” He shoots me a look. “Marc and I have been at odds for a while. You know, sibling rivalry and all that. Apparently it was a much bigger issue than I realised when I got promoted instead of him.”
“He wanted the CEO job.” Suddenly the reason for Marc’s animosity makes a little more sense—if he thought Daniel had taken a job from him, the rumour of Daniel stealing his wife must have been like salt on an open wound.
“I’ve been groomed for this role since I was old enough to hold a spoon. The job was never Marc’s to have.” Daniel looks at me, as if wanting to say more. But then the shutters go up, like always.
“Why don’t you tell me what this opera is about?” I lean toward him, my bare arm brushing against him.
The scent of his cologne is like a magnet drawing me closer. In the shadowed booth, there’s an intimacy as if we’re completely alone, rather than sitting in a full theatre. Right now, I’m not upset that he paid to keep the seats around us empty.
“Don Giovanni is a young nobleman who seduced thousands of women in Seville in the mid-eighteenth century,” he says, warm breath skating over my skin. Below us, the opera is about to start. “Anything he wants, he takes.”
“Just like you,” I quip.
Daniel levels me with a stare but continues, “Don Giovanni was written by Mozart and it’s based on the Don Juan myth. Basically, he’s a womaniser and thug. The story is about what happens after he kills the father of a woman he wants to seduce, and his bad behaviour finally catches up with him.”
“Ah, so there’s a moral.”
He chuckles. “There’s always a moral.”
The lights suddenly go dim, and a hush falls over the theatre. Our conversation is cut short by the opening scene of the opera. I decide to let all my worries take the night off. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I need to stop feeling annoyed at Daniel for not being open with me, when he owes me nothing beyond what our arrangement entails.
And I need to stop feeling guilty about accepting his offer.
If other people are so comfortable doing whatever it takes to get what they want, then why shouldn’t I do the same?
I’m enthralled by the opening of the opera when I feel a pressure at my thigh. Daniel’s hand is there, touching the skin exposed by the slit in my dress, his thumb tracking a soothing arc back and forth.
I glance at him, and his eyes are on me. They’re dark, bottomless. Burning. It’s like there’s nothing happening on the stage—no music, no singing, no acting. If I hadn’t understood why he wanted us to be alone in these seats before, now it’s very clear.
He leans over. “Sit on my lap.”
“No.” I glare at him, but it’s no more effective than throwing marshmallows at an avalanche. And it’s bullshit. I want him to touch me, but I also feel the urge to resist him long enough that he knows I’ll do only what I want, not simply what he tells me.
“Ava, I would like you to sit on my lap because I very much want to make you come with my fingers.”
Good lord. This man... This arrogant, sexy, entitled man.
“Or you can stay sitting and I’ll get on my knees and do it with my mouth.”
“Stop,” I hiss. He’s speaking so low that I can barely hear him, so the chances of anyone else hearing is nonexistent. But the thrill of being in public still winds through me, slow and forbidden. “People might see us.”
“They’re watching the show. Nobody cares what we’re doing.” He takes my hand and I slip over to his seat, settling my backside into his lap as if I’m asking Santa for some naughty wish. The hard ridge of his erection digs into me. How is he already hard?
He’s been thinking about this. Planning this.
The thought makes me shiver. We may want different things out of our lives, but when it comes to sex we’re highly compatible.
“This is why you told me to wear this dress,” I say, my lips brushing his ear. His hand tracks up my inner thigh, fingers walking along my warm flesh. “Easy access.”
In the near darkness, his smile is so deliciously wolfish, I feel myself growing wet. His fingertips brush against my sex and the silky underwear that cost me a pretty penny when I went shopping yesterday.
“You’re already damp.” He slides his finger along the length of my seam, feeling me through my underwear. “I bet you’d let me slide right in if I wanted to fuck you right now.”
My breath stutters. I can act as in-charge and girl-power as I want, but the fact is this man has me panting for him. Desperate for him. Wanton and willing and ready for him.
“I would.” I let the words whisper out, my lips trailing over his neck, and I feel him grow even harder beneath me. “I’d let you bend me over and fuck right into me without any resistance at all.”
Daniel makes a rumbling sound that sends goose bumps skittering over my arms and legs. “Temptress.”
“Brute.” I press my mouth to his just as he breaches my underwear, pressing his finger between my lips and seeking out my entrance. “Arrogant, entitled, bossy brute.”
He chuckles darkly. “You love that about me.”
I know he doesn’t mean love as in the capital L kind. I can’t love him, I barely know him. But I do love how he makes me feel. I do love how he touches me.
He slides a finger inside me and I gasp. “Watch the show, Ava.”
How can I possibly concentrate? I tremble as he slides his finger in and out, curling it to hit the spot that makes me want to shatter. His lips are at my neck, his other hand palming my breast, taking his fill of me. I wish we were back at the villa, with privacy. And space. I want to take him inside me—and not just his fingers.
“I can feel those thighs shaking. You’re squeezing me so tight.”
I shift in his lap, trying to give him better access, but instead he turns me ninety degrees to face the front of the balcony. I see the show and the audience, and my dress is hiked up around my hips. His hand snakes over my leg, slipping down the front of my underwear this time, and when he circles my clit I almost explode.
“You like that better.” He’s telling, not asking. “You’re so wet, Ava. I can tell how much you want it.”
I do. I want it so bad I could scream.
He teases me, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over in sweeping, lazy strokes. It’s enough to have me writhing but he pulls back the second I get too close. Bastard. He loves being in control, loves pleasuring me until I bend to him. Loves making me wait.
“Tonight,” he whispers into my ear, warm breath drifting over the back of my bare neck. “This is just a taste of what’s to come. I’m going to make you mine.”
The way he assumes I’ll say yes gets under my skin. Or at least, it should. It should bother me that he feels so comfortable making assumptions about what I want. What I need.
But he knows me better and more intimately than any other man before. It’s like we’ve had years instead of days exploring one another.
“Get ready, Ava.”
At that very second, as though he timed it perfectly, the opera swells, and perfect clear voices ring like bells through the theatre. So loud they consume my cries and the sound of my pleasure is lost in the fray. I quake against Daniel’s hand, release rippling through me like waves, and when I melt back against him, sated and yet desperate for more, I feel the curve of his smile against the back of my neck.