All-In by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Two

TEN YEARS AGO…

Despite her age, Zara was sipping champagne as she mingled with the crowd at her father’s annual Christmas party, held in their spacious home near Las Vegas’s Billionaire’s Row. He’d asked her to serve as his hostess, and Zara had been thrilled by the grownup honor.

Lorenzo Carrington, with his man behind him, strode through the front door uninvited and sought out one of her brothers and issued a nonnegotiable demand to see her father.

From across the room, she frowned. Her beloved and strong father paled when he turned to face the newcomer.

Even though she was young and lacked experience, something deep inside her recognized Lorenzo’s ruthlessness.

Responding to the warning flares her intuition was shooting off, she excused herself from the old, boring man she’d been talking to and rushed to her father’s side. “Is everything okay, Daddy?”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He patted her hand, and his touch was not reassuring.

Lorenzo met her eyes, and rockets of awareness shot through her. “We haven’t met.”

Rather than introducing them, her father shook his head. “Please, Zara. See to our guests. I’m counting on you.”

His voice was strong, but as he turned and headed down the hallway toward his study, his shoulders slumped. He seemed to have aged a dozen years.

Her two oldest brothers followed, as did Lorenzo and his man.

Before he entered her father’s office, Lorenzo looked back. At his predatory glance, a chill whispered through her.

Then he severed their gazes, and the moment was over. The door closed behind them, and the click reached her, despite the instrumental version of Greensleeves that spilled from the living room speakers.

For a moment, she remained frozen in place.

Then one of her brothers beckoned her to join them near the fireplace. For ambience, the gas flames danced beneath the draping of festive greenery.

Unsettled, but determined not to show it—after all, she was Joseph Davis’s daughter—she pasted on a false smile. After sliding her flute onto a nearby ornamental table, she moved deeper into the living room, resolved to be the hostess her father needed.

Time dragged. Despite her resolve, she couldn’t help but dart occasional nervous glances back toward the hallway.

Sometime later, she walked through the French doors leading to her father’s art gallery to join a group of people gathered there. Matching the theme of the room, a brightly lit twelve-foot Christmas tree stood in the corner, decorated in hammered tin stars, small rope lassos, and ornaments crafted to look like horses, cacti, cowboy hats and boots, even some metal spurs.

She answered a few questions about one of the artists renowned for her landscapes of the American West.

When they exited, Zara remained where she was, soaking in the peace found in momentary solitude.

A minute later, footsteps echoed off the polished marble floor, and she turned around, wearing a practiced smile as Jeffrey Berto, one of her father’s clients, strolled in and closed the door behind him.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He adjusted one of his lapels.

“Hello, Mr. Berto.”

“You’re all grown up, Zara. Please call me Jeffrey.”

I’d rather not.He’d been coming to the house for several years, and she’d never liked the creepy way he looked at her.

He took another step, and she automatically retreated before stopping herself. “Enjoy the gallery. I need to return to my guests. If you’ll excuse me…”

As she brushed past him, he grabbed her elbow, painfully preventing her escape.

“No, actually, I won’t.”

Appalled at his tactics—no man had ever touched her before—she glanced at his whitened knuckles before looking at his face. “Release me this instant.”

“We’re not done here.”

“My father is expecting me.”

“He’s busy with the motherfucking nephew of Marco La Rosa.”

Zara scowled in confusion.

“You didn’t know, did you? Dear old daddy owes money to the mob.”

Rather than giving him the satisfaction of a reply, she clamped her mouth shut.

“That’s why I’m in here.” With his free hand, he traced the outline of her pendant, a platinum heart that her father had given her mom on the day they married. It had been Zara’s sixteenth birthday gift—one she cherished as a connection between her and the mother she’d never met.

Berto fisted her pendant and tugged on it even as his fingers bit deeper into her elbow.

The sonofabitch was hurting her, but she refused to show it.

“But you’re going to be the Davis family savior, aren’t you?” He licked his lips, and the glistening spit—garish in the flashing lights from the Christmas tree—held her horrifyingly mesmerized. “He hasn’t told you.”

She lifted her hand, trying to pry her jewelry from his grip so she could escape. It didn’t matter if her arm was bruised for a week, but he couldn’t have the only gift that came from her mother.

“You’re going to be my wife.” He twitched his nose; then it froze in place as he leaned in closer. “Sold to give your father the money to get the La Rosas off his back.”

Frantically she shook her head. “No.” Her daddy wouldn’t do that to her. Never. “You’re a filthy liar.”

“And you’re a spoiled child who will be taught a lesson.” He grinned lecherously. “I deserve to sample the goods. A little taste to keep me going as I wait for your next birthday.”

He lowered his head toward her, but instead of kissing her, he changed the angle and bit the side of her neck.

Revulsion rocked through her, and she slapped at him, barely missing his face.

He growled like a pissed-off animal. “You need to learn some manners, little bitch.” Then, with a snarl, he yanked, severing the chain of her necklace.

“Give it back.” Frantically she grabbed for the memento.

“It’ll be your wedding present.” He shook her. “Providing you behave.” He dropped his prize into his pants pocket.

He grinned lecherously. His cock was swollen and pressed out the front of his trousers, repulsing her. “Go ahead, Zara. Slide your hand right inside.” His voice was low and taunting. “You can keep it if you can get it out.”

“Fuck you.”Fury consumed her, and she reached for the tree, grabbing blindly for anything she could use as a weapon.

He shook her hard again, and she brought forward her arm, slamming it into the side of his face and dragging it down, gouging him with the spikes of a metal spur.

“Ungrateful little bitch!” Leaning forward, spittle staining the side of his mouth, he yanked her dress strap down. The material tore, and her breast spilled free.

Humiliation swirling with anger, she slammed her stiletto heel on his foot.

His eyes narrowed as he slapped her across the face. The room exploded into a million shards. Her ears rang, drowning out any other sound.

And then he was yanked away from her. As she blinked, Lorenzo smashed his fist into Berto’s face, leaving him in a crumpled heap on the marble floor.

Lorenzo curled his fist at his side before flexing his fingers a couple of times. “Principessa.” He bowed. “At your service.” He gathered the jagged edge of her dress and lifted it to cover her, his touch unbelievably gentle for a man so big and powerful.

When he lowered his hand, she reached for the spot he’d covered. “I…” She gulped. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Berto stirred, and Lorenzo’s man placed his polished shoe on the attacker’s back to ensure he stayed down.

Never in her life had she experienced anything like this violence. Her father adored her, as did most of her brothers. The two closest in age resented that her birth caused their mother’s death, but even they treated her with the respect their father demanded.

A passerby peered into the gallery. With a gasp, the woman hurried away.

Lorenzo shrugged off his suit coat and draped it over Zara’s shoulders. The garment smelled of him, spice and power, protection and risk.

Moments later, two of her brothers strode in, followed by her father.

“Daddy!” Her heart thundering, seeking safe harbor, Zara hurried to him. Shockingly he ignored her, leaving her standing there, shaking, disheveled, more lost than she ever remembered being.

“What’s the meaning of this, Carrington?” His voice dripped venom.

“This piece of shit—” He lifted his chin in Berto’s direction. “Assaulted your daughter.”

When the man groaned, then tried to push himself upright, Lorenzo’s man exerted even more pressure.

“Get him off me!” Berto’s pathetic plea was followed by a cough.

Lorenzo flicked his gaze to her. Compassion, along with something she couldn’t name, flared in his eyes. Just as quickly, it vanished, and he severed their connection to level a cold stare at her father. “Your office, Davis. Two minutes.” After crooking a finger in the direction of his deputy, Lorenzo used the toe of his shoe to turn over Berto’s body. Then he crouched to fist the man’s tie and lift his upper body from the ground. “You get within one hundred feet of Ms. Davis again, I’ll slit your fucking throat. Am I clear?”

Berto’s eyes widened, and sweat poured down his face. When Lorenzo pulled the man up farther, he frantically nodded.

Lorenzo abruptly released Berto, and he slammed back to the floor.

As he stood, Lorenzo adjusted one of his cuffs.

The room thundered with tension.

Lorenzo stepped over Berto’s inert body and crossed to her. “Ms. Davis.” His voice was gentle, lacking the awful threat it had contained when he addressed her attacker. “Allow me.”

With equal measures of power and command, he inserted his body between her and her father and turned her away from the scene to draw her out of the gallery. Shortening his stride to match hers, he led her toward the bottom of the stairs. “I’m sorry you were treated that way.”

But he never apologized for his actions or threats. “What do you want to talk to my father about?”

Rather than answer, he changed the topic entirely. “I’m sure you need a moment to compose yourself.”

Since she didn’t know what to say next, she settled for nodding. He was an enigma who’d changed her world.

Her mind swimming, she climbed the stairs. At the top, she paused to glance over her shoulder. He was standing there, looking up, following her every move.

Disturbed on so many levels—from Berto’s unexpected attack to her ridiculous reaction to the stranger—she continued to her bedroom and closed the door. She leaned against it, trying to put the last bizarre few minutes into perspective.

Jarringly the party continued. Faint strands from a jazz version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas floated on the air, mixed with laughter and tinkling glasses.

Outside a car engine roared to life, and tires spun on concrete. Berto leaving?

Driven by curiosity and an insatiable urge to see Lorenzo again, she dropped his jacket onto the edge of her bed.

In the mirror, she studied herself. Long strands of hair had escaped the elegant chignon her stylist had spent an hour on.

Just then the torn piece of her dress slid down, exposing a light purple bruise just above her breast.

Anger spurring her on, she yanked off the gown and discarded it in the trashcan before changing into a black dress with cap sleeves.

After applying a fresh coat of red lipstick, she touched up her mascara, then pulled the pins out of her hair, allowing the locks to spill over her shoulders and down her back.

Zara picked up Lorenzo’s jacket and draped it over her arm. The spicy scent of him clung to the fabric, enveloping her with reassurance.

With her shoulders squared, she descended the staircase. She entered the living room and caught a glimpse of him outside, on the patio, looking out at the swimming pool.

A polite smile in place, she joined him, placing his jacket on the railing next to him.

He turned his gaze to her.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Women are to be treasured and honored.”

Is that how you see me?

“Are you all right?”

Am I?“I will be.” After all, as she’d heard her entire life, she was Franklin Davis’s daughter. “Did you mean it back there?”

He quirked one of his stark, formidable eyebrows.

“When you said…” His words had been crude, making her falter. “About killing him?”

“Every word.”

Morbidly fascinated, she turned her back to the railing, hoping she could more easily read his expression. And then she realized that wasn’t possible. His eyes were opaque, his expression inscrutable. No doubt he revealed only what he chose. “Who are you, Lorenzo…?”

“Carrington.” He shrugged. “I’m a businessman.”

“Or superhero.”

A small smile danced at the corner of his lips.

“Rescuer? Savior, perhaps? Defender of honor?”

“Not everyone’s.”

That now familiar glint of intensity was back in his eyes, the same one she’d witnessed in the gallery. She was too inexperienced to define it, yet on a deeply feminine level, she recognized the primal power he held over her.

“You should avoid dangerous men, Ms. Davis.”

“Does that include you?”

“Especially me.” He stroked her cheek, igniting heat deep inside her. “No doubt your survival instincts are warning you to stay away. Heed them.”

He asked the impossible.

“Boss?”

Lorenzo glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”

“So this is goodbye?” she asked.

Before answering, he hesitated. “For now.”

Lorenzo shrugged into his jacket. The expensive tailored fabric hugged his massive shoulders and fit perfectly against his trim waist.

“Before I forget.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out her necklace. Then he fastened his suit coat button before striding away without another word, leaving her clutching the pendant in her palm, bereft, forever changed.

PRESENT DAY

Zara tipped back her head to meet Lorenzo’s chilling, calculating gray eyes. They were narrowed with purposeful intent, and his jaw was set in a formidable line, leaving no doubt he meant everything he said. The man wasn’t just dangerous; he was terrifying. Just like the first time she’d met—and fallen for him—ten years prior.

A lack of oxygen burned her lungs.

Even though it had been years since they interacted, she’d never forgotten the cold blackness in his eyes when he’d knocked Berto to the ground. And that same dangerous expression lurked in their depths now. “Look, Lorenzo—”

“I’m offering you a choice, and you’re almost out of time. Walk under your own power, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder.” His words were clipped and carefully enunciated.

If she didn’t yield, the bastard would make good on his threat. He wouldn’t give a flying fuck about the humiliation he inflicted. Such things were beneath him.

She shot a quick glance toward his man, the same one who’d been his silent companion the night they’d met. Behind his dark glasses, his expression was unreadable, but he folded his arms, proving she’d find no sympathy there.

“You’re out of time.” Without waiting, Lorenzo moved to strike.

Pulse galloping, with music clashing and lights pulsing around them, she held up a hand. “Wait!”

Bare inches from her, he stopped.

“I’ll walk.”

He gave a brief nod. “I thought you might.”

Possessively he rested his fingertips against the small of her back. A security guard walked in front of them to create a path through the crowd, while his loyal deputy fell in behind them. With inexorable force, Lorenzo moved her through the nightclub to a rear exit that she’d never noticed.

They left the noise and disorienting light behind them, emerging into a wide-open area where staff hurried about.

Next to an elevator, the deputy placed his thumb on a pad, and the doors immediately parted.

“For your personal use only?”

He nodded.

Of course.

Lorenzo nudged her into the compartment. Am I stupid for going? But what choice had he given her?

The security guard nodded, then vanished as Lorenzo’s deputy stepped in and pressed a button marked OS. Owner’s Suite?

She was forced to bend her knees for stability as the car rocketed up.

Lorenzo’s gaze was focused forward, and his man’s back was to them.

In the years since Lorenzo had blazed into her life with a storm of fury, she’d studied him.

The accusation Jeffrey Berto had leveled all those years ago was true—Lorenzo Carrington was the nephew of a Mafia don, and reportedly, they were close. Still, she hadn’t found any reports that proved Lorenzo himself was an actual mobster. After the way he’d calmly threatened Jeffrey, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

He was rumored to be a Titan, a member of the Zetas, a secret society filled with billionaires, scientists, creatives, world leaders, even criminals. Since nothing existed tying him to any wrongdoing, the rumor and speculation could be fantastical stories concocted about one of Las Vegas’s most renowned casino owners. The fact that he was blessed with Latin-lover good looks made him a target of endless media speculation. And hers too, if she was honest with herself.

The elevator whooshed to a stop so fast that she was left dizzy. “You don’t like to waste time, do you?”

“Every minute is precious.”

She expected the car to open directly into his living space, but it didn’t. Instead, there was another layer of security between him and the world.

A set of double doors was emblazoned with a crest of sorts. Lorenzo crossed the space to stand in front of a scanner that unlocked the entrance.

His man turned his back to stand sentry as they entered his suite.

Suite was an absurd understatement.

The entrance was enormous, with a spiral staircase leading to a second level. Massive windows offered breathtaking city views, and she couldn’t help her reaction. “This is spectacular.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased. You’re welcome to leave your purse on the table.”

Facing him, she angled her chin. “I won’t be staying.”

His slight smile was set somewhere between smug and resolute. “On the contrary. You’ll be my guest until I say otherwise.”

She darted around him and lunged for the door. Surprising her, he didn’t try to stop her.

Zara turned the knob, but nothing happened.

“You might as well enjoy my hospitality.”

Eyes narrowed, she swung back to face him. “You’ve gone too far. This whole thing is outrageous.” Why had she expected anything else? This man got what he wanted, when he wanted. “I demand you let me go.”

“Or?”

She snatched her phone from her pocketbook to call… Who?

No one would get past his security. Except, maybe, the police. And she definitely didn’t want to involve them.

He keyed a mic she hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing. “Send the video to my office.” Then he lowered his hand, and the two emeralds in his ring winked in the overhead light. Looking at her, he added, “I think you’ll want to see this. Then make your decision.”

If she were in real danger, she’d consider calling for help. But experience had taught her that he might be ruthless, but he was also trustworthy. This situation, no matter how annoying, was an inconvenience, nothing more.

Equal parts curious and reluctant, she put her cell phone back, then placed her purse on the table and followed him.

“Would you like a tour?”

“As I said, I won’t be here long enough for it to be necessary.”

She soon learned his question had been rhetorical.

No doubt his home would be featured in an architectural magazine, if it hadn’t already been. While it could have been considered stark because of the size and sparsity of the furnishings, personal touches were everywhere. He was reading a biography, judging by the hardback lying on the couch, a business card stuck in it as a bookmark. Photos, in mismatched frames, adorned the mantelpiece. And a vase filled with enormous pink roses dominated the coffee table.

She followed him through to the kitchen. With its marble countertops and high-end appliances, it was a chef’s delight. Since he lived in a resort recognized for its cuisine, and he employed one of the largest catering staffs in the city, she was surprised by the massive space. “Do you cook?”

“Yes.”

She gawked. “Seriously?”

“My mother made sure I knew how. Every breakfast, and dinner on Sunday. I have my most trusted people with me. It’s a tradition.”

“Does that include your shadow?”

“Mario?”

“Is that his name? The one standing outside?” The same man who’d backed Lorenzo at her father’s Christmas party.

“Yes. He’s invaluable to me.”

“A…”

Folding his arms, he waited.

“Lieutenant?”

A grin toyed with his mouth. “What do you think you know of my world, principessa?”

Nothing. Except it alternately terrified and fascinated her. “I’ve done some reading.”

“Gossip.” He waved a dismissive hand, his ring once again capturing the light. “Nothing more.”

“So you’re not a Titan?”

Although he angled his head to one side, he didn’t respond.

“And you’re not Marco La Rosa’s nephew?”

“I’m guessing you already know the answer. My mother is his sister, yes.”

His clipped response didn’t invite further questions, but she couldn’t help herself. “You’re close to him?”

“Against my mother’s wishes, yes.”

“Isn’t he…?” She trailed off. In person, calling his uncle a Mafia don seemed preposterous. And yet conjecture swirled around the family and had for years—generations, even.

“A successful businessman? Owner of a casino? Investor in my resort? Yes.”

The La Rosa patriarch had never granted an interview, and though charges had been brought against him, he’d never been found guilty. Evidence against him had an interesting way of disappearing, and informants never showed up in court. “You’re going to admit to nothing?”

“Opening the Bella Rosa has kept me too busy to read scandal rags.” He turned up a corner of his lip. In judgment of her?

“I haven’t—”

“Clearly you have.”

Before she could open her mouth again, he turned his back on her and walked past the fully stocked bar.

With a sigh, annoyed with herself for sounding accusatory—and equally frustrated that he’d dismissed her questions—she followed him through a frosted glass door. She missed a step when she entered his version of a wonderland.

The area was gigantic, a glass-covered playground. He had a large swimming pool, complete with a swim-up bar. Around it was a grassy area and running track, along with a high-tech workout system attached to the wall. Numerous tables with umbrellas were scattered about, alongside lounge chairs. Potted palms stood sentry in the corners. In keeping with the resort’s theme, he also had dozens of pink rose bushes.

She struggled to take it in. Fairy lights were strung everywhere, and their reflection danced off the water, creating a fanciful air. She imagined herself spending a relaxing afternoon here. “It’s…magnificent.”

“The roof retracts in case you want fresh air.”

Why am I not surprised?

Rather than turning back to the exit, he continued along the length of the pool deck, pointing out where towels and accessories were stored.

Her favorite was the inflatable floating flamingo, complete with cupholder.

She’d grown up around a fair amount of wealth, but she never imagined anything like this existed.

At the far end of his private playground was a spa. “And my workout room.”

But he didn’t mention anything about the final door, so she assumed it was for pool operations. “This”—she swept her hand around—“it’s ridiculous. You know that.”

“I spend a lot of time here. And I like to entertain.”

“Women?” Jesus. Where did that come from? She wasn’t jealous—had no reason to be.

“Once again, principessa, you know nothing about me.” He closed the distance between them and captured her shoulders in his powerful grip. While he could have easily hurt her, he didn’t. Like the first time they’d met, his touch offered both promise and reassurance.

And that completely unsettled her.

He took in a breath, deep, as if memorizing her. “If you only knew…”

Tell me.

Holding her gaze, he leaned toward her. For a terrifying moment that made the world tilt on its axis, she thought he might kiss her. She wanted it. Wanted him.

Then he released her, ending the moment. In frustration, she sighed, though she should have been drinking in relief. He might fulfil her fantasies, but he wasn’t the type of man who would ever offer her a future.

Gossip sites were filled with rumors of the women he dated, and over the years, he’d left a long trail of broken hearts behind him. At some point, she needed to separate her hero worship from the very real, complicated man in front of her.

After he released her, the furrow between his eyebrows vanished. It seemed he’d harnessed his emotions, but his unfinished sentence charged the air between them.

Without a word, he pivoted, then led her back to the main part of the home and his office that was protected by more biometrics.

A bank of monitors hung from the wall. The feeds featured various parts of the resort and casino floor. He ignored the chair in favor of standing as he moved his fingers over the nearby keyboard, so quickly she couldn’t have memorized his security passcode if she’d tried.

The picture on one of the screens changed, displaying an image of the nightclub. For several seconds, it showed her and her group arriving at their table and getting settled. In the next segment, the server arrived. Then the camera zoomed in on Zara. “You were watching me?”

He looked over his shoulder, seared her with the intensity in his arresting green eyes. “I would have expected you would know that.”

I’d hoped. Zara shivered. For the past decade, he’d starred in her dreams, and she’d compared every man to him. Maybe unsurprisingly, she’d found them lacking.

As part of her job, she frequented the Bella Rosa’s martini bar. Most often, a pair of security guards intentionally passed her table, acknowledging her by name as they did so. All that had made her wonder if Lorenzo ever saw her for who she was. Or was she still just someone who needed rescuing?

By the time she found her voice, he’d returned his attention to the task in front of him, fast forwarding to the moment their server had slid beverages onto the table.

While she’d been at the nightclub, nothing had seemed odd. She’d laughed with her client, ensuring he was enjoying his evening. But now, with the thumping music filtered out and watching through the dispassionate lens of a camera, Zara noted the determined gleam in Maverick’s eyes when he’d grabbed her wrist and possessively pulled her down onto the couch beside him.

The next few minutes passed normally as their foursome clinked the rims of their glasses together.

Impatience gnawed at her as nothing happened. “I think you overreacted, Lorenzo.”

His face was set in impassive lines, and he ignored her sigh.

After saying they were going to dance, her client and the woman he was trying to impress stood and walked away, leaving Zara and Maverick alone. She took the opportunity to grab her favorite lipstick from her bag and used the mirror on the end of the tube to swipe on a layer of the new Kiss Me red color.

Since she was concentrating on what she was doing, she hadn’t realized what happened next.

Maverick turned away slightly, reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a vial, and then dumped the contents into her martini.

She blinked, unable to fathom what she was seeing.

Lorenzo froze the frame and turned toward her.

Her stomach roiling, she protectively wrapped her arms around her middle.

With another strike of a key, the video continued. Maverick picked up her drink and offered it to her.

“Oh my God.” The horror splintered her mind.

Lorenzo killed the feed, and the monitor went blank, but the image was burned into her memory.

“We’re having it analyzed.”

“He…” The world spun, and Lorenzo was there immediately, pulling back the chair and helping her into it. Maverick—a man she considered a friend—had tried to drug her. Would he have raped me?

Cold sweat chased down her spine.

Lorenzo curled a reassuring hand around her shoulder.

Once again—as always—he was her savior. She gripped the edge of his desk as she drew several breaths to steady herself. After Berto’s attack when she was seventeen, she’d taken self-defense classes, vowing no man would ever manhandle her that way ever again.

But this…? She preferred to hang out with a group of friends rather than actually dating. When she did spend time with the opposite sex, she enjoyed scening with Dominants at a club or play party, where the rules were agreed to and she consented to everything that happened. On the rare occasions she had dinner with someone, she selected true gentlemen who wouldn’t push for sex. All of that had left her completely unprepared for something like she’d just witnessed.

Lorenzo reached past her to continue so they could watch the next couple of minutes.

Of course, he’d arrived before she’d taken a sip of the tainted beverage.

“You’re safe here, principessa.”

Despite his reassurance, the realization of how close she’d come to danger shook her, and her body was now chilled. She’d promised herself she’d never be vulnerable to a predator again, and if it hadn’t been for Lorenzo, the evening’s outcome could have been unthinkable.

“You’ll be staying here while I deal with the situation.”

“I’d rather go home.”

“That’s not an option.”

Once again—or, as always—he was dictatorial. Her automatic instinct was to rail against his high-handedness and insist on her independence.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Unsurprisingly, however, steel was hammered beneath it. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Look, Lorenzo…” She straightened her spine. “You can’t keep me here as your prisoner.”

“I assure you, Ms. Davis, I can. And I will.”

Despite her protests, he was right. The evening’s events had unnerved her. “What are you planning to do to Maverick?”

“I have a zero-tolerance policy for that type of behavior at my resort.” Gently he turned her to face him, and he leaned forward to place his hands on the arms of the chair, bringing them oh so close together. “Even less when it comes to you.”

“Thank you.” Her gratitude was a little late. But the evening’s events had sent her mind a thousand different directions. “For everything.” Not just taking care of her, but ensuring her clients had a nice evening, something Maverick had tried to sabotage.

“Make yourself at home. There’s food in the refrigerator, or you’re welcome to order room service.” He gave a sharp nod. “There will be a security guard outside the door. If you’ll excuse me.”

With that, he exited, leaving her trapped in his gilded cage.