All-In by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Three

The minutes crawled by, turning into hours, and frustration warred with temper. Finally, around midnight, she strode to his bar area, opened the wine fridge, and pulled out a very nice bottle of champagne. The first delicious glass in hand, she accepted his offer to make herself at home.

She wandered to the pool area where she crouched to trail her fingertips through the water. It was warmer than she imagined, and wonderfully inviting. Should I? Since she may never again have the opportunity to enjoy this experience, she succumbed to the temptation—she stripped, then made herself comfortable in the flamingo inflatable. With a smile, she floated around and sipped from her flute of bubbles. If she was going to be his prisoner, she might as well make the most of it.

She must have spent an hour with her head tipped back, looking out through the glass roof as clouds sauntered across the sky. At times, stars vanished, only to reemerge, a twinkling promise for the future.

No matter how hard she tried to shove away thoughts of Lorenzo, she failed.

When her client hired her, she’d immediately suggested they spend the evening at Excess. As the city’s hottest nightclub, it was the place to be seen. But there’d been more to it. In the back of her mind, she’d hoped that Lorenzo would seek her out.

But nothing had turned out the way she planned. Maverick’s awful behavior was a betrayal of the worst kind. At this point, she didn’t care what happened to him, as long as he never bothered her again. If her guess was correct, Lorenzo would make sure of it, just like he had with Jeffrey at the Christmas party all those years ago. Numerous times, she’d asked her father what had happened that night. He always said it wasn’t worth discussing.

In the distance, a grandfather clock chimed three times.

What kind of hours did Lorenzo keep?

Zara made her way to the pool’s steps, then sought out a towel and wrapped herself in it before picking up her clothes and climbing the spiral staircase to the home’s second level. Only one door was open, and a soft light beckoned to her.

From the way it seared her senses, this had to be Lorenzo’s room. The massive bed, with a black duvet cover offset by numerous white pillows, was the focal point. The nightstands were made from glass and chrome. A fabulous wingback chair with matching ottoman was angled beneath a reading lamp. Not surprising her, a hardback book—this one a history of Las Vegas—sat on the seat cushion.

Slowly, the tile cool beneath her feet, Zara walked deeper into the space. Lorenzo’s masculine scent hung in the air, intoxicating her. No man had ever possessed the power to unsettle her as he did.

And yet she instinctively trusted him and sought his strength.

Knowing she was trespassing but rationalizing that he had to have expected that when he locked her up and didn’t return, she made her way to the spa-like bathroom.

It was every bit as spectacular as she’d expected with the soaker tub in front of a massive window. From here she was on top of the world. And since there were no other buildings nearby, she had complete privacy, even with the shades open.

Wanting to wash off the chlorine from the pool, she stepped into his steam shower and adjusted the knobs until she figured out how it worked. The water and warmth soothed her nerves as well as her body.

Though she didn’t use it, she picked up his soap. Gray lines swirled through the bar, and the spicy, citrusy scent of bergamot hit her.

She inhaled deeply, then imagined him working the bar into a lather before rubbing the creaminess over his fit, naked body. Her hand trembled, and she instantly placed the soap back where it belonged.

After her shower, she reached for a big fluffy white towel that was big enough to wrap around her body more than once. Since she had no extra clothes with her, she padded to his closet. The space was larger than her bedroom at home, and fastidiously organized. Dozens of pairs of polished shoes were placed next to each other with military precision.

His suits were organized by color. Drawers contained ties in individual little compartments, also arranged by color. Along one wall was exercise gear, with athletic sneakers placed beneath. He also had numerous bathrobes, some terrycloth, others a black, sexy silk.

Unless she was missing something, he had few casual clothes. Did that mean he spent most of his time overseeing his empire?

She pulled a snowy-white dress shirt from a hanger and wiggled into it. The sleeves were ridiculously long. As she rolled up the cuffs, she noticed they were embroidered with his initials.

Now that she was warm and safe, exhaustion hit her. It wasn’t just the lateness or the champagne and shower, but also the events of the evening. Her body demanded sleep.

In the distance, the clock marked the passing of another hour.

Since she didn’t intend to sleep on a couch, she pulled back the covers on his bed and crawled between his crisp sheets.

And now, with the first rays of sun filtering through the window, Zara blinked, trying to orient herself.

When she opened her eyes all the way, reality pressed down on her.

Dragging the covers with her, she sat up in his bed, then stifled a gasp.

Her jailer was back, sitting in the chair, feet propped on the ottoman. While he was still dressed, he’d discarded his jacket, loosened his tie, and unfastened his top few buttons.

With an untamed lock of dark hair falling across his forehead, he was overwhelmingly handsome. But as he slept, his defenses had dropped a little—she wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d disappeared entirely—making him less formidable.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

His eyes were dark with smoky intent. “Principessa.” He wrapped the word in a husky purr.

She drew a frantic breath, unsure of what to say to the man whose bed she occupied.

“I trust you had an enjoyable night?”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow. In disbelief? Or just in question?

“I don’t like being held against my will while other people take action in my life.”

“The thousand-dollar bottle of champagne didn’t help?”

She winced. Had it really cost that much?

“Or a shower?”

Belatedly she remembered the clothing she’d left in his bathroom.

“Or my bed?”

She shrugged off his question. “You told me to make myself comfortable.”

He tipped his head to one side in silent agreement.

“What happened last night? With Maverick?”

“He’s currently a guest of the city.”

“Jail?” She gaped.

“As I said, I don’t tolerate bad behavior in my house.”

“You called the police on him?”

“Most assuredly.”

She narrowed her gaze. “And what else happened?”

“We had a…fruitful conversation about how to treat ladies.”

“And what was the nature of your conversation?”

“Nothing extraordinary.” Lorenzo dropped his feet to the floor, then stood. “I’ll drive you home when you’re ready.”

“No need. I have a driver on call, and he’s always—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

She momentarily pressed her hands against her face. This arrogant specimen of masculinity frustrated her at every turn. “Look. Lorenzo. I appreciate what you’ve done, but I can take care of myself from here.”

With a few fast strides, he was at the bedside, and she scooted against the headboard, instinctively retreating.

“Principessa, you’re my obligation.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not.”

He leaned toward her. “You are—have been for ten years.”

They breathed the same air, and in the closeness, she was captivated by the purposeful intent in his gaze.

Her heartbeat reverberated in her ears.

“You feel it.”

Frantically she shook her head, lying to them both. Her reaction to him—screaming, visceral need—terrified her. If she gave in, she’d be lost in him, maybe forever.

He closed in, just a fraction of an inch more.

Zara was powerless, and her body betrayed her with the truth. “Yes.” Unable to help herself, she reached toward him, placing two fingers on his jawline.

“Be careful.” The warning was harsh. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Maybe I do.”

With a rough laugh, he shook his head. “I have certain tastes.”

She’d heard whispers that he occasionally attended BDSM play parties at the sprawling, impressive home of the city’s legal eagles, Diana and Alcott Hewitt. But she doubted he realized that she visited as well. “I know.”

His slight laugh was rough. “My demands may terrify you.”

His air of danger drew her. She could escape his web, but she no longer wanted to. “They won’t.” He couldn’t know that she’d never found anyone who intrigued her the way he did.

Lorenzo didn’t kiss her. Instead, he claimed her, capturing her lips with his.

He tasted of danger and promise, and he plundered her mouth.

This wasn’t a polite dance of seduction—it was the explosion of a pent-up demand, bending her to his indomitable will.

He curled his fingers into her shoulders. With inexorable force, he drew her onto her knees, and she was helpless to resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered herself to him. Like a greedy man, he accepted, consuming her.

When her lips were bruised and her body shook from the intensity of his domination, he tore his lips from hers. “Fuck.”

Still kneeling, she touched her swollen mouth.

“You need to get dressed before I throw you beneath me, tie you up, and take what I want.” With a last hard look, his eyes feral, he crossed the room, distancing himself from her.

“Lorenzo…” How did she admit she wanted that?

He left, slamming the door behind him.

When she managed to draw a breath, Zara changed positions, sitting with her knees to her chest. Had he meant that? That he was as hungry for her as she was for him? If so, why had he walked away? Your misplaced sense of obligation?

God, the man was confounding.

He’d given them both some space, and no doubt it was in her best interest to get out of here.

Her clothes weren’t in the bathroom. Instead, they were in his closet. He’d hung her dress next to his suits. Her shoes were tucked alongside his. Heat chased across her cheeks when she noticed her panties were draped over the hamper.

In the light of day, the sight scandalized her.

He’d taken care of the items she’d discarded, and the fact that he’d handled her lingerie scandalized her.

Hurriedly, she removed his shirt, then pulled on her dress, wishing it were several inches longer. As for her underwear, she would place them in her purse.

With her hand on the banister for stability, she descended the stairs to the foyer. She tucked away her panties, kicked off her shoes and left them beneath the hall table, then wandered barefoot to the kitchen where she found him.

The coffeemaker hissed and spluttered as it finished its brew cycle.

Though she hadn’t made a sound, he turned to face her.

Lorenzo, relaxed in his environment, disarmed her. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. And he now stood mere inches away from her. His top few buttons were still open, and she noticed the alluring smattering of hair on his chest. His ultramasculinity appealed to all her feminine instincts.

Pretending this was an ordinary experience, she smiled. “Is there enough to share?”

“The coffee? It’s all for you.”

She frowned. “You don’t consume caffeine?” Are you superhuman?

“I prefer a protein smoothie before my workout.” He poured her a cup, then mentioned that various creamers were in the refrigerator.

“That surprises me.”

“I keep them for my crew.”

“You’re a thoughtful host.”

He quirked his lips. “That’s a step up from prison guard, I suppose.”

As far as being held against her will, maybe it hadn’t been too bad. The thousand-dollar bottle of bubbles had certainly helped.

She added a splash of cream to her beverage while she watched him scoop a green powder into a blender. He followed it with almond milk, some beets, kale, and aloe juice. When he was done pulsing the thing into oblivion, it was as thin as water and smelled completely unappetizing. “You’re really going to drink that?”

“Every day.”

After pouring the concoction into a glass, he downed it in three swallows.

It might help keep him trim and focused, but for her, it would be much too high a price to pay.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

She shuddered. “Not if anything like that is on the menu.”

“Eggs and bacon? Pancakes?”

“Seriously?”

“I like to take care of people. And that means fulfilling their every need.”

The cup halfway to her mouth, Zara froze. Then telling herself she was reading too much into his words, she returned to his question. “I usually skip breakfast and grab something on my way to the office.” A bagel maybe. At times, a donut or croissant. Chocolate, at any rate.

He nodded. “Give me five minutes to change.”

While she crossed into the living room to finish her coffee near the window, he jogged up the stairs.

The past twelve hours had been surreal, and it was impossible to believe she’d slept in Lorenzo Carrington’s bed. And how she wished it had been under different circumstances.

She shook her head to clear it as he descended toward her.

Lorenzo in a suit was breathtaking. But in a long-sleeved form-hugging dove-gray shirt and high-tech black shorts, he was devastating. His upper body was exquisite, from his broad shoulders and massive chest to his honed biceps. His leg muscles were chiseled, no doubt from weight training as much as cardio.

Even though she cleared her throat, she couldn’t find her voice.

“Ready?”

Now that it was a new day, and he’d kissed her senseless, he wanted her to return to her normal life? Fine by me.

Setting her chin, she followed him to the foyer, where she snagged her purse.

He opened the door, and as always, Mario was on duty. Did no one ever rest?

Together with Lorenzo’s ever-present companion, they entered the waiting elevator and were whisked to a level where a sleek yellow sports car waited.

“What?” She blinked. “No limo?”

“There are times I prefer to drive myself.”

But as he accelerated onto the empty street, a glance in the mirror showed another vehicle trailing them.

What kind of world do you live in?The speculation he’d dismissed earlier now seemed more believable to her.

“You still live with your father?”

Zara nodded. Maybe she should have moved out, but she didn’t see the point. The house was massive, and now that most of her brothers had left, she had a wing to herself. Her grandmother had willed her a generous inheritance, and Zara had used it to get her start in business. She wanted to be judicious with her funds, and honestly, even though her father was imperfect, she loved him.

During the short drive, Lorenzo made conversation, asking about her job.

“I didn’t want to go into the family business, and I found some success with being a social media influencer.” She shifted uncomfortably on the luxurious leather seat.

“A lot of success.”

She turned slightly toward him, looking for hints of sarcasm, but found none. “It’s not something everyone understands.”

“They don’t have to. You get people the coverage they want and access into the places they want to be. You have over two million followers, if I remember correctly?”

“You’ve researched me?”

“You’re not the only one who does some reading in their spare time.”

“Touché.”

After a quick grin, he went on. “With those kinds of numbers, you’ll get the attention of numerous places and brands, and that creates its own opportunities.”

His knowledge of her job exceeded that of anyone she’d ever talked to. She received plenty of support from her friends Makenna and Avery, whom she’d met through a Women in Business group, but even then, she’d had to explain—in detail—what she did and how she made her money.

“You’re evidently working with a major cosmetic manufacturer on your own line of makeup?”

“That was supposed to be a secret.”

“I have excellent sources.”

“So you did more than a cursory internet search?” She didn’t expect an answer. And he didn’t provide one. But it made her wonder how much he did know about her.

“Venues around town no doubt pay you nice sums to host parties and post photos.”

In her case, a picture wasn’t just worth a thousand words—it could generate a thousand, or more, dollars. “Is the Bella Rosa interested in contracting me?”

“I’ll put you in touch with my marketing team.”

His offer was casual, making her wonder if he meant it. “You’ve received plenty of free publicity from me already.”

“We appreciate it.”

“You’ve noticed?”

“Every post. Every mention. Every one of your visits.”

Despite the early-morning warmth, she shivered. He had been watching her—which was no doubt how he’d managed to snatch away her martini before she took a drink. Still, his team was always likely on the lookout for that kind of behavior. He definitely didn’t want his resort to earn a reputation as a place where women’s drinks were spiked with date-rape drugs.

When they reached her father’s home, he rounded the car to open her door, then walked her up the path to the porch. Old-world manners. Which made him even more appealing.

Once there, she hesitated. Unsure what to say, she settled for thanking him.

“I will always keep you safe.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Have dinner with me tonight?”

She wanted nothing more “I have to work.”

“Afterward, then.”

“I…”

With his thumb, he lifted her chin, then once again staked his claim on her mouth. She was his, and his hot, plundering possession erased any doubt.

“I look forward to seeing you.” With the pad of his thumb, he traced her lips that were now more bruised than ever.

Zara watched him leave.

If she accepted his offer, her life would change forever. Did she have the courage to get involved with a man potentially associated with the Mafia? What scared her most was the terrible realization that she might not have the conviction to stay away.