Consequence of His Revenge (One Night With Consequences) Page 11

  And she’d rejected it.

  * * *

  The bank meeting was even less fruitful than Cami had expected, and she had prepared herself for heart-wrenchingly low results.

  The manager was nice enough. She sat with them for about ten minutes, took Cami’s information, but told her the file would have to be referred to the bank’s fraud department. Someone would be in touch.

  She stopped future payments and very helpfully printed out the history of Cami’s transfers to the Benito account, which subtotaled to a sickening amount. Cami could have financed her brother’s bachelor degree by now.

  She didn’t know if she was supposed to feel foolish or vindicated as Dante glanced at it, but mostly she felt disregarded. He’d spent half the meeting texting.

  Was she playing the martyr? Not consciously, but in case he had forgotten, he had taken her apart and put her back together last night. Several times. A tiny bit of regard this morning didn’t seem like a big ask. He was flaying her to bits.

  “Are you serious about my staying in Whistler?” she asked as they exited the bank. “Because there’s clearly no point.”

  His head came up from his phone, distracted frown sharpening. “What do you mean?”

  “You couldn’t care less what the bank is doing and don’t want to be seen with me, so—”

  “I’m talking to the bank right now. Not this one, but the head office of Benito’s bank in Milan. I know one of their VPs. I sent him an email this morning and didn’t expect to hear from him because of the time change, but he’s visiting his wife’s family in America, so he’s already started checking into it. He does not look kindly on the family bank being used as a laundry by criminals. He’s established that the account is owned by a numbered company and says these transactions are often hidden by bouncing them through a few channels, trying to dodge detection. He’ll keep digging.”

  “Oh.” Her feet glued themselves to the sidewalk.

  “Oh, indeed. As for not wanting to be seen with you, I explained why that’s awkward with my grandmother. I was going to ask you if you would like to go to a club tonight, though. I bumped into an acquaintance over breakfast. He owns Afterglow. Said he’d put me on the list.” He quirked his brow as though suggesting his acquaintance was being pretentious.

  Afterglow was terribly pretentious. It was where all the celebrities went when they came to Whistler. She had secretly always wanted to see inside, but clubbing was one of those luxuries she’d always wondered about, but couldn’t afford. Like everything about this man, his invitation tempted her simply for the chance to spend more time in his company, but she was so disconcerted, she could only shrug self-consciously.

  “Do you want to go?”

  “We can’t make love nonstop,” he said with a smirk of untold arrogance.

  “Evidence to the contrary,” she muttered.

  He let out a bark of laughter, something that made standing on this sidewalk with him the most amazing place to be in that moment, contentious relationship or not. It made her yearn for something more with him. Something truly meaningful.

  His phone pinged and he glanced at it. “I have to drop by the Tabor. Can you amuse yourself until lunch?”

  He didn’t threaten to tie her to the bed in his suite, she noted, but simply assumed she would stay with him.

  She folded the printout she still held, thinking of the restitution she had failed to make, despite her best efforts. She really did want to put the past to bed, but wasn’t sure if his bed was the place to do it. Walking away wouldn’t allow for any sort of peace between them, though.

  “I’m going to look for a job. See if I can scare up a place to live so I can stay here instead of moving to Vancouver.”

  A shadow of something moved behind his eyes, dissolving the humor that was lingering there.

  He nodded. “Good luck. See you at lunch, then.” He planted a kiss on her that left her heart pounding and walked away.

  * * *

  When they returned to his suite at the end of the day, a rack of dresses and accompanying accessories filled the lounge.

  “What—?”

  “You need something to wear to the club.”

  A dress. Not a wardrobe!

  “I bought a new top to wear with my miniskirt.” She’d found a steal on a sequined halter at the consignment store and showed it to him.

  He made a face that said meh, and opened a bottle of wine.

  “What’s wrong with it?” She’d done a lot of hand-wringing today, wondering if she was making the right choice, but kept coming back to wanting him not to hate her. To see that she was doing the best she could.

  “Indulge me,” he said, jerking his chin at the dresses while pouring glasses. He seated himself on the sofa as though settling in to watch a sports final.

  “You want me to model for you? That’s rather objectifying, isn’t it?” She tried to be indignant, but a secretive part of her was titillated.

  “I call it foreplay, but if you’d rather not...” He shrugged, but the slant of his mouth suggested genuine disappointment. Enough to make her want to laugh.

  “Is this your thing?” she asked, casting him a curious look as she fingered through the dresses. “Your kink? Do you go to strip clubs?” There was so much about him she didn’t know.

  “No. But I like to see beautiful women in beautiful clothing. I think that makes me one hundred percent normal heterosexual male. Vanilla, even.”

  “I’m not beautiful,” she said absently, holding a dress of gold fringe against her front, glancing at him for his reaction.

  He nodded approval, saying, “You are.”

  She glowed under the compliment, even as she denied it. “Prettyish, at best.”

  She slipped behind the rack and unzipped one boot, then the other.

  “That’s not me fishing for reassurance. Just honest self-assessment.” She was pear-shaped, not hourglass. Her lashes needed about a pound of mascara to thicken them up to “average.” Her face was on the roundish, girlish side, not elegant or aristocratic. “I have decent skin and nice hair, but I’m no supermodel.”

  “Women are idiotic, setting ridiculous standards for themselves,” he said as she skimmed away her jeans and top.

  “As foreplay goes, yours sucks.”

  She heard his choke of laughter, then a growled “Yours is excellent. You’re making me insane, hiding back there. Get out here.”

  She bit back a smile, suddenly taking great enjoyment in this flirt and play. This lighthearted teasing made her happy. Optimistic. She hugged the dress to her bare front for a moment, deciding to stop trying to figure out where they were going and embrace what they had. She slowed her movements, giving him a show beneath the rack of clothing by stepping one naked foot through the dress she was trying on, then the other, then very, very slowly shimmied it up her bare legs.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he warned.

  “I’m starting to worry we’ll need a spreadsheet for all the debits and credits.” Holding the front of the loose dress, she came around, growing nervous as she showed herself. She padded toward him and turned so he could zip her.

  He set aside his wine and sat forward. “Lift your hair.”

  She did, felt the dress draw close around her, then his heavy hands settled on her hips. Every single fringe seemed to tickle across her cheeks. Her entire backside began to tingle. Little teases of arousal fluttered through her loins and upward to her breasts.

  “Heels, pi fauri,” he said absently and sat back.

  Her whole body warmed as she moved away and chose a pair of gold sandals with an ankle strap and a four-inch spike.

  “I’ll help you,” he said before she could sit to put them on.

  His voice was very low and intent. He opened his thighs so she could set her foot on the cushion between his knees. He took his time, caressing her arch and ankle before putting the shoe in place, then taking care with closing the buckle. He motioned for the other.


  She had trouble balancing, knees nearly unhinged so she had to grasp at his shoulder.

  “Walk to the window,” he commanded softly.

  She did, slowly, feeling his gaze on her like a million suns. Maybe she didn’t consider herself beautiful, but in that moment, she felt glamorous and exotic. Prized.

  It was strangely empowering. She struck a provocative pose as she looked over her shoulder at him, back arched, hip cocked.

  “I don’t like this one,” she said haughtily. “I want to try another.”

  He sat arrested with his drink halfway to his mouth. His voice was velvet and leather, thick and smoky and sensual. “By all means.”

  She tried on one in a rich burgundy in a fabric light as air. The spaghetti straps barely held up the cups over a deep cleavage. The skirt was a handkerchief cut with high slits.

  “What do you think?” She fluttered the skirt to reveal and conceal her legs nearly to her hips, deliberately teasing, though she wasn’t sure which one of them was more affected. Her body was warm and her muscles growing lethargic with sensuality. “Too high school prom?”

  “The black shoes, I think.” His voice was a silken ribbon sweeping over her and coiling tight, squeezing her breath.

  “No,” she defied with a shake of her hair. “I want to try something else.” She checked in with him and liked the way his mouth was deep at the corners, his eyes narrowed with absolute focus on her.

  “The blue, then.” It was a strapless mini with silver embossing, tight as a second skin.

  “Now the black shoes,” she stated, sauntering to collect them.

  “Bring me that bag.” He nodded to a pink bag with silk handles and a logo for designer lingerie that Cami hadn’t noticed.

  The wicked flutters in her abdomen grew as she brought the items across to him.

  He plucked the tissue from the bag and spilled jewel-colored silk and lace across the cushion beside him, fingering through the items for long moments before taking up a miniscule scrap in midnight-blue with an edging of black lace.

  She reached for it.

  “I’ll help. Hold still.”

  She was paralyzed, barely breathing as he hitched forward, legs opening so his knees bracketed hers. He grazed his flat hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt. The tightness of the knit in the skirt ironed his palms to her skin. His fingers slid across her hips, then hooked into the edge of her very boring, white cotton underwear. He eased them down until they fell in a bunch at her ankles.

  “Step.” He held the new ones for her.

  She was losing track of which one of them was in charge. She obeyed, bones so weak she had to brace on his shoulder again. She quivered under the erotic scrape of lace up her thighs, at the way she thought she could feel the abrasion of his fingerprints against her skin.

  He smoothed the thong into place, running thorough fingertips along her hips to ensure there were no twists. His thumbs followed the triangle across the front, causing a pulse of anticipation that was nothing but molten heat, so intense she nearly sobbed.

  “I’m going to ruin them,” she whispered.

  “I expect I’ll be ripping them off you very soon, bedduzza,” he said, very slowly drawing his hands from beneath her skirt and gently tugging her hem into place. “Would you like to walk for me? Or shall we change your shoes first?”

  “What do you want?” She could barely stand while he sounded quite composed.

  “I would like to change your shoes.”

  She swallowed and set her foot on the cushion, skirt riding up and no doubt affording him quite a view as he first removed the gold ones, then eased the black velvet heels into place, tightening the ankle strap of first one, then the other.

  As she started to draw her foot back to the floor, he tightened his hold on her ankle, urging her to stay exactly as she was.

  Her hair fell in curtains around her face as she looked down at him. The helplessness she felt in that moment was terrifying, making her worry this was a huge mistake, yet she couldn’t deny herself or him.

  “I don’t think you’re ruining them,” he said, watching her as he lazily caressed up her inner thigh to the damp silk. “I find your reaction incredibly exciting.” He drew the fabric away from her folds. The backs of his knuckles swept her damp flesh once, twice, then he gently parted and explored more thoroughly.

  “I don’t...think.” Couldn’t think. Not at all. She swallowed and swayed. “I can’t stand.”

  “No? How are you feeling otherwise? Tender?” He did wizardly things that made her bite her lip and moan. “All day I’ve been thinking about last night. How incredible it was. How delightful you are.”

  She didn’t expect him to say such things. Her eyes teared up. She teetered and he caught her, pulling her down so her knees straddled his thighs. They kissed, hot and urgent. She fairly attacked his mouth and only lifted her head because she felt him searching for her zipper and wanted to get her hair out of the way.

  As her dress loosened, he brushed down the bodice. In virtually the same motion, he slid his hands under her bottom, shoving her skirt to her waist as he urged her to stand on her knees so he could suck her nipples.

  They were ultrasensitive, and she had to set a hand on his jaw, urging him to be gentle.

  He threw his head back and his expression was full of rapacious hunger and barely contained restraint. He slid down enough to dig in his pocket, then clutched the condom packet in his teeth while opening his fly.

  He very easily dispatched her brand-new, worn-for-a-minute underpants with a twist of his wrist. A second later, she followed his guiding hand to take him in.

  The ferocity in his eyes was her whole world as he filled her, inch by inch of granite thickness, heavy hands on her hips urging her to take up the rhythm they both craved.

  Clutching at the back of the sofa, she rode him, lost to sensation. To pleasure. To a climax that had her arching and releasing helpless cries as she shuddered and quaked.

  “Beautiful,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do it again.”

  * * *

  Dante had had mistresses before, but none like Cami. She was proving to be a delightfully quick study on the physical side of their arrangement, but remained a reluctant virgin to the rest, which was an exciting yet frustrating combo.

  As his new manager for the Tabor prattled in his ear, trying to impress him, he watched Cami talking to his HR manager for the chain. The Tabor’s dining lounge was decorated for its gala opening with a sea and sky theme. Clear balloons stood in bubble strands under sparkling star lights set off by drapes in evening blue. Cami should have blended in, but she was stealing all the attention in an ethereal gown that made her look like a water sprite. It spilled down her figure in shades of green, backless and draping her ass to perfection. Short sleeves stood up on her shoulders, made of a netted fabric that stood up like delicate wings, increasing the impression Cami was a magical creature sent to enchant him.

  Her hand lifted briefly, touching an earring again. She was terrified of losing them, which was part of that adorable, aggravating lack of assumption she exhibited with their relationship.

  * * *

  “I didn’t see they’d included accessories,” she had said when he presented the green sapphires with a matching oval-cut pendant. “They chose well, didn’t they? Suits the gown.”

  She had just finished curling her hair into big, lazy scrolls of dark coffee and rich auburn shot with threads of gold. They had fallen in ribbons around the shoulders of her hotel robe, making his fingers itch to muss them.

  “It’s from me,” he had informed her dryly, astonished that she was still taken aback by his attentive touches. “Lift your hair.”

  “When did you have time to shop? Is this from the boutique in the lobby?” She had turned to the mirror as he clasped the necklace.

  “There’s a shop near the Tabor.” He’d mentioned the name of the local jeweler.

  “These are real?” She’d spun, clutching at th
e pendant like it was going to combust. “But just on loan, right? As advertising or something? Did they tell you what I should say?”

  “They’re a gift.” A modest one by his standards, but the best the place had. Yet she had reacted as if he’d poured his mother’s wedding necklace into her hands.

  A darkness had passed behind her eyes before she’d shielded them with her thickened lashes. Her eyeliner tailing to a point at the corner of her eye, framing lids shaded with green and gold.

  “You’ve given me too much already.”

  A handful of off-the-rack dresses and some underthings that were more for his pleasure than hers were hardly going to break the bank. Neither was the pretty bauble, yet her reluctance to accept it had niggled.

  “You don’t like them? They can be exchanged.”

  “I’m worried something will happen. I’ve never worn anything so expensive.”

  “Except skis?” Elite equipment cost a small fortune.

  She conceded that point with a hitch of her shoulder, but then added in a mutter, “This isn’t how this is supposed to work. I’m already in your debt enough.”

  He hated talk like that from her. It cheapened every press of her mouth to his body, every cry of ecstasy he wrought from her, making him think she was only here because of her father’s theft, not because she wanted to be.

  “I’m quite happy with the return I’m getting,” he’d drawled, not quite disguising his aggravation. “Let me see.”

  Her gaze flashed once to meet his in the mirror, then she’d set aside her palette of rouge and turned, knuckles white where she clutched the edge of the vanity. Each time the past rose between them, the same flare-up happened between them, pushing them apart. He grew defensive, despite being the one who’d been wronged. She took on a haunted look that turned knife blades in his middle. He’d begun wondering what the hell he was doing, keeping her here with him like this, and had the unpleasant feeling she was wondering the same.

  The bank had yet to supply any answers, so they had no way to resolve this impasse. His solution was to burn away misgivings with the white-hot passion they stoked in each other. Not the best coping strategy, but it was the one he’d reached for in that moment as he’d slowly, deliberately, tugged her belt loose so her robe fell open.