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Oh, Ally, what have you done?
‘You look exquisite,’ he murmured.
She forced a smile to her lips, despite her fear. ‘So do you.’
In a tuxedo Dominic was completely devastating. But that wasn’t the reason her heartrate was accelerating like a racing car on the starting grid at Brands Hatch.
He gripped her fingers and pulled her into his embrace. Something dark and dangerous flared in hi
s rich chocolate eyes and he pressed his lips to her neck, making the sensitive skin sizzle and burn.
‘I wish we didn’t have to go to this damn event now,’ he murmured as his hands stroked her bottom.
She felt the instinctive shudder of need—and wished they didn’t have to attend it either. Her panties were already damp at the prospect of his lovemaking. She wanted the security of hard, sweaty sex, of feeling him deep inside her, to take the fear and panic away. At least for a little while. Until she knew what to do with this revelation. Because she instinctively knew Dominic was far from ready to hear it.
But surely he would be, given time. He’d already been like a real husband in so many respects, offering her support and encouragement, pushing her to be the best she could be in business. Giving her ecstasy and security in equal measure. And she hoped she’d given him the same. If only he would let her give him her love this could be a good marriage, a strong marriage, a lasting one.
‘Do we have to go?’ she asked.
He let out a strained chuckle and lifted his head. ‘Unfortunately, yes. It is a charity event. If we do not show it will reflect very badly on our public image.’ He smiled, the sensual smile that always drove her wild—full of a boyish charm she had come to adore. ‘Especially as everyone will guess what we were doing instead.’
She blushed as his teasing ignited the hot spot between her thighs.
‘Plus we don’t want to waste an opportunity for you to get exposure for this dress.’ His hand remained fastened to her side as he led her across the suite to pick up the stole she’d left on the chaise longue. ‘Is it one of the designs for the show?’
He wrapped the stole around her bare shoulders and then lifted the tendrils of hair that hung down her neck.
‘Yes,’ she said, hearing the strained chuckle at her shiver of reaction.
‘It is beautiful,’ he said, the desire flaring in his eyes as he escorted her to the penthouse suite’s private elevator.
She held onto him as they stepped into the gilded lift. The fear and panic coalescing in her stomach into a wellspring of hope as he murmured: ‘You are going to be a sensation in three weeks’ time.’
And for the first time, she believed it. If she could conquer that fear, surely she could conquer this one, too, and find a way to tell him, eventually, how much more she wanted from this marriage.
* * *
They arrived at the elegant forecourt of the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma less than fifteen minutes later for a production of Verdi’s Otello.
Ally absorbed the stunning grandeur of the nineteenth-century auditorium as they were escorted into the royal box—red velvet upholstery and curtains added another layer of luxury to the intricate gold plasterwork. She dipped her head back, letting her gaze travel past the five tiers of viewing galleries at the other side of the stage until it reached the rotunda decorated with nymphs and cherubs cavorting across a heavenly sky.
While Dominic thanked the young usher who had brought them to their seats and gave him a generous tip, Ally scanned the programme. She didn’t understand much of it because it was all written in Italian, until her gaze snagged on the name of the charity, which was in French. How odd. Fondation pour les Garçons Perdus.
‘That’s interesting,’ she said as Dominic took the seat beside her. ‘The charity this event is supporting is French.’
‘Is it?’ he said, undoing the button on his tuxedo, but tension had rippled across his jaw.
‘I think so. The name is French. Doesn’t that mean Foundation for Lost Boys?’ She showed him the programme, pointing to the French wording.
‘Yes, I guess so,’ he said, but then he took the programme from her hand and placed it on the table in front of them. ‘Come here,’ he said, and gripped her hand as the lights dimmed.
‘Dominic, what are you doing?’ she gasped as he tugged her out of her seat.
As applause rained down from the different tiers, the opening bars of the opera rang around the auditorium—stark and dramatic—and the curtain lifted, she found herself pulled into Dominic’s lap. His callused palm sent giddy arousal sinking into her sex as it stroked her thigh under her gown.
‘I want you too much,’ he growled as his hand sank into her hair, sending the pins holding the elaborate do flying.
Before she could protest, or even get her bearings, his mouth was on hers—firm, seeking, demanding. His tongue drove the hunger as he forced her to straddle him, her damp panties connecting with the thick ridge in his pants.
