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“Does it matter?”
She stifled her impatience. “Not especially. I’m just … interested.” Her fingers ran over the cool fabric of his suit. “You’ve changed. You’re dressed up.”
She stepped back so that she could regard him properly, and the effect sent her pulse skittering. She bit down on her lower lip as her clear green eyes moved slowly over his body. The suit was exceptional; it fitted as though it had been stitched to his frame. And perhaps it had been. It was the perfect shade to compliment his olive skin, and it highlighted the strength of his size. His feet wore black shoes that glistened in the soft glow of the apartment. He smelled of success and the woods.
“Do you like what you see?” His tone was laced with teasing mockery.
Embarrassed, her eyes flew to his face. “You’re going somewhere,” she said. She’d been staring shamelessly. Well? How could she not?
“We’re going somewhere,” he corrected with a laugh.
“Oh.” Disappointment warred with curiosity. “Where?”
Another small laugh. “You’d rather stay in?”
God, was she so obvious? She shook her head, but her eyes were enormous. He put his hands on her hips and stared down at her earnestly. Her skin was clear like warm candle wax and her lips were perfect rose buds. His gut clenched as the sun pierced the tinted glass of his penthouse and cast a perfect angel halo around her. It did not, he noticed with wry amusement, reach him, despite their proximity.
Well, that made perfect sense. She was an angel, and he was her counterpart.
“I … don’t mind,” she said huskily.
He linked his fingers with hers. “Come with me.”
Her heart turned over and immediately desire formed a crashing tsunami in her system. In her whole life, she wasn’t sure she would ever get enough of this man. And yet she didn’t have a lifetime to enjoy him. She had a week. It was the very end of the cliff top and she wouldn’t think about the day when she had to step off it.
She followed him, barely noticing the luxury that surrounded them as they went. The paintings by renowned masters, sculptures that would have looked at home in the grand gallery of the Louvre. And yet despite that, there was an overwhelming sense of sterility.
Perhaps it was the absence of personality that became more and more obvious as they moved. The lack of photographs, the lack of personal effects, the lack of signs that this man – Caradoc Moore – spent time here. And yet he was such a force, a being of earthly elements, how had he managed to live in this penthouse without leaving any impression of himself?
She didn’t want to think, as they entered the bedroom, about how many other women he’d brought here. His past was his, and it had nothing to do with what they felt for one another.
Caradoc’s expression was impossible to interpret as he began to unbutton her simple white blouse. He discarded it on the foot of the bed and then turned his attention to her pants.
His fingers were cool on her warm skin; goose bumps danced over her flesh as he removed her pants, leaving her standing in the middle of the room dressed in only underwear.
Ridiculously, she was self-conscious suddenly. His apartment was so perfect. Everything about it was art-gallery worthy, including Caradoc, who could have passed for a top model. And then there was her. Seraphina was neither perfect nor did she aspire to be. She tilted her chin in an angle of defiance, wishing she could silence the thoughts that were ravaging her soul.
“I have wondered about this,” he said thickly, stepping away from her reluctantly and crossing to a sliding timber door. He disappeared for a brief moment and then returned with a panther-like gait and eyes that shone.
But Finn’s eyes were drawn to what he held in his hand.
It was an evening gown. But it was … magical.
“What is that?” She whispered, and her feet glided over the floor of their own accord so that she met him in the middle of the room.
“This is what you will wear tonight.”
“It’s … stunning.” And not at all what she would have imagined Caradoc might select for her, if indeed she’d imagined him choosing her clothes at all. The dress was the same shade of green as her eyes, vibrant and mossy. In style, it was similar to a traditional wedding gown, with a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline that plumed at the waist into a full, floor-length skirt. There were acres and acres of tulle beneath it. Finn ran her hand over the soft fabric with a sense of awe.
But whose dress was it? Her eyes narrowed. Had he chosen it for her, or just pulled it from the wardrobe of a past lover? Or worse, an ex-wife? Her cheeks drained of all colour. Or a current wife?
“Where did it come from?”
His expression showed bemusement. “A shop.” And to highlight his point, he fingered the still-attached price tag.
Finn couldn’t help seeing the amount on display and it almost doubled her over. Did people really pay that much for a dress? It was more than her first car had cost, by a factor of five. Then again, that old Jaguar had been a labour of love – an elegant creature that had been ignored and mistreated, that she and her dad had coaxed lovingly back to life.
“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly. “I don’t understand how you have it here.”
