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“Thanks.” Mercifully, she doesn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil. “I can’t even remember the last time I was in a pool.”
I watch the water drops slide over her skin, tracking across her freckles as though playing connect-the-dots. With her hair darkened by the water, her eyes look even more vibrantly warm, the coppery flecks glinting in the sun.
“We’re going out tonight,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
“To the opera?” An honest and open smile filters across her face as I nod. “I’ve always wanted to see one. Good thing I decided to pack those fancy dresses.”
I don’t want her in a dress. I want her naked and writhing beneath me. Inappropriate thoughts zip across my brain. I’m angry at my brother, that’s all. This is nothing but a survival mechanism—focusing on what feels good. What tempts me.
And Ava tempts me more than any woman I have ever known.
“You okay, Daniel? You look a little...flushed.” Her lips curve into a wicked smile. Gone is the remote woman who’s been avoiding me since the pictures came out. At any sign that she might get the upper hand, the seductress comes out to play.
“It’s warm out,” I say.
“You’re right, itiswarm.”
I’ve stepped into her web, played into her trap. Ava releases the towel and it slithers down her body, showing me all that wet, white fabric clinging to her. Showing me the shadow of her nipples and the sweet little vee of her sex.
I’m going to have her again.
I know it even before my brain has the chance to refute it. Tonight, I’m going to taste her again even if it’s the riskiest thing I could possibly do. Because dammit, I deserve something decent in the clusterfuck that is my life right now. I deserve something that makes me feel whole and good.
And Ava is my something good.
“Wear something that shows off your legs,” I tell her. “The black dress with the slit.”
Her nostrils flare and her eyes are like twin flames, but she says nothing.That’s right, Ava. Don’t forget who’s boss here.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ava
ISTANDINthe middle of the opulent bedroom suite, staring at the dress. It’s a black, glittering sheath with intricately beaded fabric, a high neckline and a slit that goes all the way up to midthigh. With each step I flash the full length of my leg, but the modest neckline and dark colour keep it chic. I’ve never been thin and there have been times when I’ve dreaded dressing up because clothes never seem to look on me the way they look on a model or a mannequin.
But this dress is made for curves. It hugs me, enhances me. It makes the most of my best features—my broad shoulders and my strong, muscular legs developed from years of playing netball—and it skims over the bits that I don’t feel so confident about.
Am I playing dress-up? Am I hoping the fine fabric and daring shape of this dress will help me appear glamorous and worldly when I’m anything but? Maybe.
I bend down and slip my foot into my trusty black stilettos. These shoes have seen me through weddings and other dressy events. They fake an extra few inches, and somehow... I look like someone who goes to the opera all the time.
I glance at the clock. Five minutes and we’re supposed to leave. I lost track chatting to Emery, filling her in on everything that’s been going on here...well, everything but the truth of Daniel and me. She told me I seem happy. Happier than she’s ever seen me. It’s hard to write that off as good acting, because I’ve never been good at faking it.
Grabbing my clutch, I check my reflection one last time. After a day in the pool, my skin has taken on a warm, golden glow.
Emery’s right, Iamhappy.
“Sex and sunshine will do that,” I mutter to myself as I head downstairs to meet Daniel.
Holding the length of my dress in one hand and clutch in the other, I take my time navigating the villa’s big, sweeping staircase. My heels click and the rustle of beaded fabric fills the quiet, cavernous room.
Daniel is waiting at the bottom, his head tilted up toward me. He looks magnetic—a black tux fits his muscular body perfectly and not even the bow tie softens his darkly masculine edge. He’s clean shaven, and his jaw is razor sharp. Dark, smouldering eyes draw me down step by step, as if I’m being pulled toward him by his will alone.
“Wow.” He shakes his head and holds his hand out to guide me down the last few steps.
I allow him to help me, more because I love the feel of his hand in mine than because I need it. “You’re looking pretty wow yourself.”
“I said it first.”
