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And it had all been a lie. The man sitting in front of her had no softness, only that ruthless edge and deadly charm.
‘Don’t be so sure, Zaccheo. I’ve learnt a few lessons since our unfortunate association.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m no longer gullible. And my family may not be perfect, but I’m still fiercely protective of those I care about. Don’t forget that.’
He helped himself to his wine. ‘Duly noted.’ His almost bored tone didn’t fool her into thinking this subject had stopped being anything but volatile.
They finished their meal in tense silence.
Eva almost wilted in relief when the doorbell rang and Zaccheo walked away to answer it.
Catching sight of the time, she jumped up from the dining table and was crossing the living room when Zaccheo’s hand closed over her wrist.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.
‘Dinner’s over. Can you let me go, please? I need to get going or I’ll be late.’
His brows furrowed, giving him a look of a dark predator. ‘Late for what?’
‘Late for work. I’ve already taken two days off without pay. I don’t want to be late on top of everything else.’
‘You still work at Siren?’ His tone held a note of disbelief.
‘I have to make a living, Zaccheo.’
‘You still sing?’ His voice had grown deeper, his eyes darkening to a molten grey as he stared down at her. Although Zaccheo’s expression could be hard to decipher most of the time, the mercurial changes in his eyes often spelled his altered mood.
This molten grey was one she was familiar with. And even though she didn’t want to be reminded of it, a pulse of decadent sensation licked through her belly as she recalled the first night she’d seen him.
He’d walked into Siren an hour before closing, when she’d been halfway through a sultry, soulful ballad—a song about forbidden love, stolen nights and throwing caution to the wind. He’d paused to order a drink at the bar, then made his way to the table directly in front of the stage. He’d sipped his whisky, not once taking his eyes off her. Every lyric in the three songs that had followed had felt as if it had been written for the man in front of her and the woman she’d wanted to be for him.
She’d been beyond mesmerised when he’d helped her off the stage after her session. She’d said yes immediately when he’d asked her out the next night.
But she’d been wrong, so very wrong to believe fate had brought Zaccheo to the club. He’d hunted her down with single-minded intent for his own selfish ends.
God, how he must have laughed when she’d fallen so easily into his arms!
She yanked her arm free. ‘Yes, I still sing. And I’d be careful before you start making any threats on my professional life, too. I’ve indulged you with the engagement-ring picking and the makeover and the homecoming dinner. Now I intend to get back to my reality.’
She hurried away, determined not to look over her shoulder to see whether he was following. She made it to her room and quickly changed into her going-to-work attire of jeans, sweater, coat and a thick scarf to ward off the winter chill. Scooping up her bag, she checked her phone.
No calls.
The unease in her belly ballooned as she left her suite.
Zaccheo was seated on the sofa in the living room, examining a small black velvet box. His eyes tracked her, inducing that feeling of being helpless prey before a ruthless marauder. She opened her mouth to say something to dispel the sensation, but no words emerged. She watched, almost paralysingly daunted as he shut the box and placed it on the coffee table next to him.
‘Would it be too indulgent to demand a kiss before you leave for work, dolcezza?’ he enquired mockingly.
‘Indulgent, no. Completely out of the question, most definitely,’ she retorted. Then silently cursed her mouth’s sudden tingling.
He shook his head, his magnificent mane gleaming under the chandelier. ‘You wound me, Eva, but I’m willing to wait until the time when you will kiss me freely without me needing to ask.’
‘Then you’ll be waiting an eternity.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZACCHEO PACED THE living room and contemplated leaving another voicemail message.
He’d already left five, none of which Eva had bothered to answer. It was nearly two a.m. and she hadn’t returned. In his gloomy mood, he’d indulged in one too many nightcaps to consider driving to the club where she worked.
