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‘Put it on. Now,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice even.
Undoing the clasp, she took the ring off the chain and slid it back on her finger. ‘There. Can I return to work now or are you going to harangue me about something else?’
He told himself he did it because he needed to put his rampaging emotions somewhere. That it was her fault for pushing him to his limit. But when he plucked her from her seat, placed her in his lap and kissed her insanely tempting mouth, Zaccheo knew it was because he couldn’t help himself. She got to him in a way no one else did.
By the time he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. Her high colour filled him with immense satisfaction, helping him ignore his own hopeless loss of control.
‘Don’t take the ring off again, Eva. You underestimate the lengths I’m prepared to go to in making sure you stick to your word, but for your sake I hope you start taking me seriously.’
* * *
In contrast to the vividness of Zaccheo’s presence, the rest of the night passed in a dull blur after he left. By the time Eva collapsed into bed in the early hours, her head throbbed with the need to do something severely uncharacteristic. Like scream. Beat her fists against the nearest wall. Shout her anger and confusion to the black skies above.
She did nothing of the sort. More than anything, she craved a little peace and quiet.
After that kiss in the club, even more eyes had followed her wherever she went. Hushed whispers had trailed her to the bathroom. By the time her shift had ended three hours later, she’d been ready to walk out and never return.
She wouldn’t, of course. Working at Siren gave her the free time to write her songs while earning enough to live on. Despite Zaccheo’s heavy-handedness, she could never see a time when she’d be dependent on anyone other than herself.
‘You underestimate the lengths I’m prepared to go to...’
The forceful statement had lingered long after he’d left, anchored by the heavy presence of the prenuptial agreement in her handbag.
He’d said he wouldn’t negotiate. Eva didn’t see that he had a choice in this matter. Refusing to marry him might well spell the end for her father, but withholding the truth and marrying him knowing she could never fulfil her part of the bargain would be much worse.
Turning in bed, she punched her pillow, dreading the long, restless night ahead. Only to wake with sunshine streaming through the window and her clock announcing it was ten o’clock.
Rushing out of bed, she showered quickly and entered the dining room just as Romeo was exiting, having finished his own breakfast. The table was set for one and Eva cursed herself for the strange dip in her belly that felt very much like disappointment.
‘Good morning. Shall I get the chef to make you a cooked breakfast?’ The man whose role she was beginning to suspect went deeper than a simple second-in-command asked.
‘Just some toast and tea, please, thank you.’
He nodded and started to leave.
‘Is Zaccheo around or has he left for the office?’
‘Neither. He left this morning for Oman. An unexpected hiccup in the construction of his building there.’
Eva was unprepared for the bereft feeling that swept through her. She should be celebrating her temporary reprieve. Finding a way to see if she could work around that impossible clause. ‘When will he be back?’
‘In a day or two. Latest by the end of the week to be ready in time for the wedding,’ Romeo said in that deep, modulated voice of his. ‘This is for you.’ He handed her a folded note and left.
The bold scrawl was unmistakeably Zaccheo’s.
Eva,
Treat my absence as you wish, but never as an excuse to be complacent.
My PA will be in touch with details of your wedding dress fitting this morning and your amended schedule for the week.
You have my permission to miss me.
Z
Ugh! She grimaced at the arrogance oozing from the paper. Balling the note, she flung it across the table. Then quickly jumped up and retrieved it before Romeo returned. The last thing she wanted was for him to report her loss of temper to Zaccheo.
Her traitorous body had a hard enough time controlling itself when Zaccheo was around. She didn’t want him to know he affected her just as badly when he was absent.
By the time breakfast was delivered, she’d regained her composure. Which was just as well, because close on the chef’s heel was a tall, striking brunette dressed in a grey pencil skirt and matching jacket.
‘Good morning, my name is Anyetta, Mr Giordano’s PA. He said you were expecting me?’
