by CC MacKenzie
"I want to sleep with the Wolf."
It was a throw-away comment that exposed her deepest, darkest desire. Something that would remain nothing more than a fantasy.
T.C.'s baby blue eyes were fixed on her face, eyes that saw too much.
Now they danced as they twinkled into hers.
"Well, nothing like jumping into the deep end."
"It was a joke."
"Yeah, right. The fact you're even thinking of handing the Wolf your cherry is a break-through of gigantic proportions. Wear the new silk undies he sent you from his spring collection."
Danni glared at her bestie.
"I have no idea how he knows my bra size."
"He's probably had a lot of hands-on experience stripping a front-fastening bra from a woman."
True.
Very true.
"Have you seen the size of him?"
T.C. just sent her a sly and very wicked smile.
"You know what they say about a man with big..." She wiggled her brows. "...hands and feet. Maybe, if you play your cards right, you'll find out how big he is yourself."
Danni hunched her shoulders.
"Dreaming and doing are two entirely different things."
T.C. swiped away an imaginary tear. "Girl, I'm proud to be your best friend."
"Shut up."
Now T.C.'s eyes went serious.
"What happened to you was not your fault."
"Logically, I know that. But I seem to have this default switch in my head. I understand it's a self-protection mechanism, but I can't seem to turn it off."
"No self-negativity, " said T.C. in a tone that meant business.
"I'm a mess."
"A little mess is good for us. It means we're not perfect. It means we're human."
"I'm not looking for perfect," admitted Danni, thinking she'd be more than happy to settle for normal.
"No? Prove it."
Why did T.C. need to be such a smart-ass?
"Shut up."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Bronte and the kids missed you."
Anastacia didn't turn around and face Olivier. Instead, she lifted a carefully folded pile of T-shirts and placed them in her suitcase. And told herself the hot lump in her belly was stupid.
"Perhaps if I'd been given notice of dinner with Nico and Bronte in the first place, I could have changed my incredibly busy schedule."
"You were not here when I returned this afternoon. I should have mentioned it on Friday, but with everything that happened I forgot about it. I apologize."
Now she wondered what he was apologizing for.
Had he kissed Talia?
Had they reminisced about old times, happy times they'd had together?
Had they laughed and regretted what they'd lost?
"You've had an action packed day," she said with a bite to her tone. "Lunch with an old flame. Dinner with old friends."
His hiss of breath revealed the tone had hit the spot.
"Look at me, Ana."
Now the demand in his voice poured fuel on the fire that fed her temper.
She spun to face him, fists on her hips and her chin held high.
"Don't you take that tone with me, pal. And don't you try and make me feel guilty about missing dinner with the Ferranti's. Unlike you I have nothing to feel guilty about."
He moved to invade her personal space and she refused to back down. She wouldn't give the pain in the ass the satisfaction. Now he stood before her dressed in black jeans, boots and a light grey thermal that made him look good enough to eat. Damn him.
Furious dark eyes stared into hers.
"You have no need to be jealous of a woman who means nothing to me. Less than nothing."
She poked her finger into his chest once, twice.
"Yeah? Well, if she means so little why the hell spend nearly all day with her?"
"I did not spend all day with her. At the most I spent forty minutes in her company."
"Counting the seconds, were we?"
Now he was in her face.
"I cannot believe you just said that. What part of the woman does not matter to me don't you understand?"
"If she didn't matter, you wouldn't have had lunch with her," she yelled in his face and poked his chest again to add weight to her point. Then her eyes narrowed into his. "She made a move on you, didn't she?"
He blinked.
And she saw the moment when he considered lying, and then his cheekbones streaked with heat.
"Knew it," she said and turned back to grab a couple of silk panties and balled them in her fist.
He grabbed and swung her around to face him.
"Nothing happened. I politely turned down her invitation to share her bed."
Stupid tears sprang to her stupid eyes before she could prevent them.
It cost her big time but she blinked them back because she would rather burn in a fiery hell before she cried in front of the likes of him.
"She knows we're together and she still made a pass at you? She's a slut."
Now he dropped his forehead on hers and held her close. "Si. I have hurt you and I am sorry, piccolino."
"Why did you do it?"
His heavy sigh was heartfelt.
And his eyes held hers.
"I wanted to stop her making trouble for us. I suspect she saw us in the press, on social media, and decided to try to make mischief. She knows we will never meet each other again."
The way he said it and the way his mouth went hard made her feel marginally better.
"Did you kick her skinny ass?"
That wonderful mouth curved.
"Let us just say that she received the message loud and clear that I am madly in love with the woman I am going to marry."
Now Anastacia's belly clutched for a different reason and she went stiff in his arms.
He didn't let her go, but he wasn't smiling now.
"I know you are not ready to commit to me. You have not yet learned to trust me. And without trust our relationship cannot survive..."
"But, I do..."
His finger on her lips stopped her words.
"No. You do not trust me utterly and completely. Not yet. Actions speak louder than words, Ana. When the time is right and you learn to love me the way I love you, without rules, without restrictions, that is when we will make the ultimate promise to each other."
The words, so softly spoken, made her feel as if she was a horrible person. A person only concerned with herself, her own needs, her own desires.
"But, I do love you, Olivier," she whispered, her heart in her eyes.
His kiss was soft and gentle and undemanding and it broke her heart.
"I know you do. There have been times when I know I am moving too fast for you. But I cannot hide the joy in my heart at having found you. I will give you all the time you need, Ana. But I would like you to meet me half-way."
She could meet him half-way, no problem.
"Of course." Then she frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."
When he dropped to his knees, her heart went crazy in her chest.
And when he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the most perfect ring, her hands went to her throat.
Omigod.
"Will you promise to marry me some time in the future? Will you wear my ring to show the world that you are mine and I am yours?"
Dark eyes riveted on hers, he took her left hand and slid the sapphire and diamond ring set in white gold onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. It looked right. It felt right. When her eyes lifted to his, she read the hope, the anxiety. But most of all, the love. Wearing his ring would make him so very happy. How on earth could she refuse?
"Yes. I promise to marry you, when the time is right for both of us. And I am honored to wear your ring."
When she burst into tears, he was on his feet and had her in his arms and was kissing the breath from her body.
"Grazie, grazie, Ana. You have made me the happiest of men."
He held her so tight, she could barely breathe.
"Io ti amo, Anastacia. Io ti amo."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Paris
"How the hell is it possible for everything to go so badly wrong on day one?"
Ana was dressed to impress in a black VB trouser suit of the finest light wool that fitted her like a glove, her hair streaming down her back.
Linda winced as she studied her leader pacing on four inch platform heels. The replacement Director for the shoot was late. The model booked was a no-show and her replacement was acting like a total fool. Fleur Lezark was all over Olivier like a damned rash. For the most part, he was taking the unwelcome attention in his stride, but the woman was driving Anastacia nuts. If she just touched him like that one more time...
"I knew it was a risk going in to use an unknown model," she muttered under her breath.
The horrible expression on Linda's face as she studied her cell phone made Anastacia pause.
"Now what's wrong?"
"Trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Director trouble. You're so not gonna be happy, so don't shoot the messenger."
Anastacia's heart fell.
"Spit it out."
"Jake's here."
Blink.
Blink.
Her ex-boyfriend was here?
In Paris?
No frigging way.
No way.
Her heart stopped, before beating too fast against her ribs.
She rubbed the spot.
"What the hell happened to Tracey?" she asked, referring to the stand-in Director.
"Broke her wrist."
Anastacia closed her eyes, pressed her fingertips into her eyelids.
This could not be happening to her.
Jake Thornton was a total nightmare.
She opened her eyes, stared hard at Linda. "What are we gonna do?"
"Well, we can't cancel the crew or the model from hell. It'll cost a fortune and Nico won't be a happy boy. We're gonna have to go with it. It's only for four days. I'll run interference on the set. You can stay tucked away up here. It'll keep you out of harm’s way."
Anastacia might not like the plan. It smacked too much of running away from a man who was clever, controlling and manipulative. A man who'd caused her nothing but grief. Worse, he'd made her doubt herself. But she didn't have time to think of all that crap now. Linda was right. Keeping out of trouble, personal as well as professional, was her number one priority.
What else could possibly go wrong today?
***
Meanwhile, Danni was settling her designer clad self into a front row seat at the Aqua di Redo show. She'd been up bright and early, thinking she'd need to be first in line to get a half-decent seat, and had arrived to find her name DANIELLA PEBBLES emblazoned on a card placed on a prestigious front-row seat.
Wow.
She knew it was bad form to take a front row seat too early, so she'd slid away for a strong black coffee in a handy café to while away the time and simply hug the excitement of her great good fortune to herself. She took no notice of the admiring glances she received from every male with a pulse, and had no idea that the tailored VB sleeveless sheath in jade silk looked wonderful with her coloring, or that the nude three inch pumps made her long honey-tanned legs look endless.
An hour later, she entered the vast hall that held people jostling for position. Danni slid into her seat, determined to appear nonchalant. Ignoring the flash of excitement and anticipation that raced up her spine, as if she sat in the front row with celebrities every day of the week, she placed her Aqua di Redo leather bag at her feet, pressed her knees together. Her cell was fully charged, but she had a slick little portable battery charger on stand-by, plus an extra cell phone, just in case. And that was when her phoned dinged with incoming. She checked the screen and suppressed a very deep and very heartfelt groan. Her mother. An announcement over the tannoy gave a ten minute warning.
During the scramble for seats, she placed a finger in her ear to cut out the music and the noise.
"Hi, mamma." The deeply irritated sigh in response made her wince. "Sorry. Hi, Gillian."
"You know I don't look old enough to have a twenty-three year old daughter."
"Twenty-four," said Danni automatically, trying to swallow the hurt that her own mother had forgotten her only child's birthday. Again.
"Do not nitpick. Where are you?"
"Paris. Didn't you receive my email, my texts, my smoke-signals?"
"Do not be facetious, Daniella. You know I'm useless with technology."
Yep.
Her mother was useless, when it suited her.
"What's happening in Paris? A man?"
Even as her gut clenched, Danni rolled her eyes to heaven.
"Paris charity fashion week."
Another sigh, this one filled to the brim with a maternal frustration.
"Your little blog thingy, I suppose?"
Danni bit her tongue, hard. There was no point, she knew, even trying to explain that her 'little blog thingy' had five million followers world-wide. No point.
"When are you going to find a man, or failing that, get a proper job?"
It was interesting that the woman who'd given birth to her listed a man as more important to a woman than a proper job. Debating the issue would only lead to another one-sided argument, so Danni didn't bother. However, her mother wasn't prepared to wait for a reply.
"You'll just have to fly back from Paris then, won't you? I'm hosting a very special dinner tomorrow evening. Your attendance is required."
Danni didn't even hesitate.
"Nope."
Silence.
"Daniella, it was an order, not a request."
"Nope."
"I'm getting married... he's a..."
"Again?"
"Do not take that tone with me, young lady. Gideon is a wonderful man. Why, he's swept me off my feet. He adores me. He lives to make me happy. Naturally, he wants to meet my daughter."
"I'm sorry, Gillian." Gillian and Gideon? God, what next? "I'll be happy to meet him when I return to London. I am not prepared to cut my trip short. Bye, mamma."
Danni pressed end call, and closed her eyes.
More family drama coming up.
And she'd pay for cutting her off, she knew.
No-one cut off Gillian Pebbles, McCarthy, Lyons, Stone, and got away with it.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Incoming.
This time a message from her father.
She closed her eyes as a feeling of utter helplessness swept over her. The mess her parent's had made of their relationship wasn't her fault. She knew that, and yet, the event that had changed her life six years ago had fractured their relationship even more instead of bringing everyone together as a family.
Since that event when she'd been eighteen, Danni had lived only to keep herself safe, to feel safe. By playing it safe, making life choices, choices like celibacy for example, had she lost too much? By refusing to experience intimacy, refusing to give love a chance to enter her guarded heart, she'd isolated herself from the world of men. How the hell had she managed to trap herself in a prison of her own making?
And all because of the actions of three stupid young men.
Was T.C. right?
Had she wasted six years of her life by constantly reacting to other people's actions?
People like her parents?
People like the men who'd terrorized her?
And thereby given them power over her.
Had she?
And why was it that Pascal Wolfe seemed to ding every single bell in her dormant libido? Of all the millions of men in the world, why him?
Her eyes opened and she read the text message from her father.
Urgent: Your mother is getting marr
ied. Again. Call Me.
And so the dance between Thomas Pebbles and his ex-wife would begin all over again, with Danni slap-bang in the middle and torn between the two.
Instead of responding to the command, she set her shoulders, lifted her chin, and ignored the message.
She wasn't going to be an emotional punch bag.
Not gonna happen.
Not this time.
"Problem?" a deep voice with a toe-curling French accent drawled in her ear. The familiar scent of him, rich, spicy, male, made her shut her eyes and simply inhale. Every single hormone in her body sprang joyfully to life.
My God, how did he do that to her?
She opened her eyes, turned her head to look into a face carved by the heavens on a good day. Even sitting down, when Pascal Wolfe was in a room, he brought with him a vibe of unquestioning confidence and plenty of power. Now she found herself drowning into eyes of the most amazing grey she'd ever seen. Not graphite, not silver, a bit of both. And those eyes were studying her face, especially her mouth, as if he wanted to devour her. To call a man beautiful was such a damn cliché. But Pascal Wolfe, from hair as black as jet, to wide shoulders, long, long, muscular legs clad in designer threads (the man had exquisite taste) dinged every bell.
"Excuse me?"
She was proud of the frost in her voice.
"For a minute, your looked terribly sad."
"I'm fine."
Pascal was not only a big man in every respect. Big muscles, big feet, big hands. He was a force of nature. When he'd first shown an interest in her, of course she'd Googled him. The photographs and YouTube videos of his rugby playing days showed an unbelievably hot guy playing a sport known for cauliflower ears, broken noses, swollen eye sockets. But the sport had only honed his male beauty, made his raw masculinity even more gorgeous. No wonder women went crazy for him. Only last month, Danni had read an article in a glossy magazine where a young Oscar-winning actress (who had her own legion of rabid fans) had named sleeping with Pascal Wolfe as her number one item on her bucket list.
As all these thoughts and more raced through Danni's head as she looked at him and decided the actress could get in line.
Now his black brows lifted.