She stared at him—the sharp angles of his profile, his threatening eyepatch, his crisp ice blue dress shirt—but she only focused on the rare whisper of vulnerability in his tone because it disarmed her.
“I understand,” she whispered, wondering if she was imagining the sensation of his fingertips touching her own. She dared not look down to confirm the truth.
Suddenly, an unmistakable squeal of delight burst through the window pane.
“The children at the fountain,” she clarified, noting how he squinted hard to ascertain the source of the noise.
“Crown Fountain?”
“Yes.”
“I know the architecture firm who executed its design. They won the commission over Hans and me.”
“Really, why?”
“Because I wanted to erect a solar tower for recharging cell phones on that site rather than a fountain for screaming little children.”
He unclipped his seat belt and leaned over her lap, reaching for the button to lower her window. Shrieks of excitement flowed into the car like an uncontrollable breeze.
“A solar tower for charging cell phones? That would have been vomit worthy.” Inez contemplated the horror of what had barely been avoided.
“Well, I never understood the trite proposition for another public fountain…” His voice trailed off as he closed his eyes, taking in the shrill sound of jubilation. “Until now.” He turned his attention to is driver. “James, stop here please.”
“Here, sir?” James asked. Inez shared his concern. It was rush hour traffic on Michigan Avenue and if they stopped, they would be blocking an entire lane.
“Here,” Sven insisted to his driver who immediately obeyed him and pulled to the curb.
“Sven, what are we doing?”
“We’re going to have some fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yes, fun,” he said before flinging open his door. Inez cringed as the blurry streaks of speeding yellow taxi swerved and blared their horns. Sven disappeared around the rear of the vehicle and re-appeared on Inez’s side.
“You’re scaring me, Sven,” she joked, half-heartedly, peering out at him through her window. There was ferocity in his face. She recognized that look—it was stern with determination.
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he whipped open her door and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her out of the car with a physical strength that startled her.
“Go home, James,” he called out to his driver. “We’ll walk back to the penthouse.”
James raised his hand in acknowledgement. Sven slammed the door and Inez watched the Rolls Royce tear away from the curb. Taxi horns bleated as it crossed into their path.
“You lead.” He took up her hand into his own and squinted past the streaming sunlight. “Let’s find the fun.”
“You act as though it’s some kind of treasure hunt,” she replied. “Finding the fun.”
“Yes, perhaps it is. And if we both fail to find it, then we’ll know there’s no hope for us.”
“I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that.”
“Come on,” he said with an encouraging shake of her hand.
“Okay, where?” She sighed, supremely annoyed that they were actually out of the car in the middle of Millennium Park rather than lazily cruising through traffic in his Rolls Royce. His hand felt like an anchor, willing to drown her at the bottom of the sea.
“Surprise me.” He said it like a challenge—for both of them.
She acquiesced and led them towards the center plaza between a pair of towering glass brick fountains. Like a football Jumbotron, surreal video images of local residents flashed across their flat-paneled walls.
“My favorite is when they pretend to shoot water out of their mouth, and it actually happens,” Inez said, staring up at the goofy video image of a woman puckering her lips and blowing up her cheeks like a fish before a stream of water jetted out of her mouth. The cannon blast struck a trio of unsuspecting teenage girls who had been trailing their bare feet through the shallow pool of water. Startled and drenched, they shrieked and shivered, pointing up at the offender who had changed to a video image of a young boy, smiling with the innocence of childhood, like he could do no harm.
“See? That’s how you can tell who the tourists are,” Inez said as her eyes lingered on the three girls.
She suddenly realized Sven had let go of her hand and abandoned her. She glanced back over her shoulder and spotted him on the edge of the pooling water.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking off my shoes.” He had removed both his dress shoes and socks, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why?” she insisted.
“Because they’re ten thousand dollar Crivellaro leather, and I’d rather not ruin them in the water.”
Inez watched him meticulously roll the hem of his dress pants up to his knees. “I’m not certain whether I’m more horrified that you’re wearing ten thousand dollar shoes or that you’re willing to make yourself look like a Dutch milking boy.”
He performed a surprisingly authentic barn jig, just to spite her.
She looked away, hiding her smile. “This isn’t fun. It’s ridiculous.”
He submerged his foot into the pooling water, enduring the chill. “It doesn’t feel ridiculous. It feels liberating.” He inhaled and swept his gaze across the skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue. “In fact, I feel like I’m seeing more clearly than I have all week. Come on. Your turn now.” He held out his hand to coax her in.
“Me? No, no way. This is how people get toe fungus, Sven.”
“You honestly expect me to believe that you have no desire to take off your shoes and wade through this water?”
“No, none.”
“I think you’re afraid to show me your bare feet. What’s the matter, Miss Sanchez? Is that why you despise heels so much? Do you have fat feet and stubby little toes?”
“I can’t believe you’re actually mocking my feet.”
He hiked his cuffed pants higher and performed his ridiculous jig again.
Inez crossed her arms and glared at him. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to pretend that I don’t know you.”
“I think you’re secretly jealous that I’m having f-u-n and you’re not.”
“News flash, Sven… if you think this is the epitome of fun, clearly you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people for far too long.”
“Perhaps.” He splashed through the water with broad, scuba fin steps, intentionally circling closer and closer to her. “But I’m pretty certain that the epitome of fun is making you shriek like that.”
He nodded over at a little girl who wailed with ear-piercing glee. The cascading waterfall had just swelled over the top of the two-story tower and crashed down upon her.
“Our turn.” He suddenly swept Inez into his arms and wrestled her like a flailing kite to the base of the fountain.
“No, please, Sven…Don’t!” But it was too late. Holding her in his arms, he forced her against the side of the tower before a cresting swell of water surged over its top and shattered like a pane of glass, dousing them completely.
A shriek escaped Inez’s throat before she recognized the sound of her own horror. Then, she recognized the sound of Sven’s merciless laughter, enjoying every minute of it.
She peered through her black sodden bangs, plastered against her eyes, barely able to comprehend the sight of Sven, adjusting his black eyepatch and running his hand through his own drenched, disheveled hair.
“I—I—can-not—be-e-e-lieve you just di-i-iii-d that.”
She was freezing and stuttering, and the only thing she could think about was the fact that every part of her body was soaked, right down to her panties.
He gazed at her with an obnoxious cocky grin. “Are we having fun yet?”
Shell-shocked, she pressed herself against his own waterlogged shirt. His hard chest shook with laughter as his strong, protective arm w
rapped around her body and nudged her away from the gaggle of squealing children who had lined up behind them, signaling the next assault was about to crash upon them.
“Come on,” he encouraged her, hugging her shivering body and trying to conceal his own sadistic amusement. “Let’s go back to my penthouse and get you undressed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Undressed.
There she was again, staring at her naked reflection in Sven’s guest bathroom, trying hard not to think about the fact that he was downstairs doing exactly the same thing. She gazed into the mirror, thickening her long lashes with mascara.
Was he thinking about her the way she was thinking about him?
She dropped her mascara wand against the countertop. God, she hoped not or else she was freaking doomed. Doomed.
During her shower, she had let the scorching stream of hot water flow over her hair and body, reflecting on how he had held her under the fountain’s cascading waterfall, and how afterwards, he had embraced her when she was completely at his mercy.
Strong. Possessive. Dominant. He always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. That stunt at Crown Fountain? Had anyone else attempted that, she would have kicked him in the balls. But with Sven, she caved like a helpless little kitten—a helpless little kitten willing to lick milk from the palm of his hand.
Why was she so willing to submit to him? Was it simply because he was paying her?
Yes, she resolutely answered, looking at her own reflection in the mirror while applying bright “Fuck Me Now” red lipstick. Of course it was. It was five freaking thousand dollars and she was in desperate need of every cent. There was only one snag in that certainty, one complication that she had firmly dismissed from her mind until now—the kiss. The kiss, she exhaled, shaking off the nagging admission that her submission to him was no longer just about the money
The kiss. He had apologized for it, but she secretly wished he hadn’t. It had stunned her—the way his wet tongue had invaded her mouth and lapped her own with a domineering urgency that wasn’t easily refused. In an instant, his kiss tamed her rage and overwhelmed her defenses with an unexpected flood of sensuality and passion. The expensive hand-woven fabric of his dress shirt. She remembered the sensation of it beneath her fingertips as she clung to his strong biceps, willingly accepting his mouth over hers. The memory of his impassioned kiss still haunted her private fantasies, taunting her with a tingling yearning for more.
Clearly, it had all been for show—a juvenile competition of machismo between two egomaniacs. She was just the consolation prize. Except Sven’s kiss made her feel like more than just a consolation prize. In those confusing, unexpected seconds of intimacy between them, a rush of heat and fire burned within her, ignited by the white hot strokes of his lusty tongue, arousing her with a fury that claimed her entire body and reminded her of how much she missed losing herself in the safety and security of a man’s possessive embrace.
Ugh.
Yes, his kiss was undeniably hot. Oh. So. Very. Hot. And yes, she was on the rebound after breaking up with Enzo. But five thousand Gs was worth more to her than giving in to her fleeting sensations of attraction. They barely knew each other, and technically, neither one of them could afford one night of indiscretion. He was her boss who needed a trusted chaperone, not the hassles and commitment of a real girlfriend. And she was only there for the money because she had her daughter and grandmother to support. If she gave in to his advances, she would end up being just another conquest under his belt.
Scrunching a tissue between her fingers, she blotted her “Fuck Me Now” red lipstick into a more sensual “tease, but don’t touch” hue. She had just dumped a cheating Ciao Bastard; she didn’t need to trade that in for a surly, overpowering Dutch Master & Commander.
Sweeping up her hair into a sophisticated French twist, she reminded herself why she was there. Five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars was the reason she had endured Sven’s smarmy condescension during their interview. Five thousand dollars was the reason she didn’t bail after being mocked and fitted like a toy doll at Ebony’s studio. Five thousand dollars was the reason she was willing to dress up again like a high-class call girl and prepare for another night of charades.
She suddenly picked up her lipstick and reapplied.
Five thousand dollars was more money than she could possibly afford to turn down and she knew exactly why he was paying her and what he needed from her. She wasn’t there to have sex with him. She was there to support his attempts to appear as strong and invincible as he asserted himself to be—at least until the opening of The Spire at the end of the week.
And then, after that? After that, he would likely travel to Shanghai to deal with the Li Long melodrama and she would go back to her own life. Except this time, everything would be different because she’d have enough money to stop worrying constantly about how she was going to take care of Luna and Nana. She had been afforded enough money to keep it all going for least six more months. Six long months. Sven’s assignment to pretend to be his girlfriend had granted her at least six more months of financial security. And for that, she would be eternally grateful to him, even if he was a fucking asshole who made her wear high heels and nearly drowned her under the waterfall of Crown Tower.
A fucking asshole, she thought, zipping up her makeup bag. A fucking asshole who was also an insanely amazing kisser.
She sighed. Consumed by a fleeting moment of weakness, she indulged in the thought of what it would be like to be his real girlfriend. Dreadful, she muttered. Endless galas and banquets, uptight business dinners with annoyingly snotty guests, and ridiculous underwear ensembles like this one. She held up the new lingerie that Ebony had sent over for tonight’s gown. Beneath the vanity’s overhead lights, the strapless bra’s ruby sequins and puffy ruffles glowed siren red. Was it a freaking bra or a Moulin Rouge costume?
She had twenty minutes to pump each breast—just enough time to drain the sting, but not enough time to reduce her cup size. Inhaling deeply, she wrapped the bra around her torso and cinched it, its bra cups barely supporting her heavy breasts. She slipped on the matching scarlet panties, its shimmering satin backside trimmed with ruffles. Moulin Rouge costume, definitely. She eyed the silvery slinky gown hanging from the door hook. When she first saw it, she knew she was in trouble. Too many holes, not enough fabric. Now, she understood why. Tonight’s gown was more about what could be seen, and less about what couldn’t.
Five thousand dollars. It was just enough to make it all worth it. But barely.
She removed the dress from the hook and slipped it over her head. It poured over her shoulders like a flowing drink of mercury. Lethal. Its classic sleeveless bodice and floor-length hemline inspired a sigh of relief, but its halter-top neckline revealed the ruffled trim of her bra cups and the contour of her cleavage like a flirtatious tease. Then, she paused and frowned, slowly processing why she felt a drafty breeze washing cool air across her spine.
Twisting her head past her shoulder, she viewed her back in the mirror, spotting exactly what she had dreaded: an open back design, deliberately exposing the ruffles of her panties before closing together like a peep show curtain, just below her tailbone. And what was worse, it exposed her tattoo—a Japanese cherry blossom. Ruffle panties and a conspicuous tatt? What the hell was Sven going to say? She had no idea. But one thing suddenly felt certain: the universe was out to punish her—and cruelly.
She glanced at the clock and gathered up the heels—iridescent silver sandals, encrusted in rhinestones with an angle zipper and five-inch stiletto—most certainly meant to keep her hemline from dragging across the floor. Assuming she could even walk in them.
Rushing down the spiral staircase, she headed for Sven’s bedroom. She had procrastinated in the shower longer than she expected and had taken extra time to pump and apply her makeup. Now she was certain he was impatiently waiting for her. She wound through the maze of obstacles in his penthouse—high-back chairs, pe
destal tables, polished granite sculptures, even a free-standing cylindrical aquarium—all positioned in strategic points to help Sven navigate through the expansive loft. Without calling out to him, she hurried down the corridor leading into the master suite.
She abruptly stopped in her tracks the moment she saw him standing there—completely naked, fresh from his shower. She froze and held her breath, clutching her high heels against her chest, realizing her bare feet hadn’t made a sound along the black marble floor. He didn’t look up at her or even seem to notice her at all. He’s partially blind, she reminded herself, like a bull in the corrida, unable to see the matador from a long distance, but spurred to charge by even the slightest wave of the flag.
She had thought about calling out for him. A simple, Sven?—would have been more than enough to announce her entrance and give him fair warning. But she hadn’t. Motionless, she stared at him with a vexing mixture of embarrassment and admiration. It wasn’t like she was a curious virgin who hadn’t seen plenty of naked men—and their cocks. But she certainly hadn’t seen many men as perfectly sculpted as that…not even Enzo was built like a Roman warrior, someone who would and could kill with his bare hands if he wanted to.
It had all been a façade, she realized. All of Sven’s fancy European suits and metrosexual designer dress shirts hid the fierce lines of his aggressive build—muscular biceps, hard chiseled pecs, tapered waist—all culminating in a combative stance that silenced her sassiness into submission.
Protector. It was the first word that flashed through her mind before she dared to lower her gaze and take in the full contour of his masculinity. It was a voyeuristic indulgence that should have filled her with shame. Shame. But she wasn’t ashamed; she was distracted by the slow pricking ache between her legs and the tingle in her breasts. Not only was she taking in the full view of his erection, firm and virile like an invitation, but she suddenly understood why he was primed and steady, and that reason was because of the portrait of her.
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