Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Nicolo’s arm tightened around my waist. “We’re not finished.”
“Surely the lady can speak for herself?”
The device chose that moment to pulse harder, and I gasped audibly.
Both men turned to look at me with concern.
“Are you all right?” the stranger asked.
“She’s fine,” Nicolo said firmly. “Just a little overwhelmed by the atmosphere.”
“Perhaps some fresh air?” the man suggested. “The gardens are lovely this time of night.”
“That’s very kind,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady as the vibration continued, “but I’m quite happy here.”
The lie was obvious to anyone with eyes. I was flushed, breathing hard, and clearly struggling to maintain my composure. But the scent dampeners meant neither man could detect the real reason for my distress.
“Are you certain?” the stranger pressed. “You seem—”
“She seems perfectly fine to me,” Nicolo interrupted, his voice carrying just enough edge to make it clear the conversation was over.
The man backed away with another polite bow, but I could feel his eyes on us as Nicolo guided me to a quieter corner of the dance floor.
“That was close,” I choked out.
“That was perfect,” he corrected. “Your responses are exactly what the protocol requires.”
“My responses are going to get us thrown out of here!”
“Not if you learn to control them.”
The device pulsed again, stronger this time, and my vision went white around the edges.
“I can’t,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Nicolo, please—”
“You can,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”
I forced my eyes to focus on his face, on the sharp line of his jaw beneath the mask, on the way his green eyes seemed to see straight through me.
“Breathe,” he commanded softly.
I tried, but the sensation was building toward something inevitable, something that would destroy any pretense of public decorum.
“I’m going to—” I started, but couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I know.” His mouth was at my ear now, his voice barely audible over the music. “Let it happen.”
I nearly tripped over my own feet. “H-Here?”
“Yes.”
It was just one word.
But it was enough.
Just one word, combined with the relentless vibration, was all it took to push me over the edge, and I came apart in his arms, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the cry that wanted to escape. My body shook with the force of it, pleasure crashing over me in waves while he held me steady and whispered things I couldn’t quite hear over the roaring in my ears.
When it was over, I slumped against him, boneless and spent.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand stroking my back. “That was perfect.”
I lifted my head to look around the ballroom, expecting to find everyone staring at us in shock and disgust.
Instead, I found that life had continued exactly as before. Couples danced, people chatted, the orchestra played on. No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual.
Except for the passion vines on the walls around us, which were now glowing so brightly they looked like they were on fire.
“Everyone can see the flowers,” I whispered dazedly.
“Everyone can see that we have incredible chemistry,” he corrected. “Which is exactly what a 98.7% compatibility rating should look like.”
I stared up at him, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. I’d had an orgasm in the middle of a crowded ballroom, and somehow no one had noticed except the magical plants.
The song ended, and couples around us began to separate and move toward the refreshment tables. Nicolo kept one arm around my waist, supporting me as my legs remembered how to function.
“How do you feel?”
I stared up at him, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. I’d had an orgasm in the middle of a crowded ballroom, and somehow the most terrifying part wasn’t the public nature of it.
It was the way it felt.
Like coming home.
Like belonging to someone.
Like everything I’d been fighting against for seven years was exactly what I’d been fighting for.
“I need some air,” I managed.
“Of course.” He stepped back, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “The car is waiting whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and walked toward the gardens on unsteady legs.
The night air was cool against my flushed skin, and I found a quiet corner behind a wall of night-blooming jasmine where I could finally breathe.
And think.
And face the truth I’d been running from since I was eighteen years old.
I was in love with Nicolo Celestini.
My stepbrother.
My tormentor.
My...whatever this was.
Not just attracted to him. Not just physically responsive to his touch.
In love.
Completely, hopelessly, devastatingly in love with my stepbrother.
The man who’d just made me fall apart in public and then walked away like it meant nothing.
The worst part? The worst, stupid, awful part?
As my body had trembled through a release I hadn’t chosen, that I hadn’t wanted to give him, that I had given him anyway, I’d known.
I was in love with this jerk.
And there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it.