The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

NINE

EMERY

The fashion show afterparty was held in a swanky lounge, and the cost to reserve a table near the dancefloor was thirty thousand euros a night. I shouldn’t have been surprised Vance had booked one. It was for charity and a tax-write off for HBHC, he’d said.

Some of Vance’s friends were here tonight. Becca Rosso was an heiress to the Rosso Media fortune, and it sounded like they’d hung out at so many of these events over the years, she was family to him. She brought along with her the lead singer and drummer from the band Joven that had performed at the conclusion of the runway show.

The lounge was bathed in amber light with accents of purple and blue, and wasn’t like any of the clubs I was used to back home in the States. The ‘tables’ were more like booths. Sexy white couches and matching oversized chairs were arranged in cubes around the low, black tables. Several bottles of champagne, vodka, and mixers were chilling as the centerpieces.

I didn’t know how Vance was going to top this night, but I’d thought that every day since we’d arrived. As the sun had set, we’d watched the elegant parade of dresses and suits on beautiful people, and now we hung out with movie stars, musicians, and royalty like we were all old friends. None of it felt real.

Well, except for fluttering feeling in my stomach when Vance touched me.

That felt incredibly real.

I didn’t want this week to end, didn’t want to go back to my sad apartment decorated with practice locks and tools, and the reality of what was left to be done. I’d been so focused on what I wanted I’d stopped seeing the forest for the trees, and I was beginning to question if a life dedicated to revenge was worth it. Lambert had robbed me of both my parents. Did I want to let my thirst for revenge rob me of living my life too?

There was another reason I didn’t want this week to end, and it was sitting beside me with a flute of champagne in one hand and the other resting comfortably on my knee. Sleeping next to him each night was torturous, and there was nothing I could do to alleviate the ache. I couldn’t make the first move, even though I usually had no problem doing so and desperately wanted to. He had to do it because I’d promised not to tempt him.

I was nervous our relationship would evaporate once we were free from the spell of Monaco. So, I shifted closer to him, inhaling the scent of his sexy cologne, and decided to enjoy his company while I still could.

We danced on the dancefloor to the music the celebrity DJ performed, and I was happy to have the excuse to put my hands on Vance. Our table became a revolving door of conversations with the famous and successful. And I drank more champagne than I intended to.

I grabbed my clutch and had to put my lips right by his ear so he’d hear me over the thumping beats of the music. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He nodded and straightened so I could duck past him toward the restroom.

When I finished washing my hands at the sink, I dabbed on some fresh powder and touched up my lipstick, confirming I still looked like I belonged at the table with him. I’d expected to have nothing in common with the one-percenters. They were supposed to be snobs, and while some of them were, I’d been pleasantly surprised by Vance. He was polite and grateful with everyone, regardless of status.

Outside of the restroom, my gaze snagged on the sophisticated gaming chair perched in front of a steering wheel and a wraparound screen. The colorful image danced on screen like it was racing. It was probably the buzz from the champagne, but I walked toward the simulator, interested. The signage around it encouraged people to get in the driver’s seat and test their skills on Monaco’s demanding track.

No one was waiting to use it, and since the simulator was tucked in a quieter corner of the chamber outside the main lounge, I figured, why not? I dropped my handbag on the side table next to it and put my hand on the back of the seat to steady myself as I climbed in.

“May I offer some advice?”

The unfamiliar male voice made me startle, and I whirled around to face it.

Niko Leitner wore a dark gray suit with no tie, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone. Was this one of the suits he’d modeled earlier this evening? It was hard to tell. His gaze wandered over my short, turquois A-line dress, and once he’d finished getting his fill, the corner of his mouth turned up in a suggestive smile.