Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

I turn, and find a tuxedoed man with a broad, tanned face looking at me intently.

“Uh, Anglaise,” I say, gesturing at myself. English. He’s still holding my arm. “Do you mind taking your—”

“Ah, English!” He switches language. “I was asking if you were having a pleasant evening, but if you are hiding back here the answer must be no. I was thinking of leaving myself.”

His hand slides down my arm and he takes hold of my hand. Jesus, has every man in the vicinity decided I touched it, so it’s mine is a legit thing now?

I try to pull my hand out of his grasp, telling him I’m with someone, but this confuses him. Selective English comprehension. How convenient.

“Let us take a walk in the garden,” he tells me, pulling me toward a staircase at the far end of the corridor. “My Ferrari is with the valet, but I can have it called around. I’m staying at the Hôtel Hermitage Monte-Carlo.”

I suppose he thinks he’s saying all the right words to entice a gold-digger away from her date. “Wow, your English is so good, but how about I teach you some more? Presumptuous. It means, Let go of me, you pushy bastard.”

I’m not really bothered by him. In about two seconds, Damir is going to pounce on him and plaster him along the corridor. I’m rather looking forward to it.

A seething voice speaks behind us. “What the fuck do you think you are doing with my woman?”

And there he is. I give the Frenchman a dazzling smile.

The man’s grip loosens on my hand, and I yank it from his grasp. “Merci beaucoup,” I say sarcastically, and go back to stand behind my fian—Damir. Not my Damir. Just Damir. I gaze coolly over his powerful shoulder at the stranger.

Sick him, daddy.

The man holds up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender and laughs nervously at Damir. Oh, you got me! I’m a naughty boy.

To my surprise, Damir laughs, too. He walks over to the guy and claps a chummy hand on his shoulder. They both laugh. I fail to see what’s funny.

Until Damir punches him swiftly in the guts and French Guy doubles over, wheezing. Then I laugh. I can’t help it. His googly eyes are funny. Damir shoves the man and he topples to the ground, gasping for air. Damir contemplates the presumptuous idiot for a moment.

Then he turns to me. There’s still murder in his eyes.

My mouth falls open. “Really? You’re angry at me? Sure, that’s fair, when it was you who brought me to this place where apparently I can’t look out a window without some asshole thinking I’ll totter after any man with money.”

Damir grasps me by the upper arm and marches me to the staircase at the end of the corridor. We take the stairs, going up. I’m being impelled more aggressively than I was by French Guy, but looking at the furious set of Damir’s jaw, I don’t mind so much.

The corridor on the next floor is lined with closed doors. Damir picks one at random, opens a door and shoves me through it.

It’s a bedroom, with a fancy four-poster bed, plush cream carpeting, a chaise-lounge under the huge window and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Damir stands before me, not saying anything. There’s a bright metallic sheen in his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s horny or angry. The two moods look about the same on him.

“I told him to let go of me. It’s not like I could have fought him off in these Louboutins,” I say, gesturing at my black patent heels. “Do you know how uncomfortable they are? And do you realize that I could have used that guy to get to an embassy? But I didn’t escape and snitch on you. How ungrateful can you be?”

Damir grabs my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “All I saw was some rich prick leading my fiancée off, apparently with her consent. I thought I could trust you, Bethany.”

“I didn’t consent! I was waiting for you to come flatten him. And for the last time, I’m not your fucking fiancée!”

“Next time, you call out. You fucking scream my name and I’ll come and get you.” Damir slides his other hand up the nape of my neck and into my hair, gripping it mercilessly. “I warned you what would happen if you were disobedient. Get on your fucking knees.”

My eyes widen. “I’m not getting on my knees for—”

He pushes me to the floor. I look up at him, mouth parted in indignation and shock. My eyes are on a level with his groin and I can see the thick outline of his erection through his pants.

Okay then. Angry and horny.

I look up at Damir from beneath my lashes. “He was handsome, don’t you think? I bet he wouldn’t have wasted any time introducing me to his fat French dick. I probably would have sucked him off in his car if you hadn’t come along.”

“Shut your mouth.” He pulls back his hand and slaps me across the face. My cheek stings and my head snaps to one side. Heat plunges through my core and I lick my lips.