Beautiful Seduction

Beautiful mountains.

A sunny day.

Shifting, I tingled as a delicious wave of sensations tickled me awake. As I opened my eyes, I took a deep, satisfying breath. His scent was all over me as well as the fragrance of sex. Images of him floated into my mind, keeping me warm as I nestled in the covers. A slight ache pulled me further awake and when I shifted my legs, I could feel stickiness between them.

Inhaling, I rolled over, wrapping my arms around the pillow. Then I finally opened my eyes, stretching out my arm to the other side of the bed. Sadly, I’d already sensed Valentin leaving sometime before dawn, but it hadn’t been before he’d taken me again.

And again.

I had no idea how many times he’d driven his cock inside. He’d remained hard long after filling me with his seed.

I jerked up, yanking the sheets against my chest, the realization of what I’d done rushing in like a sledgehammer.

I’d fucked a monster, but not just any horrible beast, the very kind of criminal I’d sworn to highlight, providing the truth behind the lies. A cold shiver jetted through me, the ache in my stomach worse than the night before.

“What did you do?”

I pulled my knees to my chest, dropping my head into my hands, rocking as I tried to put the pieces of my mind back together. I was in a suite he’d paid for. We’d finished one bottle of champagne, the man ordering another long after the bar was closed. He had such power over the staff. That was obvious. How much control did he really have over the city?

Groaning, I wanted to stick my head under the sheets, pretending the night hadn’t occurred but by the height of the sun, I knew I was likely already late. I dragged myself out of bed, glancing at the clock. I had one hour to get to my parents’ house.

When I heard a knock on the door, I stiffened, terrified he’d returned.

Or maybe I wanted him to.

He hadn’t said goodbye, just kissed me on the forehead. I’d felt him lingering after he’d dressed, could feel his heated gaze as he’d watched me doze. If I’d awakened, there was no doubt he would have taken me again.

I grabbed the top sheet, ripping it from the bed and tying it around me, taking tentative steps into the other room. The sight of my torn clothes wasn’t the reminder I needed. A second knock was sharp, insistent. I bit my lip as I walked closer, hesitating before opening the door.

“Ms. Rochester. These were left for you.”

A different young man pushed his way inside, the wheels of the cart squeaking as he rolled it in. I held the sheet with both hands, trying to keep from shifting into a panic attack. Then I realized there were several packages on the platform. When the young man turned around, he handed me a bouquet of roses.

“And I was told to hand deliver these to you, ma’am.” His grin was knowing, his damn eyes twinkling. I wanted to rip them from his head. I’d never felt so awkward, my night of sin highlighted not only by my lack of attire but by the gifts presented.

As if I’d been the man’s whore.

The thought was repulsive, my skin crawling. As the young man eased the items aside, I realized I didn’t even know where my purse had been dropped. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a tip right now.”

He waved his hand then pointed to a box. “Mr. Vincheti has already taken care of that. He wanted to mention the eclairs to ensure they arrived with you to your family event. Please enjoy your stay.”

He left without another word, but when the door closed, I couldn’t seem to stop shivering. If Valentin thought he could make a fool of me, he had another think coming. I was determined to ignore what he’d sent. Who cared? Thank God I’d never see him again. I could pretend the night had never happened.

The box of eclairs came from La Travitorria. Incredible.

And very sweet.

And another reminder I didn’t need that I’d lost my fucking mind.

I placed the roses on the table, determined to ignore them. There wasn’t even a card. Laughing, I brushed my fingers across several of the petals then tugged on the sheet again. At least the night would be memorable. Jesus. The last thing I needed to do was spend any time thinking about what had happened.

As I started to walk into the bedroom, my hand reached out, grabbing the doorjamb. Then I twisted my head until I was able to see the various bags. Why was my curiosity getting the better of me? Even the incredible scent of the roses called to the darkness prodding the back of my mind. Damn it. I had to know what he’d purchased. I moved closer, tentatively pushing aside one bag then another. When I noticed a card, a quiver danced down my spine.

What could the man have to say for himself?

My fingers were stiff as I grabbed the note, the sheet almost falling away when I struggled to open the envelope. The card was simple, the handwriting in cursive. For all Valentin Vincheti’s foibles, his penchant for violence, he had a way about him that continued to draw me into his prowess.

My sweet angel,