“I’m Anton,” he says, holding out his hand. After a moment, I take it, intending to briefly and politely shake it and then get the heck away from him. “If I had you for the night, I sure the hell wouldn’t waste it here,” he says in a low, smooth voice, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“Excuse me?” I try for my haughtiest, most blue-blood attitude. I’m an actress. This is an act. It’s like a mantra I have to keep repeating to myself, from the second Harry led me into that room earlier today.
“No need to put on the high and mighty act with me, sweetness. I was there earlier at the Calla Club when Dante bid on you.”
I quickly glance around, hoping no one overheard, but everyone else at the bar is engrossed in their own conversations. I glance back at the guy, Anton, and he’s giving me this sleazy little smirk.
“One million dollars, huh? You must be so damn good to be able to charge that,” he purrs, and I try to pull my hand out of his without making a scene. He lets me go but maneuvers himself so my body is trapped between him and the bar. “I can only imagine how sexy you look on your knees.”
I try to duck around him, and he smoothly keeps me cornered. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous and it’s been a little while since I’ve had a good, dirty fuck. One million, plus fifty grand, if you leave here with me, right now.”
“Not interested. Excuse me,” I say, and I quickly manage to get around him this time, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. I’m shaking now, a combination of anger and flat-out fear. I’ve heard plenty about men like this who think their money entitles them to whatever they want. He doesn’t care if I say no, and he’s trying to pull me toward the door.
All of a sudden, there’s a solid wall of tuxedo-clad chest by my side, and Dante’s there, knocking Anton’s hand away from me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dante snarls, and the look he’s giving Anton makes it very, very clear that they’re not friends. At all.
“I was just making conversation,” Anton says with a smirk.
“You touch her again and I’ll break a few things. Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
Without another word, Dante takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. I’m still shaking stupidly from my ordeal with creepy Anton, and when Dante pulls me close, another type of tremble runs along my spine.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his mouth near my ear, his warm breath caressing
my neck.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk to him—”
“It’s not your fault. Anton’s a dick, and if I’d suspected he’d make a play for you, I never would have left you alone. I’m sorry.”
I’m more than a little surprised by the apology, and it must show. He gives me a small, almost-sheepish smile, and then he pulls me closer. My hand is in his, and his arm is around my body, holding me tightly plastered up against his hard body. His fingers start playing up and down my spine, and it feels like I can barely breathe.
When I look up into his face, his eyes are on me, and the dark intensity of his gaze takes my breath away.
“What did he say to you?” he asks quietly.
“That he’d pay more if I left here with him tonight.”
“He’s a prick,” he mutters.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I content myself with swaying in his arms, with the shivers that go up my spine every time his fingertips trace a path from between my shoulder blades to just above my ass, though it feels as if his hand dips almost indecently low a few times.
“So. Construction, huh? Do you like it?” I ask, fighting to keep some sort of control and focus.
“Yeah. Most of the time, anyway,” he murmurs. “My father’s trying to groom me to take it over in the next year or two.”
“Trying? You seem to handle yourself pretty well,” I say and then blush as his eyes meet mine. “I mean…you’re very confident, and so many of those people you talked to earlier just kind of went on and on about how much they liked working with you in particular.” Great. Now I’m babbling. I’m about to say something else when his fingertips skate over the roundest part of my ass and, for just a moment, his hand lingers, gently gripping my behind, his fingertips so, so close to where I’m already throbbing for him. I gasp, and he slowly moves his hand back up to my back.
“My brother’s going to end up taking over. This is more his thing,” he says, as if I’m not about five seconds away from exploding.
“This isn’t your thing?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“My focus is a little different.”
I want to ask him what his focus is, but he leans in, just a little, his breath caressing my earlobe. “I’m shitty with compliments. I meant to tell you earlier how stunning you look tonight.”
“Oh. Thank you.”