Franco’s gaze dropped to her outstretched fingertips. He waited a beat until her cheeks flared with heat, then dropped the cuff link into her palm without touching her.
“El gusto es mio,” he said with just a hint of an Argentine accent.
The pleasure is mine.
A rebellious shiver ran down Diana’s spine.
That shiver didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. He was a beautiful man, that was all. It was only natural for her body to respond to that kind of physical perfection, even though her head knew better than to pay any attention to his broad shoulders and dark, glittering eyes.
She swallowed. Overwhelming character flaws aside, Franco Andrade had always been devastatingly handsome...emphasis on devastating.
It was hardly fair. But life wasn’t always fair, was it? No, it most definitely wasn’t. Lately, it had been downright cruel.
Diana’s throat grew thick. She had difficulty swallowing all of a sudden. Then, somewhere amid the sudden fog in her head, she became aware of Artem clearing his throat.
“Shall we get started? I believe we’re chasing the light.” He introduced Franco to the photographer, who practically swooned on the spot when he turned his gaze on her.
Diana suppressed a gag and did her best to blend into the Drake-blue walls.
Apparently, any and all attempts at disappearing proved futile. As she tried to make an escape, Artem motioned her back. “Diana, join us please.”
She forced her lips into something resembling a smile and strode toward the window where the photographer was getting Franco into position with a wholly unnecessary amount of hands-on attention. The woman with the camera had clearly forgiven him for his tardiness. It figured.
Diana turned her back on the nauseating scene and raised an eyebrow at Artem, who was tapping away on his iPhone. “You needed me?”
He looked up from his cell. “Yes. Can you get Mr. Andrade fitted with some cuff links?”
She stared blankly at him. “Um, me?”
“Yes, you.” He shrugged. “What’s with the attitude? I thought you’d be pleased. I’m talking to the same person who just stormed into my office demanding a different job than working in Engagements, right?”
She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
She longed to return to her dreadful post, but if she did, Artem would never take her seriously. Not after everything she’d said earlier.
“Cuff links.” She nodded. “I’m on it.”
She could do this. She absolutely could. She was Diana Drake, for crying out loud. She had a reputation all over the world for being fearless.
At least, that’s what people used to say about her. Not so much anymore.
Just do it and get it over with. You’ll never see him again after today. Those days are over.
She squared her shoulders, grabbed a pair of cuff links and marched toward the corner of the room that had been roped off for the photo shoot, all the while fantasizing about the day when she’d be the one in charge of this place. Or at least not at the very bottom of the food chain.
Franco leaned languidly against the window while the photographer tousled his dark hair, ostensibly for styling purposes.
“Excuse me.” Diana held up the cuff links—18-carat white-gold knots covered in black pavé diamonds worth more than half the engagement rings in the room. “I’ve got the jewels.”
“Excellent,” the photographer chirped. “I’ll grab the camera and we’ll be good to go.”
She ran her hand through Franco’s hair one final time before sauntering away.
If Franco noticed the sudden, exaggerated swing in her hips, he didn’t let it show. He fixed his gaze pointedly at Diana. “You’ve come to dress me?”
“No.” Her face went instantly hot. Again. “I mean, yes. Sort of.”
The corner of his mouth tugged into a provocative grin and he offered her his wrists.
She reached for one of his shirt cuffs, and her mortification reached new heights when she realized her hands were shaking.
Will this day ever end?
“Be still, mi cielo,” he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Mi cielo.
She knew the meaning of those words because he’d whispered them to her before. Back then, she’d clung to them as if they’d meant something.
Mi cielo. My heaven.
They hadn’t, though. They’d meant nothing to him.
Neither had she.
“I’m not yours, Mr. Andrade. Never have been, never will be.” She glared at him, jammed the second cuff link into his shirt with a little too much force and dropped his wrist. “We’re finished here.”
Why did she have the sinking feeling that she might be lying?
Diana Drake didn’t remember him. Or possibly she did, and she despised him. Franco wasn’t altogether sure which prospect was more tolerable.
The idea of being so easily forgotten didn’t sit well. Then again, being memorable hadn’t exactly done him any favors lately, had it?
No, he thought wryly. Not so much. But it had been a hell of a lot of fun. At least, while it had lasted.
Fun wasn’t part of his vocabulary anymore. Those days had ended. He was starting over with a clean slate, a new chapter and whatever other metaphors applied.
Not that he’d had much of a choice in the matter.
He’d been fired. Let go. Dumped from the Kingsmen Polo Team. Jack Ellis, the owner of the Kingsmen, had finally made good on all the ultimatums he’d issued over the years. It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Franco knew he’d pushed the limits of Ellis’s tolerance. More than once. More than a few times, to be honest.
But he’d never let his extracurricular activities affect his performance on the field. Franco had been the Kingsmen’s record holder for most goals scored for four years running. His season total was always double the number of the next closest player on the list.
Which made his dismissal all the more frustrating, particularly considering he hadn’t actually broken any rules. This time, Franco had been innocent. For probably the first time in his adult life, he’d done nothing untoward.
The situation dripped with so much irony that Franco was practically swimming in it. He would have found the entire turn of events amusing if it hadn’t been so utterly frustrating.
“Mr. Andrade, could you lift your right forearm a few inches?” the photographer asked. “Like this.”
She demonstrated for him, and Franco dragged his gaze away from Diana Drake with more reluctance than he cared to consider. He hadn’t been watching her intentionally. His attention just kept straying in her direction. Again and again, for some strange reason.
She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Then again, beautiful women were a dime a dozen in his world. There was something far more intriguing about Diana Drake than her appearance.
Although it didn’t hurt to look at her. On the contrary, Franco rather enjoyed the experience.
She stood at one of the jewelry counters arranging and rearranging her tiny row of cuff links. He wondered if she realized her posture gave him a rather