‘So you’re single,’ he said, while inspecting the second rack. ‘Good to know.’
She gritted her teeth.
‘I think this would suit you.’ He pulled a gown from the rack and held it up to show her.
‘It’s white.’ She glared at it. ‘I’ll have spilt something on it before we even get there.’
He laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters.’ With her luck it would be worse than a spill, she’d likely split the seam and she truly didn’t want to make even more of a fool of herself tonight.
‘You know you want to,’ he said softly. ‘Please.’
The man was an appalling flirt. As if he needed armour. There was no way this guy had any chinks. He had zero vulnerability. No, he was just a jaded playboy looking for light entertainment until his new batch of models turned up tomorrow. She wasn’t going to give him anything.
But she was going to go to the Palazzo Chiara and experience something she never ordinarily would—glamour, exclusivity. Because she was living life on her own terms now. She wasn’t missing out on anything.
‘Fine,’ she snapped, turning her back on the glittering smugness that instantly crossed his face. ‘Where can I get changed?’
Ten minutes later, installed in the most ornate and massive bedroom she’d ever been in in her life, Gracie wriggled into the dress. It had taken her eight of those minutes to absorb the sumptuous decor of the elegant room. Now she glared at her reflection in the large free-standing mirror. No way could she wear a bra beneath it. Worse, she wasn’t sure she could keep her knickers on either. The dress was so form-fitting her panty lines would be visible.
She blinked and wondered if she’d gone completely mad. What was she thinking by agreeing to this crazy idea? But, then, wouldn’t she be equally mad to pass such a chance up? She’d never been able to accept any invitations as a child. She’d never gone to a classmate’s house for a playdate, never walked into a swanky party as an actual guest...and she’d certainly never worn an eye-wateringly expensive designer dress like this before.
Breathing in deeply, she undid her bra and shimmied out of her undies, carefully putting them on the low armchair in the corner. This was one opportunity she was never going to get again, so she may as well go in braless and bold. Then she finger-combed her hair and twirled it into a low bun at the nape of her neck.
‘Are you dressed yet? We need to get going or we’ll miss the fireworks,’ he called from outside the door.
With an overwhelming sense of mortification she stepped out from the room and refused to meet his eyes. ‘I can’t wear this. It’s indecent.’
He was so silent she had to look up at him. He’d dressed in another tuxedo. How many did the guy have? Like the first, this fitted to perfection and was annoyingly gorgeous in the way it emphasised his lean, strong frame.
He regarded her for a full thirty seconds—so long she started to fidget with her watch strap.
‘It’s perfect,’ he finally said. Roughly.
‘It’s far from perfect.’ She looked down at the dress and put up her hand, self-consciously covering the neckline. ‘It’s pulling in all the wrong places.’
‘Right places. Very right.’
‘Because you like your dates to look—’
‘Beautiful. Of course. I’m not sure the watch works, though.’
‘Actually, it keeps good time and this Cinderella needs to keep an eye on it. I can’t be out past midnight.’
‘Because you might have too much fun?’ He reached out and lifted her wrist. ‘It’s old.’
‘It’s vintage,’ she corrected.
‘It’s a man’s.’
‘Yes,’ she muttered defensively. It was very precious to her. ‘An old man’s watch.’
He released her startlingly quickly. ‘Let’s go. How is your knee?’
‘Fine as long as I don’t try to run. I’m keeping the sandals on.’
‘Then I shall remain on hand as your long-suffering emergency support structure.’
‘Thank you, I so appreciate that,’ she cooed. ‘If anyone asks me what I’m doing there, I’m going to tell them the truth,’ she muttered.
‘Marvellous.’ He led her outside. ‘I expect we’ll have a ball.’
The car was low off the ground, red, polished to within an inch of its life and undoubtedly capable of screaming speed. She fastened her seatbelt.
‘I won’t be drinking, so I can drive home,’ she said primly.
Her plan to abstain wasn’t about driving but the insane attraction for him she was battling. If she had even a sniff of alcohol, she wasn’t sure she could control the reckless temptation that seemed to have materialised inside her at the mere sight of him.
He sent her a look. ‘Sure thing,’ he said blandly. ‘They’ll have some very nice champagne there, though. You might like to try just one glass.’
‘I’m not a risk-taker.’ Definitely not around this man.
‘Yet today you’ve trespassed on private property and are now going to a party in a borrowed designer dress with a man you barely know.’
‘In a Ferrari, no less.’ She nodded solemnly and braced herself for his no doubt reckless driving skills. ‘Most adventurous evening of my life so far.’
‘That’s...’ He glanced at her, but his brows lifted and he didn’t finish his comment. ‘Why don’t you take risks?’
Because she’d always had to hold back. Always been on the alert from years of conditioning, of watching over her shoulder and being cautious. But she had her safety plan figured out—she knew who Rafael was and Alex would call her in the morning if she didn’t look in on him. And the imp in her wanted to have fun for once. It would be an experience.
‘I struggle to open up and trust people.’ She stared, amazed as Rafael began to laugh.
‘Don’t look like that!’ She mock-punched his arm. ‘I’m serious. What you’re seeing is the new me. Opening up and delivering one hundred percent honesty. It’s liberating.’ She smiled.
‘The new you,’ he said, his smile not gone. ‘One hundred percent honesty one hundred percent of the time?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said fervently.
He roared with laughter this time. ‘No one is that honest.’
‘I am.’
‘Definitely not you.’
‘I am,’ she said indignantly.
‘Really? Could you be honest with someone even if you knew it was going to hurt them?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it better to play it safe sometimes and protect someone’s feelings?’
That this guy thought about protecting someone’s feelings surprised her. ‘You’d actually protect another person’s feelings?’
‘Sure.’
So had he lied to her about how her dress looked? She just knew he had. ‘I bet you send flowers and jewels when you leave your lovers.’
‘That’s not generally a good idea,’ he said. ‘I prefer to leave them breathless.’
‘Oh, please.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Well, you’re absolutely the kind of person who cares about someone else’s feelings,