He smiled thinly. “And you, Ms. Santos, are the expert on etiquette, are you not?” The smile vanished; he shoved a gold pen at her. “Sign the contract.”
Why did that sound so ominous? “I insist you meet my conditions before I—”
Suddenly, his hands were on her, cupping her shoulders, lifting her to her toes.
“You’re lucky to be getting this commission,” he said coldly. “We both know that. You’re desperate for money—please, don’t waste my time denying it. And you need the prestige that comes with creating a necklace for a queen.” His tone hardened. “Sign the contract, Maria.”
Her lip trembled. She looked away from him and, for a heartbeat, he hated himself.
Was he really reduced to this? Bullying a woman on the skids? A woman whose lover had obviously not said a word to congratulate her on winning this commission?
And why should he give a damn? Maria Santos was nothing to him.
“Sign the papers,” he growled.
She picked up the pen, smoothed out the documents, laid them on the table and scribbled her name where he indicated. He felt a surge of heat sweep through him. But he said nothing, simply took the papers, folded them and tucked them back in his pocket.
“As for conditions…there are others besides the ones I mentioned. There are my conditions,” he said in a softly ominous tone. “And you will meet them.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. She felt her pulse begin to race. Whatever he was about to say was going to turn her world upside down; she could sense it.
“One,” he said, still in that soft voice, “you shall have the studio of your dreams—but on Aristo, not here.”
“Are you insane? I have no intention of—”
“I assume your passport is in order.”
“Of course, but—”
“You will leave with me, tonight.”
“You cannot do this to—”
He bent to her and kissed her. Kissed her as if she belonged to him, his tongue in her mouth, his hands cupping her bottom, lifting her to him, into him, into the heavy thrust of his erection.
“And,” he said thickly, when he finally raised his head, “you will warm my bed until you finish the job.”
“No!” She shook her head as if to emphasize her refusal. “No,” she said again, her voice high and wild, “I’ll never—”
“You will, or I’ll do what I should have done when you left my bed the first time. I’ll tell the queen about our little adventure. I’ll tell her you’re not worthy of designing her gift or of working in proximity to her. And then you can stay in this loft and forever live with the knowledge that you failed at the one thing that could have changed your life.”
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