arranging to sign transfer papers. Without doing anything to fulfill that “no strings” promise.
Why? The question plagued her through the ensuing hours. She’d come at it from a dozen different angles but she still had no answer, only the nagging worry that though Dante’s initial intent had been decent, his machismo had gotten in the way.
That kiss.
The way he’d held her. Plundered her mouth. As if no time had passed since they’d been lovers. As if he still owned her. Not that he ever had, but that was the way he’d acted when they were together, as if she belonged to him even though she’d known he had no wish to belong to her.
Had it all been an act for Ferrantes? The kiss? The outrageous bid? The promise? The questions were endless, but the one that mattered most was the one she’d posed to de Souza.
“What do we do now?” she’d said.
That had earned her another little smile.
“We wait to hear from Senhor Orsini, of course.” The smile had turned sly. “It is good to have such a powerful man as a friend, yes?”
The way he’d said “friend” had made her want to slap his face.
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