in the corner. She snapped it on and bracing against the wall, fingered apart the buckle on one shoe.
“Oh, you should leave those on.” Leo tsked, his voice silky as scotch again.
She whirled. He was lounging on the settee, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned three down. Not that she was counting. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
“Seemed appropriate for my mood.”
That sounded like a warning. She thumbed off the other shoe in case she had to make a run for the door. “Would you like me to turn off the light?”
He contemplated her for a long moment. “Would darkness make it easier for you to pretend I was Tommy Garrett?”
She couldn’t help it. The laugh bubbled out.
It was a straight-from-the-bottle kind of night. Retrieving the champagne from the dresser, she gulped a healthy dose before wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. “Jealousy? That’s so...” Cliché. Well, it seemed like a tell-it-like-it-is night, too. “...cliché, Leo.”
His gaze scraped her from head to toe, darkening as he lingered at the vee of her cleavage. “What should I feel while watching my wife flirt with another man?”
“Gratitude?” she offered. “I was working him for you.”
Leo barked out a laugh. “Shall I call him back, then? See if he’s up for a threesome?”
This was going downhill fast. Not only was he not thrilled with her party, he’d transformed into a possessive husband. “Are you drunk?”
Maybe she should catch up. If she downed the entire bottle of champagne, her husband might make a lot more sense. Or it would dull the coming rejection—which this time would no doubt include an annulment. Alcohol had the potential to make either one more bearable.
“Not nearly drunk enough,” he muttered. Louder, he said, “Since you’re so free with your favors this evening, perhaps you’d do me another one.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“Show me what’s under that dress.”
Okay, not the direction she’d anticipated him going.
More champagne, STAT. She swigged another heady gulp and set the bottle on the dresser. “Why? So you can stake your claim? Jealousy is not a good enough reason to strip for you.”
His mouth quirked. “What would be?”
“Diamonds. A trip to Bora-Bora. A Jaguar.” She ticked them off on her fingers airily. If he was going to be cliché, she could, too. “The typical kept woman baubles.”
“What if I called you...Dannie?” He drew it out and in that silky voice, it swept down her spine and coalesced in her core with heat. “It’s the key to intimacy, isn’t it? You let Tommy call you that. The two of you were very cozy.”
She cursed under her breath. How dare he turn her on while accusing her of dallying with Tommy? “He’s twenty-four, Leo. I’m old enough to be his...older sister. Stop being such a Neanderthal.”
“So that’s your objection to Tommy? His age?” Leo slid off the settee and advanced on her, slowly enough to trip her pulse. “What about Dax? He’s my age. Maybe you’d like him better.”
“What’s this really about?” Boldly, she stared him down as he approached, determined to get past this barrier she sensed he’d thrown up to avoid the real issue—she’d failed at being the wife he needed, on all levels. Somehow. “You’re not threatened by Tommy. Or Dax. You’ve been weird all evening. If you’ve got a problem with me, lay it out. No more smoke and mirrors.”
Only a breath away, he halted, towering over her. Without heels, she wasn’t that much shorter than he was, but his presence—and his dark, intense mood—overwhelmed her.
“You know, I do have a problem with you.” His gaze traveled over her and that’s when she saw the vulnerability he’d hidden behind a mask of false allegations. “You’re still dressed.”
Baffled, she cocked her head and studied him. Hints of what he was so carefully not telling her filtered through. All at once, she realized. He was threatened by other men and conversely paralyzed by his conscience, which had dictated that he wouldn’t touch her until she was okay with what he could give.
His body language was equally conflicted. His fingers curled and uncurled repeatedly, as if he wanted to reach for her but couldn’t.
She was his wife. But not his wife, in the truest sense.
Her heart softened. He wanted something he had no experience with, no vocabulary to define. And she’d been trying to force him into admitting his needs by sharing his bed and denying him the only outlet for his emotions that he understood, assuming her way was best.
Well, this was all new to her, too, but she wasn’t above changing course to give him what he needed.
Their connection was already there. Instead of waiting on some murky criteria she doubted either of them could verbalize, she’d just show him.
That was a good enough reason to strip for him.
Dannie locked her gaze on his and reached up to her nape to unclasp her dress.
* * *
Leo was acting like an ass.
Knowing it didn’t give him any better ability to control it, or to eliminate the constant spike of lust when he caught sight of his wife. Seeing her laugh with another man had generated something ugly and primal inside.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t like how he’d focused so much energy and attention on this deal with Tommy Garrett and then spent the night sulking in the corner instead of using the opportunity to do his job. His wife had picked up the slack. His wife. Once again, she’d kept the importance of the evening front and center while he wallowed in jealousy.
How dare she be so perfect and imperfect at the same time?
A few more fingers of scotch might have dulled the scent of strawberries. But he doubted it. When he was this close to his wife, nothing could dilute the crushing awareness.
Daniella’s fingers danced across the back of her neck. His gut clenched as he realized what she was doing, but the protest died in his throat as her glittery dress waterfalled off her body, catching at the tips of her breasts for one breathless second. Then it puddled on the floor, baring her to his greedy gaze.
A beautiful, half-nude vision stood before him. Daniella, in all her glory. Fire raged south, ravaging everything in its path to his center, numbing his extremities and nearly bringing him to his knees.
It would be fitting to kneel before a goddess.
“Daniella.” His raw voice scraped at his throat and he cleared it. “What are you doing?”
He knew. She was doing what he’d been pushing her to do. But she was supposed to slap him. Or storm out. Or push him in kind, the
