gown that appeared to be constructed out of nothing but tissue. It had a neckline that plunged almost to her belly button and fitted like a glove around her hips and thighs, the skirt falling silkily to her ankles, and I wanted to rip it off her body, and bury myself inside her.
Again.
I thought I’d be satisfied after our first night in Dubai, screwing each other senseless in the suite Petra had booked for us as soon as we got off the plane. But apparently not.
Apparently screwing her only made me want to screw her more, and now I felt nothing but hungry and possessive and feral, all of which were a bad combination.
Especially since we were on our way to the club event where I was supposed to be talking Delaney out of his precious islands. I was going to need my focus for that and couldn’t afford to be distracted by my lovely chauffeur.
Except she didn’t look like a chauffeur tonight. She looked like one of my expensive socialites, with her brown hair lying gleaming and glossy over her shoulders, her face newly adorned with make-up.
It was strange seeing her like this, but not at all unwelcome.
She looked gorgeous and I’d already decided I liked her just as much in a gown as I did in her uniform, though the shorts won because they showed more skin.
However, she was obviously nervous because when she wasn’t tugging up the neckline of her gown, she was touching her hair or straightening the fabric of her skirt. Small gestures that betrayed her.
‘You don’t need to be nervous,’ I said into the silence. ‘You look beautiful.’
She gave me a quick glance. ‘And you look hot in that tux.’
I grimaced and tried not to pull on my tie; I hated wearing a suit.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Yes, you are. If you pull at your gown one more time, you’re going to rip it.’ I reached out and took her hand from where it was tugging at her neckline for a fourth time, threading my fingers through hers and drawing it away from the gown to lie on my thigh instead.
Touching her was probably a bloody stupid thing to do, especially when the chemistry between us was so volatile, but I thought my touch might reassure her.
She stared at our linked hands for a long moment, her fingers looking small and delicate compared to mine.
‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe I am. I’m not used to wearing dresses.’
‘Really? You don’t wear dresses at home?’
‘No. After Mum died I got out of the habit.’
There was a slight catch in her voice as she said the words and I found myself searching her face. ‘Why? You don’t like wearing them?’
‘Not really. But also I look like her.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad found that...difficult.’
Her father sounded like a piece of work—hell, he hadn’t protected his own daughter from someone who wanted to hurt her. But given her defensiveness about it in the plane yesterday, I kept that opinion to myself for now.
‘Difficult?’ I asked.
‘When I say I look like her, I mean I’m the spitting image of her.’ There was a certain sadness in her eyes that made me tighten my grip on her hand. ‘Mum also loved dresses and make-up and all kinds of girly things, and after she died, he was so upset that I just...thought it was easier if I didn’t look so much like a girl.’
‘You wanted to protect him.’
She sighed again. ‘He was so lost without her and he doesn’t do emotion. He couldn’t deal with losing her and I wanted to help him.’
‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Did anyone help you?’ I didn’t know what made me ask. Maybe it was that sadness in her eyes, or the way her fingers had tightened around mine. The sense that I knew the answer to that question already: no one had.
The lights from the city outside glided over her face, a flash of something raw in her eyes, and I felt my chest constrict. ‘No,’ I said, annoyed with myself. ‘Forget I said anything. You don’t have to answer.’
She gave me a long look, then said eventually, ‘I had my brothers. But they were all older than me. And Dad had no idea what to do with a seven-year-old girl. So...no. I guess I didn’t have anyone.’ She smiled, but I’d never seen anything so forced. ‘Anyway, it was fine. I coped.’
Of course she had. Because she was tough—at least on the surface. But underneath she was vulnerable, I could see it in her eyes. Hell, I’d seen it up in the plane yesterday, too.
I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb, trying not to give in to the anger I felt on her behalf. She was loyal to her family, but it made me wonder if they were as loyal to her.
Certainly there were issues with her dad and his handling of the harassment problem. I got the feeling that he blamed her for it, which was so wrong I wanted to hit something. Hard.
‘It wasn’t fine,’ I said roughly, not liking how she dismissed herself and her own needs so easily. And with a smile that was in no way natural. ‘I’m sure you did cope, because you’re tough. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t need anyone to be there for you.’
Her forced smile faltered. ‘Dad didn’t like fusses. He didn’t know how to deal with them.’
‘Well, as you probably know by now, I don’t mind a fuss.’ With my free hand, I gently brushed a finger along her lower lip. ‘But what I really don’t like is pretence. You have a beautiful smile, pretty thing. You don’t need to fake it.’
She blinked and the smile slowly disappeared. Her hand tightened in mine. ‘What about you? Did you have anyone?’
I didn’t want to talk about me. But then, it was my own fault. I’d introduced the subject and this was where the conversation had ended up. And I couldn’t not tell her now, not after what she’d told me.
‘I had my mother,’ I said, somewhat reluctantly. ‘My father wasn’t part of my life in any way. He got rid of Mum once he found out she was pregnant and wouldn’t pay a cent towards helping her with anything. The only time was when she begged him to pay for my schooling.’ I stroked my thumb over Ellie’s skin. It was very soft against mine and very warm. ‘I tried once, when I was thirteen, to get something from him myself. Mum was having difficulty covering rent and I thought I might be able to convince him to help us. But...’ I didn’t know why I was telling her this story, not when it ended in nothing but humiliation. Nevertheless, I found myself going on. ‘I went and stood outside his house, and when someone eventually came to the door—I don’t know who it was, but not Dad—they told me he didn’t want to see me. That I wasn’t his problem.’ Even now, the anger of that moment burned inside me, no matter how many years went by. How I was dismissed. As if my mother and I meant nothing and were nothing to him.
The slight pressure of her fingers around mine made me realise that she was squeezing my hand. As if I was the one who needed reassurance
