Page 49 of Frayed Bonds

“What are you doing here?” I cringe, as my voice comes out in more of a hoarse whisper than I anticipated. Clearing my throat, I step back out of his hold and wait for his answer.

“Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he steps closer and I find myself backing up further. Mischief glints in his eyes as a small smirk plays on his lips. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, and it’s the first time I notice how perfectly carved his features are.

Of course, I know Ambrose Vitale is attractive, even a blind person would say that if they were only able to feel his face. The way he looks in this light, with his green eyes filled with trouble, he could put every piece of art in here to shame. I’m sure he is what Auguste Rodin envisioned when he started working on his sculptures of man.

“I saw you leave, got a bit worried when you never came back,” he reveals.

He’s still stepping closer and I’m still backing up, but it's not long before my back hits the wall of the centrepiece.

“I didn't want to disturb you while you were busy.” I try to compose myself. It's taking every ounce of self-control to not melt into a puddle at his feet under his inviting warmth.

He scoffs and my eyes snap up to him, but now they're looking up at the ceiling. A laugh escapes his lips, it doesn't sound sincere though, it sounds strangled and painful. When his eyes return to mine I no longer want to melt under them, instead it makes me want to run away at how harsh they seem.

“You're a walking, talking, pink-wearing distraction,” he says.

My words form a ball and lodge themselves in my throat as I try to process what he’s saying, but he’s too close. He’s everywhere all at once. His entire body pinning me against the wall, as his hands rest slightly above my head. The gold chain peeking out from his shirt catches the light of the moon and glints back at me.

My eyes drop from his, but he reaches for my chin and forces me to look up at him. It's a contrast to how he grabbed my face that night at the restaurant. It’s gentle yet just firm enough to force me to look up at him without me being able to object

“A distraction so perfect, it’s as if you were made just for me.”

“Maybe I was.”

I have no idea why those are the words that decide to leave my mouth, they feel foreign on my tongue, especially towards Ambrose of all people. Something about the way my entire body is on fire right now, and the sudden wetness pooling in my panties makes me want to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, I am his perfect distraction because he sure as hell feels like mine.

He inhales deeply before he opens his eyes. He‘s now mere inches from my face. “And that sweetheart, is what terrifies me.”

“Why?”

The hand that is gently cupping my chin now slowly moves until it's wrapped around my neck, holding me firmly in place.

My heart wants to burst out of my chest, as his lips move even closer. His eyes still locked with mine

“Because you're not mine to have.”

Before his words even have the chance to register, he’s gone. The warmth, his scent, his hands. Everything.

He backs up drastically and is now staring at me as if he could pounce at any second. It looks like an internal battle for control and all I want is for that shred of control to snap.

“Let’s go,” he commands, as he takes my hand and leads me out of the exhibit and back to where dinner is. As if the sudden rush of air brings back reality, I realise how horrible the situation is. Aside from having no idea what Ambrose is talking about, everything went in the completely opposite way of how things were supposed to.

This was supposed to be a stupid little date. I pretend to be with him, and he pays me an ungodly amount of money for it. Instead, I've been broadcast to every news site in Europe and possibly the rest of the world. I’m supposed to be healing from my awful marriage turned divorce, working on my art, and taking care of my father, not almost hooking up with my boss.

Oh, my God. I was considering letting my boss, who is also my best friend's brother, who is also Ambrose Vitale, Europe's most notorious playboy, kiss me.

That’s beyond fucked.

I’m beyond fucked.

My brain doesn't stop its overthinking when we reach the dinner table, nor does it stop when we start saying our goodbyes.

I somehow manage to smile and nod in all the right places as we greet a few investors, but something about how Adriano looks between me and Ambrose makes me feel uneasy. It’s as if he knows exactly what happened. As if he was right there in the room with us, but then his face changes to his usual charming smile and relief washes over me as we move to leave.

It isn’t until we're almost at my house that Ambrose finally graces me with his attention again. “Horatio and Diego couldn’t stop talking about you. Did you happen to put them both in a trance?”

My head snaps in his direction, surprised by his question. He seems to do that a lot, surprising me with the questions he chooses to ask.

“Depends.” He smirks at my response, the same as when he asked me to tonight’s event. “Horatio knew a lot about a few French artists I’m interested in, so we had something to talk about.”

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