Page 11 of Marrying the Enemy

She really did hate Dom, she decided, as Logan’s voice turned into a drone that was as pesky as a mosquito’s whine while the rest of her senses were amplified with proprioception.

Dom had broken her with their early-morning dalliance in Budapest. No one had ever made her feel so much want. For the first time, she had let herself go with what she was feeling. She had let him see her at her most vulnerable, in the throes of passion. She had been in a state of shock, half-naked, the rest of her clothing askew, when he had ordered her to leave.

She had felt rejected and dirty and mortified as she hurried to pack. She hadn’t wanted to stay another second. She had texted Hailey on her way to the airport that something had come up and she’d waited with trepidation for Dom to say something to the press or leak something on a grapevine. She had been sure he would use her behavior against her.

He hadn’t. Which was no consolation. She only felt beneath his notice, which was somehow worse. He seemed to have wiped her from his mind and she ought to be able to do the same. It was her deepest shame that she still fantasized about him.

Did he touch that woman’s arm? A barb of envy pierced her chest. Now her ears strained for his voice, hearing him order a drink with, “Extra ice.”

“What do you think?” Logan asked.

She bit back a bewildered, What? He’d been saying something about snorkeling off the groom’s yacht, but she hadn’t been paying attention.

“That sounds fun.” She kept her smile on her face even though Dom moved closer, to speak to a couple nearby.

Her back felt his presence like a tropical sun was radiating a third-degree burn into her skin.

Logan, bless him, said, “Darling, come meet my friend Dave and his wife.”

The whole evening was like that, drifting into striking distance of a deadly viper, trying not to draw Dom’s attention while gripped by tension, waiting for him to say something to her or about her or force her to speak to him.

Most disgraceful of all, when she and Logan were on their way to her room, all she could wonder was whether that cousin of the bride would be screaming Dom’s name later.

“He’s staying at his property on the mainland,” Logan said as the door to their suite closed behind them.

“Pardon?” Good God. She hadn’t spoken her thoughts aloud, had she?

“Blackwood. I checked. And I texted your brother, letting him know I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you, so you can relax.”

Eve blinked, wondering if she was supposed to be flattered that Logan was acting so proprietary, as though she couldn’t make her own decisions or look after herself.

“I would have thought all of that rivalry had died with his father,” Logan continued as he casually kicked off his shoes and left them in the middle of the floor. “Your brother sounded pretty agitated, though, asking whether WBE was expanding elsewhere in Australia, beyond that resort he just bought. I said I’d ask around.”

“Boys will be boys,” Eve said blithely. “I don’t pay much attention.”

That was another huge lie. She wished she could ignore Dom and what her brother did to antagonize him, but she couldn’t. She should probably be grateful she was still being held at arm’s length from the top-level decisions or she might betray her excess interest, but she was mostly indignant at being relegated to branding and décor, never included in big decisions or given real responsibilities.

A light hand slid along her arm. She tensed in something that felt a lot like repulsion.

“Darling? I respect that you want to wait until your wedding night, but... We could do other things,” Logan persuaded. “Perhaps get in the hot tub and see what happens?” He nodded toward the terrace.

“I have a headache.” Not a lie. “Can we talk about that tomorrow?”

“Of course. But if you’re going to bed, I’ll change and pop down for a nightcap.” At least he didn’t pout about it. Maybe marriage to him would be okay.

“Sleep well.” He kissed her cheek, leaving her cold.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns...”

Dom had thought those grim words more times than Bogart himself had said them. Why that night, in that bar, in that rabbit warren of a playground in Budapest? Why her? A Visconti?

And why was he still fascinated by her four years after he had resolved to erase her from his mind?

Because he still carried a sense of something unfinished. It was no mystery why. He hadn’t slept with anyone since. No matter how sexually frustrated he got, no matter how beautiful and receptive his date might be, they all left him unmoved.

Yet all Eve Visconti had to do was lift her hair off the back of her neck and he was hard as a rock, barely able to restrain himself.

Aside from one haughty glance past her lover’s ear, she had avoided looking at him during the welcome reception last night. Yes, he had noticed, even though he’d done his best to ignore her, too. It was a skill he’d perfected the handful of times he’d seen her in New York. It didn’t matter if he looked at her or not, though. His inner radar always tracked her when she was in the vicinity. He knew where she was and which man she spoke to and how she sounded when she climaxed.

---