Page 33 of Beast

Suddenly the limo hits a pothole and Gaston’s hand slips higher onto the edge of my panties, making me gasp. I’m already on edge. Wound tighter than a coil by his touch.

“So responsive. I love that, baby girl,” he murmurs, moving back to lean against the leather of his seat. “Be a good girl for me tonight, and you’ll be rewarded.”

I’m so torn between arousal and revulsion it’s insane. There’s one part of me that wants to slap his hand away. Another part that wants him to slip his fingers under my panties and stroke me to climax. While I hate this man, I crave him with as much ferocity.

The limo slows and Gaston reluctantly withdraws his hand.

“We’re here,” he says briskly, back to business. “Be a good girl for me.” His eyes bore into mine, full of warning.

I nod mutely while the chauffeur opens the door. Cameras flash wildly as Gaston takes my hand and helps me out of the limo. I paste on a smile, pushing down my turbulent feelings.

Tonight I’m a trophy on his arm. And as much as I despise it, a part of me relishes playing this role and being the object of his obsession and desire.

He guides me down the red carpet and into the fancy gala. The firm and possessive grip on the small of my back grounds me as I walk by his side. And I find myself leaning in to him, drawn to him. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight it, I’m under his spell.

A small gasp escapes me when we step into an opulent ballroom. The kind you only see in movies. The vaulted ceilings are dripping in crystals and gold accents. Intricate ice sculptures adorn every table, while waiters in crisp white suits weave through the crowds carrying trays of champagne flutes or canapés.

“Quite a party, huh?” Gaston murmurs in my ear. “Only the finest for Mexico’s elite.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The extravagance seems absurd, especially for a charity event.

As if reading my mind, Gaston continues, “I know what you’re thinking. Does any of the money actually make it to the cause?” He pauses, surveying the room. “These things are mostly about appearances. The donations are pennies compared to what gets spent on the soirée itself.”

“Well that makes me feel so good about attending,” I reply drily.

Gaston lets out a genuine laugh, the sound rich and warm. I’m momentarily taken aback. Since we’ve met, I’ve never heard him laugh like that, but it gives me goosebumps.

“Perhaps I should throw my own charity gala and make it more basic, more about the charity.”

“What a novel concept,” I shoot back.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Come on, let’s go and get a drink.” He leads me toward the bar, keeping his arm around me. “What would you like?”

I chew on my lip. “A margarita?”

He smiles. “Good choice.”

“What can I get for you, Mr. Marques?” The bartender asks.

“A Macallan on the rocks and a margarita.”

The bartender nods and goes to fetch our drinks. Gaston watches me like a hawk, making me feel self-conscious.

“What are you staring at?” I ask.

“You,” he breathes. “Because you’re the only thing in this room worth staring at.”

My stomach clenches and I clear my throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He’s making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling toward him.

Thankfully the bartender returns with our drinks and Gaston turns away from me to pay him. He passes my drink into my hand and our fingers touch, sending shockwaves of electricity through me. I know he feels it too as his nostrils flare.

We drink in silence while people chatter around us. Once we’ve both finished our drinks, Gaston moves closer to me, his lips a few inches from me. “Dance with me, baby girl.”

Damn it. This event is making me feel all the wrong things toward this man. As if he’s just a charming, gorgeous guy I’m on a date with, which couldn’t be father from the truth.

“Okay,” I breathe.

He takes my hand and steers me toward the dance floor. The live orchestra are playing a waltz and couples swirl around in their elegant attire.

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