Page 38 of Ignacio

He walked over and trailed his fingers through the straight strands of her hair. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils and wrapped around him like a silk ribbon, making his dick swell in his black trousers. The floral sweetness wasn’t overpowering but would certainly linger in the air long after she had walked away.

“Stunning,” he whispered.

“Thank you. You look pretty stunning yourself.” Her sultry eyes flicked over his attire—a dark jacket, white shirt, and dark slacks.

She smoothed a hand over his chest, and the slow movement echoed inside him. It was just the two of them in the foyer. There was no one to perform for or to take pictures. And her touch—it didn’t feel fake. It felt very, very real, very meaningful. When she lifted her gaze to his, he saw the unmistakable presence of heat in her eyes.

“We should go?” she suggested.

All of a sudden, he didn’t want to go to the birthday party. He had the urge to toss her over his shoulder and run upstairsso he could do every nasty thing he ached to with his tongue and hands.

“I guess we have to,” Ignacio said roughly.

He helped her wrap the stole around her shoulders and then took her hand, threading his thicker fingers between her slender ones. Surprise filled her face because there was no one here to see them, but he ignored her expression and led the way out the front door to where a chauffeur-driven white limo waited for them in the driveway. As they strolled down the walkway, he felt like a man who had stumbled upon a rare and priceless treasure—one he couldn’t let go.

After helping her into the vehicle, he slid onto the seat and watched from the corner of his eye as she crossed those impossibly smooth, sexy legs that had haunted his dreams all week. For the first five minutes of their ride, he sat stiffly in the seat, fighting the urge to gather her against him and kiss her tempting mouth until she was senseless. If he made it through the night without putting his fist through another man’s face for looking at her, he deserved a damn prize.

Once he relaxed, he turned to Delta. “Which songs are you going to sing tonight?”

“King’s assistant said his mother liked all my songs, but especially two slow songs from my second album: ‘Beat of My Heart’ and ‘Love Me.’ I’ll sing those and include an up-tempo song in between.”

“I like ‘Love Me,’” Ignacio admitted.

Shock registered on her face, as if she couldn’t believe he listened to her music.

“I know your music, and that song was one of the biggest on the album.”

“It reached all the way to number three on the charts,” she said, a soft smile on her lips.

“Should have been number one.”

“I’ve had a couple of number ones,” she said.

“The song you did with T-Murder went to number one, didn't it?”

Her biggest hit in recent years had been singing the hook on a Terrence “T-Murder” song for his last rap album before he retired,Annihilation. The video had accrued hundreds of millions of views, and at least one million of those views belonged to Ignacio. Over and over, he had watched one particular scene where Delta rolled around under the white satin sheets, her alluring body partially on display for the rapper.

“Our song did go to number one. He gave my career a boost, which helped since the last album didn’t do well.”

“It’s all relative, though, isn’t it? Like when people say one of my movies didn’t do well because it made $200 million instead of $350 million domestically. There are actors who would kill for $200 million in domestic box office receipts.”

“The corporations don’t care. I think part of what fueled the success of the single with T-Murder was the buzz about the chemistry between us.”

He remembered the chatter and had despised it. “Didsomething happen between you two?” He had no business asking but needed to know.

“Absolutely not,” Delta said vehemently. “Terrence was back with his wife by then. Believe me, the man was not interested in me. Strictly work. He had a bad reputation, but that was in the past.”

“I should be used to the lies. Apparently, I have a number of illegitimate children. My youngest love child is in Mexico, being cared for by one of my aunts.”

Delta laughed. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“One day I’ll have to tell you about my six or seven children around the world.”

“I can’t wait,” she replied with a giggle.

Damn, it was good to talk to her again and hear her bubbly laugh.

Not long afterward, they arrived at the home of Benjamin Brockwell, King Brockwell’s father, where the birthday party was taking place. They entered a room filled with a few dozen guests, and the people near the door gasped and whispered to each other when they saw the couple. King immediately appeared and greeted them.

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