Page 63 of Ignacio

Ignacio came to where she was seated and sank onto his haunches before her. He took her hand and kissed it. “This isn’t fake. This isn’t a performance. The only performance—my greatest performance—was pretending I wasn’t obsessed with you.”

“I love you too,” Delta said, her voice quivering. All the other men since they broke up had been stand-ins, mere substitutes. Her heart and body belonged to Ignacio. Always had. She had basically been waiting for the day he came back into her life and reclaimed them.

“I tried multiple times to convince myself that I didn’t care about you, that I didn’t miss you. I even wrote a song about it. The title is ‘I Don’t Miss You.’” She let out an embarrassed laugh.

“I guess the song is the opposite of that?”

“Sort of. One day I might share the words with you.” Her lower lip trembled. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry that I?—”

“Shh.” He kissed her knuckles. “I don’t care. We’re here. Together. We can do this, Delta. Right this time. Yes?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Ignacio stood and lifted her from the chair. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, moaning at their languid, heartfelt kiss. In their bedroom, they quickly disposed of their clothes and then reached for each other, touching and caressing with utmost urgency—both of them filled with uncontrollable, all-consuming desire.

Delta cried out at the joining of their bodies. She arched into him, each thrust taking her higher. When his fingers closed around her throat, her nails sank into his ass as the lack of oxygen made her dizzy, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Over and over, he drove into her while her sobs of ecstasy filled the room. He whispered words of hunger, love, and desperation against her skin, each pump of his hips etching his devotion into her very soul.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The annual Simmonds Foundation Charity Gala always brought out Hollywood’s elite to raise money for LA’s underprivileged youth. Ignacio was not usually lucky enough to attend but came whenever he could to support the cause.

The white limo pulled up to the venue, and the chauffeur opened the back door. Ignacio exited first, dressed in a black tux, his hair slicked back and pulled into a man bun at the nape. He extended a hand to help Delta out of the vehicle. She left her stole on the car seat, but they wouldn’t remain in the chilly night air for long.

Delta wore a shimmery black sleeveless gown. Her hair was parted in the middle and pulled into a sleek bun, as well, and Harry Winston diamonds dangled from her ears and adorned her slender wrists. Because of the value of the pieces she wore, the jeweler had provided extra security to shadow her and Ignacio this evening.

When they walked onto the red carpet, cheers erupted from the onlookers lucky enough to have tickets to be in the stands overlooking the entrance, and camera bulbs flashed in quick succession as photographers captured the event for their variouspublications. Media personnel shouted their names in an effort to get their attention for the perfect shot.

“Delta, this way!”

“Who are you wearing?”

“Delta, over here, beautiful!”

“Smile for me, Delta!”

“Ignacio, this way!”

They turned and smiled, posing for the cameras. Delta’s publicist slipped behind to fix the train of her dress before darting away. For a few minutes, he and Delta separated, allowing the photographers to capture individual photos of them. During those brief moments, Ignacio had a hard time concentrating on his poses. His eyes were constantly drawn to Delta. She sparkled like the jewels in her ears and around her wrists.

They held hands again and continued down the line before entering the venue. Inside the dimly lit interior, they were greeted by other celebrities. Hugs and plenty of air-kisses were exchanged, and in between, entertainment reporters asked questions about their upcoming projects.

After a round of interviews, they settled into their chairs for the program, which lasted a little over an hour. Then loud music drew them to a room next door, and they hit the dance floor with the rest of the guests. Much later, with their arms entwined around each other, they moved to the beat of a slow-tempo song.

“I’m starving,” Ignacio murmured in Delta’s ear.

“Me too. Let’s find some food.”

He nodded his agreement and led her out of the room to where the Simmonds Foundation members had set up drinks and heavy hors d’oeuvres for guests. As they headed toward one of the tables, Vincent, his friend and a British actor, stopped Ignacio with a hand to his chest.

“Ignacio, mate, how the hell are you?”

“Vincent, good to see you.” Ignacio grabbed his hand, and they went in for a man hug, clapping each other on the back.

“It’s been far too long, hasn’t it? Not my fault, though. You’ve been keeping a low profile—no parties, no wild nights. Can’t say I blame you, mind. I wouldn’t go anywhere either if I had this stunning creature to keep me occupied.” He turned his gaze to Delta.

“This is Delta?—”

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