Page 10 of Take Me Under

Anton’s words from earlier filtered into my mind.

Trustfall.

Pulling out my chair, I shifted the layers of my dress to theside and sat as gracefully as I could while wearing a chiffon monstrosity. Using the back of my hand, I wiped the slight bead of sweat from my brow. The nauseous feeling was back, and if the body aches I was starting to feel were any indication, I was definitely coming down with something. I hoped to be able to keep whatever it was at bay for a little while longer, and prayed the evening would be a success.

CHAPTER FOUR

Anton

The sun had almost set, painting the sky a kaleidoscope of colors as I navigated the crowd and hurried down the museum stairs toward the street. Several people still lingered on the red carpet, all vying to get photos taken in their ostentatious clothing. I suppressed an eye roll as I breezed past a woman wearing a dress made of peacock feathers and leafy vines. Three men followed in her wake, each one balancing a section of ivy embellishments that made up her long train. The entire scene was ridiculous.

To help manage security at the gala, the surrounding area had been cordoned off for blocks. Disappearing into a crowd of pedestrians wasn’t an immediate option, and it wasn’t long before I was recognized. Camera flashes went off and reporters shouted questions at me, but I ignored them until they eventually fell back out of earshot. Their attention was precisely why I’d used a back entrance when I first arrived. I hadn’t wanted thehassle, but I wasn’t thinking about that in my haste to leave. I just had to get the hell out of there. Discovering who Serena was had left me disoriented and agitated.

Martinelli—Dr. Serena Martinelli.

I’d anticipated a meeting with an older gentleman, a seasoned archeologist as the article had implied, who I needed to convince to sell me the Brutus Denarius. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with a woman of mesmerizing beauty. With her flawless skin, deep blue eyes, and slender yet shapely figure wrapped in crimson, she didn’t look like an archeologist. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t picture her spending her days covered in dirt and searching for old bones. Yet, at the same time, she also didn’t seem like the rest of the polished guests in attendance at the gala.

I thought back to the moment I’d first laid eyes on her. I had been unexpectedly stupefied, rendered speechless by a strange woman in red. I recalled the way the bodice of her gown clung to her slim body, the sparkling corset seeming more like a second skin. It cinched tight at the waist to accentuate her breasts and outline her every curve. Layers upon layers of fabric spilled from her hips, coming to a pool around her feet. I’d noted the toned muscular lines of her tanned shoulders and arms, and envisioned strong, lithe legs to match—legs that I wanted wrapped around me before we’d exchanged a word. I began to fantasize about sliding my hands under the layers of her ruby dress, roaming up her leg, pulling the fabric of her panties aside, and exposing her to my mercy.

Much to my annoyance, my cock twitched. There was something about her that affected me in the most inexplicable ways. She was both authentic and vulnerable—and I wanted her far more than I should considering I barely knew her.

I was a man who needed to have control of all things around me. Perhaps it was my background that made me that way. Isupposed years of having no control over anything would do that to a person, but I never philosophized about it.

From the way I ran my business to the women I took to my bed, control was all I craved. I needed it like the air I breathed. It was that instinct that drove me to succeed in everything I touched. I researched and spotted trends, and I could anticipate things before they happened. That foresight was how I’d made my fortune.

For all the hype the media gave it, the Met Gala wasn’t all that different from so many other events I’d been to. There were the handshakes, the top-shelf liquor, and the fake smiles. Everyone was sizing up the competition around them purely as a means to a selfish end. Everyone—and I mean everyone—wanted something. Including me. These events were as predictable as they were pretentious.

But I hadn’t anticipated Serena Martinelli.

Despite her outward reservations, she managed to command the space around her. She had an elegance only seen in seasoned royalty yet maintained the innocence of a princess. She sounded American but there was a hint of an untraceable accent that signaled worldliness. She had mentioned Italy and years of moving around a lot, but her appearance was a true testament to the Mediterranean. Smooth shoulders that were made for kissing had been left temptingly bare, exposing tanned olive skin. Her nearly black hair had been fashioned up, leaving only a few ringlets to fall onto her back and cascade around her face.

Then there was her mouth—red and full. When I’d held her in my arms after her near fall, all I could think about was leaning in and biting her lower lip.

While she looked and dressed the part of a great Italian beauty, the callouses on her hands told a different story. I wanted to know how and why they’d gotten there. I wanted the story behind that just as much as I wanted to know why she neededinvestors. She was a mystery—a riddle that I was suddenly obsessed with solving.

She had unknowingly disarmed me, her every movement arousing deep, carnal desires. She’d upended every expectation I’d had for the evening. And the second I’d discovered her full name and title, my sole purpose for being at the gala had become uncertain. All I could think to do was make a quiet exit until I could clear my head and get my thoughts in order.

It shouldn’t have mattered who I’d expected the archeologist to be. Man or woman, pivoting should have been easy. But I’d been caught off guard, and that wasn’t something I was used to. She wasn’t who I’d anticipated, and it bothered me more than I cared to admit.

I knew that once she found out I wanted something from her, the fragile trust we’d established could vanish in an instant if I didn’t play my cards right. I needed a new plan that separated my physical attraction to the woman from the object of my desire—the Brutus Denarius.

I continued walking with no destination in mind, happy to be away from the buzz surrounding the Met. I gazed across the bustling street, not focused on anything in particular, and replayed the unexpected encounter with Serena over again in my mind. Her voice echoed through my thoughts as I tried to get a grip on why she had affected me so much. Taking a deep breath, I shook off the lingering unease.

In the fading light, I found myself at the edge of Central Park. The soft rustle of the trees provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the chaos of my thoughts. Perhaps the city had a way of revealing the unexpected, much like the woman who had left an unforgettable mark on my evening. My frustration grew, not at her, but at my own uncertainty. It was out of character for me.

Glancing at my Rolex, I frowned. I’d been gone from thegala for close to an hour. I was wasting time. If Serena wastheDr. Martinelli who I’d been hoping to meet, and if she did, in fact, have the Brutus Denarius, meandering without purpose wasn’t going to get me any closer to obtaining it.

“Fuck this. I’m going back,” I muttered.

Turning around, I began to head for the museum. A few people who passed by slowed and pointed in my direction. Ever since my name had been listed inForbes, that had been happening more and more. Add in the stupid gossip rag that had listed me amongst their sexiest men, and it was risky for me to wander the streets without Zeke nearby. He’d surely school me for it if or when he ever found out.

As I crossed East 84thStreet, I noticed a familiar red dress slightly down the block. Serena’s tight body wrapped in crimson wasn’t an image I’d soon forget. She was a vision of beauty, sitting on the stone bench at the very spot we’d first met. My brow furrowed with concern, wondering why she wasn’t inside. When she hunched over to rest her head on crossed forearms, my concern grew.

Was she…crying?

I never doubted my instincts. They’d served me well over the years, and right now, they told me something was wrong. Without thinking, I hurried my pace. The sound of my footsteps across the concrete sidewalk increased with the rhythm of my heart. An odd sense of worry gripped me as I approached her.

“Serena,” I said once I reached her.

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