Page 51 of Dirty Play

“Stop what?” I tilt my head to the side as our bodies sway. “Stop reminding you of what we did the other night? Or stop making you want to do it again?”

Her breath hitches, and I feel her body tense under my hands. “Rowan,” she warns, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just relax, hellcat.” I pull back enough to meet her gaze.

I catch movement from the corner of my eye and glance up, spotting Alegra watching us from across the room. She’s standing next to a waiter who offers her another glass of champagne. Her gaze is sharp and calculating, as her brow rises in a challenge. She looks at me, then turns to the young man and tells him something I can’t hear before heading toward the bathroom. The waiter gapes after her, his face registering what she said, before quickly setting the tray down and following Alegra. I almost snort out loud. Does she really think fucking a waiter in a bathroom would make me change my mind about not taking her up on her offer?

I don’t want her anywhere near me. I don’t want her anywhere near Livia.

I look down, focusing on the amazing woman in my arms, savoring the way her body moves against mine, the way her lips part like she’s trying to think of something to say but deciding against it.

Let her stay flustered. I’m in no rush.

The dance ends, and I reluctantly let Livia go. Her eyes linger on mine for a fraction of a second before she mutters something about work and scurries off, leaving me standing in the middle of the dancefloor, smiling like a damn idiot.

She thinks she’s getting away from me. Adorable.

“Mr. DiMarco!” a voice calls, cutting through my thoughts.

I turn to find a group of reporters clustered near the edge of the room, cameras and microphones pointed my way. Fantastic. The vultures are circling.

I plaster on a polite smile and stride toward them, ignoring the flash of cameras as they jostle to get a better shot.

“Mr. DiMarco, can we get a comment on your incredibly generous donation tonight?” one reporter asks, holding out a microphone.

“Fifty thousand dollars, what made you choose the Wildlife and Stray Rescue Foundation?” another chimes in.

I take a breath, shoving my hands into my pockets as I meet their curious gazes.

“Look, I’m not the kind of guy who likes to make a big deal about this stuff. I usually prefer to keep my contributions private.” The cameras flash again, but I keep my expression steady. “But the truth is, this foundation does incredible work which I’ve familiarized myself with. They provide medical care to injured wild animals, rescue stray animals off the streets, and give them a chance to heal and find safety.”

My voice softens, and I glance toward the charity’s banner hanging near the stage.

“When I was a kid, my grandparents always told me that if you have the means to make a difference, you should. It’s not just about writing a check; it’s about making sure these animals have a chance.”

The reporters murmur among themselves, their cameras clicking as they capture my rare moment of sincerity.

“Do you have a personal connection to this cause?” someone asks.

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. Memories flash in my mind, walking down the alleys of my hometown as a kid, finding stray dogs and cats left to fend for themselves, patching them up with whatever I could find.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for the ones who’ve been forgotten,” I finally say, my voice low but steady. They all go quiet, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve said too much. But then one of the reporters smiles, nodding like she gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. DiMarco,” she says softly, nodding.

“Anytime.” I nod back, the edges of my lips quirking into a faint smile.

The interviews wrap up, and I slip away before anyone can ask me anything else. I’ve had enough of being in the spotlight for one night.

As I step away from the press, I spot Livia slipping through a side door at the edge of the ballroom. She’s moving quickly, like she’s trying to disappear before I notice.

She should know better by now.

I follow her, my steps deliberate, my pulse kicking up as I imagine all the ways I’m about to rattle her cage. The hallway beyond the door is dimly lit and quiet except for the faint hum of the event behind me.

And there she is.

She’s standing at the far end, her back to me, focused on tapping whatever notes into her phone.

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