LITMIR.BIZ

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hours that had followed. At five a.m., she’d given up and taken a quick shower before putting on that skin-baring dress again.

      Wishing she’d asked for a blanket to cover the acres of flesh on display, she cringed as another salacious offering popped into her inbox displayed on Zaccheo’s tablet.

      Like a spectator frozen on the fringes of an unfolding train wreck, she read the latest post.

      @Uberwoman Hey ConvictLover, that flighty poor little rich girl is wasted on you. Real women exist. Let ME rock your world!

      Eva curled her fist, refusing to entertain the image of any woman rocking Zaccheo’s world. She didn’t care one way or the other. If she had a choice, she would be ten thousand miles away from this place.

      ‘If you’re thinking of responding to any of that, consider yourself warned against doing so.’

      She jumped at the deep voice a whisper from her ear. She’d thought she would be alone in the living room for at least another couple of hours before dealing with Zaccheo. Now she wished she’d stayed in her room.

      She stood and faced him, the long black suede sofa between them no barrier to Zaccheo’s towering presence.

      ‘I’ve no intention of responding. And you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,’ she tagged on when the leisurely drift of those incisive eyes over her body made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.

      ‘I don’t sneak. Had you been less self-absorbed in your notoriety, you would’ve heard me enter the room.’

      Anger welled up. ‘You accuse me of being notorious? All this is happening because you insisted on gatecrashing a private event and turning it into a public spectacle.’

      ‘And, of course, you were so eager to find out whether you’re trending that you woke up at dawn to follow the news.’

      She wanted to ask how he’d known what time she’d left her room, but Eva suspected she wouldn’t like the answer. ‘You assume I slept at all when sleep was the last thing on my mind, having been blackmailed into coming here. And, FYI, I don’t read the gutter press. Not unless I want the worst kind of indigestion.’

      He rounded the sofa and stopped within arm’s length. She stood her ground, but she couldn’t help herself ogling the breathtaking body filling her vision.

      It was barely six o’clock and yet he looked as vitally masculine as if he’d been up and ready for hours. A film of sweat covered the hair-dusted arms beneath the pulled-up sleeves, and his damp white T-shirt moulded his chiselled torso. His black drawstring sweatpants did nothing to hide thick thighs and Eva struggled to avert her gaze from the virile outline of his manhood against the soft material. Dragging her gaze up, she stared in fascination at the hands and fingers wrapped in stained boxing gauze.

      ‘Do you intend to spend the rest of the morning ogling me, Eva?’ he asked mockingly.

      She looked into his eyes and that potent, electric tug yanked hard at her. Reminding herself that she was immune from whatever spell he’d once cast on her, she raised her chin.

      ‘I intend to attempt a reasonable conversation with you in the cold light of day regarding last night’s events.’

      ‘That suggests you believe our previous interactions have been unreasonable?’

      ‘I did a quick search online. You were released yesterday morning. It stands to reason that you’re still a little affected by your incarceration—’

      His harsh, embittered laugh bounced like bullets around the room. Eva folded her arms, refusing to cower at the sound.

      He stepped towards her, the tension in his body barely leashed. ‘You think I’m a “little affected” by my incarceration? Tell me, bella,’ he invited softly, ‘do you know what it feels like to be locked in a six-by-ten, damp and rancid cage for over a year?’

      A brief wave of torment overcame his features, and a different tug, one of sympathy, pulled at her. Then she reminded herself just who she was dealing with. ‘Of course not. I just don’t want you to do anything that you’ll regret.’

      ‘Your touching concern for my welfare is duly noted. But I suggest you save it for yourself. Last night was merely you and your family being herded into the eye of the storm. The real devastation is just getting started.’

      As nightmarish promises went, Zaccheo’s chilled her to the bone. Before she could reply, several pings blared from the tablet. She glanced down and saw more lurid posts about what real women wanted to do to Zaccheo.

      She shut the tablet and straightened to find him slowly unwinding the gauze from his right hand, his gaze pinned on her. Silence stretched as he freed both hands and tossed the balled cloth onto the glass-topped coffee table.

      ‘So, do I get any sort of itinerary for this impending apocalypse?’ she asked when it became clear he was content to let the silence linger.

      One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘We’ll have breakfast in half an hour. After that, we’ll see whether your father has done what I demanded of him. If he has, we’ll take it from there.’

      Recalling her father’s overly belligerent denial once Zaccheo had left the study last night, anxiety skewered her. ‘And if he hasn’t?’

      ‘Then his annihilation will come sooner rather than later.’

      * * *

      Half an hour later, Eva struggled to swallow a mouthful of buttered toast and quickly chased it down with a sip of tea before she choked.

      A few minutes ago, a brooding Romeo had entered with the butler who’d delivered a stack of broadsheets. The other man had conversed in Italian with a freshly showered and even more visually devastating Zaccheo.

      Zaccheo’s smile after the short exchange had incited her first panic-induced emotion. He’d said nothing after Romeo left. Instead he’d devoured a hearty plate of scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and smoked pancetta served on Italian bread with unsettling gusto.

      But as the silence spread thick and cloying across the room she finally set her cup down and glanced to where he stood now at the end of the cherrywood dining table, his hands braced on his hips, an inscrutable expression on his face.

      Again, Eva was struck by the change in him. Even now he was dressed more formally in dark grey trousers and a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the gladiator-like ruggedness of his physique.

      ‘Eva.’ Her name was a deep command. One she desperately wanted to ignore. It held a quiet triumph she didn’t want to acknowledge. The implications were more than she could stomach. She wasn’t one for burying her head in the sand, but if her father had done what Zaccheo had demanded, then—

      ‘Eva,’ he repeated. Sharper. Controlled but demanding.

      Heart hammering, she glanced at him. ‘What?’

      He stared back without blinking, his body deathly still. ‘Come here.’

      Refusing to show how rattled she was, she stood, teetered on the heels she’d had no choice but to wear again, and strode towards him.

      He tracked her with chilling precision, his eyes dropping to her hips for a charged second before he looked back up. Eva hated her body for reacting to that look, even as her breasts tingled and a blaze lit between her thighs.

      Silently she cursed herself. She had no business reacting to that look, or to any man on any plane of emotion whatsoever. She had proof that path only ended in eviscerating heartache.

      She stopped a few feet from him, made sure to place a dining chair between them. But the solid wood couldn’t stop her senses from reacting to his scent, or her nipples from furling into tight, needy buds when her gaze fell on the golden gleam of his throat revealed by the gap in his shirt. Quickly crossing her arms, she looked down at the newspapers.

      That

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