We had dinner with the director of operations from the French branch of HBHC that evening. A gourmet feast prepared by a three-star Michelin chef and paired with spectacular wine, but the director had been more taken with Emery than with his meal. She charmed and flattered him in a way that seemed authentic. Was this something her charismatic father had taught her? Or was she a natural?
Wednesday morning, she slept in, and it took a considerable effort from me to leave the bed. When I sat up, she rolled over in her sleep, stretching and arching her back to get comfortable. It made her breasts jut out to me and her shirt ride up, revealing a band of bare skin across her toned stomach.
It’d been thirty-three days since I’d made the bet, but it might as well have been thirty-three hundred. My hands itched to touch her. To trail my fingertips over that newly exposed skin and see what kind of reaction I’d get out of her. The craving for her was constant, incessant, and it grew more acute every minute spent in this bed.
So, I stayed and looked, but did not touch for a long while.
The touching came later when I was alone in the shower. It’d taken surprisingly few pumps of my hand to push me over the edge, and I came in a furious rush without making a sound. I knew how good the acoustics were in this shower, didn’t I?
The sun was low in the sky when we arrived at the beach and were escorted to our poolside seats for the fashion show. The catwalk for the show was a raised white platform that cut a line across the circular swimming pool of the Plaza Hotel. At one end was the media section, jammed full of photographers. At the other end was the large white backdrop with sponsorship logos laced to the metal frame. Behind it stretched the ocean.
The seats were arranged around the circular pool, and while we waited for the show to start, I pointed out various celebrities in attendance.
“His Royal Highness of Monaco,” I said, gesturing to the older gentleman beside the stage.
She smiled and shook her head. “An actual prince. Kind of adds to the fairytale feeling this week is giving me.”
If I had any uncertainty about what she meant, she cleared it up by sliding her hand into mine. It was strange how it had such a powerful effect. We’d spent so much time together this week, and yet I woke up each morning eager for more.
I’d had a sexual relationship with Jillian, followed by a friendship, but there’d been no spark. Not even a fraction of what I had with Emery. Maybe Jillian had been right, and sex was sabotaging my relationships. Or maybe I’d just been doing it backward and needed to build a friendship first before jumping into bed.
The fashion show began shortly after, and my smile froze when the first model took the stage.
Emery leaned in to whisper to me. “Is that . . .?”
“Leitner, yeah.” I scrutinized the Austrian man who grinned as he strutted down the catwalk in a designer suit. “I forgot that some of the drivers and ladies of F1 walk in the show.”
Which meant he’d be at the afterparty.
Unease wrapped itself around me as I remembered the way Leitner had looked at Emery. Normally, I didn’t compare myself to other men. There was no need. I was good looking, charming, and filthy rich. My powerful family name opened any door I wanted, and when I flashed my smile, women fucking melted. I’d never met a man who I thought was worthy of challenging me.
But Niko Leitner? Shit, he might be.
I’d been threatened plenty of times in my life before Lambert. There’d been a few sailing races I’d lost over the years, and arguments I’d been bested at while in law school. But I’d never felt jeopardy when it came to a woman. Not with Alice, because she’d made it clear I was just a substitute for my father, and not with Jillian, because neither of us had our hearts invested.
I didn’t want to compete with this man. Sure, I had more money than he did, and it was debatable who between us was more attractive, but he lived a sexier lifestyle. Plus, he had one huge advantage on me.
I’d bet my fucking life Leitner wasn’t celibate. If anything, he was probably drowning in pussy.
It wasn’t all that warm outside, and as the sun began to set, Emery shivered in the cool breeze—but I began to sweat. I heard my father’s voice in my head angrily reminding me I was a Hale, and any woman should be thrilled to have me.
But . . . what if I didn’t want any woman except the one sitting beside me?