‘Tell me,’ he said, stroking her hips now, making the soft silk feel like sandpaper as it rasped over her skin.
‘All of them.’
He swore softly, let go of her hips and grasped her hand. ‘We’re leaving.’
Panic assailed her as she heard Megan’s shouted comment. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to talk to my wife.’ Dominic threw the comment over his shoulder.
Ally attempted to wave her new friend goodbye, but she was already being whisked through the crowd. People turned to watch as she was marched out of the gallery. Some of the women giggled behind their hands, a few of the men laughed, others simply stared at the spectacle they were making or lifted their phones to record her humiliation.
Ally allowed herself to be led; trying to resist would only make the situation worse. He was furious, obviously. It was the only explanation for the sparkle of heat in his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the way his hand clasped hers in a firm, unyielding grip.
She should never have designed and made her own clothes, instead of buying them from somewhere expensive and exclusive the way he’d expected her to. He was a proud man and this marriage was all about appearances. She had miscalculated badly. Very badly.
Stopping on the sidewalk outside the gallery, he whistled through his fingers. The limousine they’d arrived in appeared out of the snarl of traffic like a magic carpet.
‘I’m sorry, Dominic, I should have told you, about the clothes,’ she whispered, trying to pl
acate him. ‘I realise you’re probably annoyed that I didn’t buy something from a named designer, but I’ve been studying design for two years and I—’
‘Get in.’ Dominic opened the door and held it for her.
She hesitated.
‘Alison. Get. In. The. Damn. Car.’ The tone was low, more firm than threatening, but still she felt it ripple down her spine. ‘Now.’
She jumped at the barked command, and slid into the seat. Moments later she was cocooned in the back of the car with him as it peeled away from the kerb. The scent of leather and man, spicy cologne and pine soap invaded her senses; the blare of car horns, the cacophony of sound from the street as New York woke up to the night buzzed in her brain, combining with the sensation careering over her skin.
Why was he so mad at her? And why did it still turn her on?
‘Listen, I’m really sorry I wasn’t honest with you about my wardrobe. But Megan liked this dress, really, it isn’t all bad—’
‘Stop apologising about the damn dress. The dress is not the problem. It’s stunning, and it’s been driving me to distraction ever since I saw you in it. So I’d say Megan’s opinion is correct.’ The searing confession surprised her so much, the bottom dropped out of her stomach.
‘Then... What is the problem?’ Because there was clearly a problem and she still had no idea what it was.
He turned to her then, the naked hunger on his face so shocking the heat fired up her torso. ‘The problem is, for this to work there has to be trust. You chose not to tell me about the clothes, and in some ways I understand that—you’re obviously not as confident about your abilities as you should be.’ His hand touched her thigh and she shivered, the sensation both brutal and yet delicious as the calluses trailed up her leg. ‘Which is ironic, because the minute I saw you in this outfit tonight, all I wanted to do was rip it off you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s relevant,’ she managed because she’d already started to lose the thread of this conversation, and she was still none the wiser as to why he looked so furious.
He swore suddenly and let her go, to lean back in his seat. ‘Then it should be,’ he said, staring out of the window.
She wondered if she should apologise again, for not telling him about the clothes, because it had upset him in ways she hadn’t thought she could upset him, but she didn’t want to keep apologising.
The ride through Manhattan seemed to take an eternity as she waited for him to say something, anything. Her thigh quivered where the imprint of his brief caress still lingered—making her brutally aware of exactly how tangled this situation had become. Because she still wanted him so desperately, even though on several levels he was completely infuriating.
Her need and her anxiety had reached fever pitch when he finally turned back to her.
‘Why did you have Selene cut the one-million-pound payment from the divorce settlement?’ he said tightly, the searing heat in his eyes accompanied by an emotion that made no sense whatsoever.
Guilt.
That was the problem? She opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again, because she still didn’t understand what she’d done that was so wrong.
* * *
‘Answer me,’ Dominic demanded. He was so angry and frustrated he was finding it hard to speak. He’d trusted her and she’d tricked him.