She heard the murmur of voices in the villa’s living area and her wayward pulse punched her neck, making the dusky light glimmer off the opals in her necklace.
She pulled her newly recharged phone out of the purse.
Eight o’clock on the dot.
Caine had arrived at seven as promised, according to the maid Inez, and had been getting dressed to take her to the ball... She stifled a slightly hysterical cough.
Jared was taking her under duress because he didn’t trust her not to run off, and he had to go to the event for business reasons.
She needed to get her Cinderella complex under control.
Katie slipped her feet—fully recovered from yesterday’s march after an hour-long pedicure—into the four-inch heels Donatella had picked out to go with her outfit. Tiny gemstones sparkled on the straps, but what should have looked trashy gave the outfit a funky, unique accent that chimed perfectly with what Donatella had insisted was Katie’s rebel style.
Katie pressed her palms into the ruched silk covering her belly and strolled to the door—feeling about as rebellious as a church mouse.
Suck it up, Whittaker. All you have to do is handle Caine for one night. And, anyway, this is not a date.
Her steps faltered though as she walked through the living area and out onto the terrace—her pep talk floating off into the night as she spotted Caine standing in the dusk.
He wore a dark suit, perfectly tailored to his broad frame, and looked even more imposing than usual—a wolf in designer clothing waiting to pounce on its prey. Piercing sapphire eyes locked on her face. The punch of awareness hit her square in the solar plexus.
“Good evening, Katherine,” he murmured. The rough cadence of his voice seemed to scrap over her nerve endings and she gripped the purse harder.
Not a date. Definitely not a date.
“Hi,” she said, forcing her feet to move. Even wearing the four-inch heels she was several crucial inches shorter than him.
His gaze roamed over her outfit, making the push-up bra feel like an iron corset.
“I see you had a successful afternoon.”
The husky tone only made her feel more insecure. The hint of a smile played over his lips again, adding an additional hitch to her breathing.
Time to tough it out, Whittaker.
Caine had no idea how inexperienced she was. She needed to play the part of a woman in charge of her own sexuality, or he would know exactly how much power he had over her.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, forcing the cocky confidence she had practiced for years in front of Lloyd Whittaker into her voice. “Seeing as it probably cost you a small fortune.”
His leisurely gaze set off bursts of sensation over every inch of exposed skin. “I consider it a justifiable business expense.”
His arrogance should have annoyed her, but the twinkle of wry humor in the startling blue eyes felt strangely beguiling, coaxing her to share the joke.
“I should warn you, not everything you see is real,” she said, her own lips twitching. “The bra Donatello insisted on may well be worthy of a Nobel Prize for engineering.”
His jaw tensed and the sparkle flared into something a great deal more potent, heating the warm night air.
“Good to know,” he said in a tortured rasp that suggested the opposite. He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “We should go.”
He rested his palm on the small of her back to direct her out into the hallway. She stretched against the proprietary touch, absorbing the giddy thrill.
The evening had settled in, the heady scents of the local wildflowers—jasmine and lavender and honeysuckle—hanging on the night air as he led her past the huge black motorcycle to the convertible he’d been driving on the mainland. The strange sense of disappointment—that she wouldn’t have to wrap herself around that big body again—made no sense at all as he held the door open and she climbed into the luxury car.
A shiver racked her body as he folded his large frame into the driver’s seat. For such a big man he moved with a fluid grace that made her think of a wolf again, or maybe a panther on the prowl. Big and powerful and predatory.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head, unable to find her voice.