For Angelo(61)

“Aww, look at you giving me that puppy look because I’m not going,” Farica teased. “And to think you couldn’t even look at me straight the first day in class.”

Lane turned red, and when Farica giggled, she confessed awkwardly, “It’s a-all Angelo.” And it was true. She had improved by leaps and bounds under Angelo’s tutelage, although she had a feeling it was more because he had threatened to date another woman every time he wanted her to try a new coping technique.

And of course there are the rewards, a sly voice inside her mind intruded. If you did good, he promised to eat you good, too—

“Oh dear, you’re blushing.”

“Am n-not!” Then she glared at Farica. “Now, see what you m-made me do! You’ve made me s-stammer again!”

Farica laughed and impulsively gave her friend a hug. “I’m so happy for you, Lane,” she said feelingly. “Dylan Charbonneau was right. You guys are a perfect match.” When she pulled away, she saw Lane gave her a doubtful look, and she asked in surprise, “You don’t believe it’s true?”

“I’d l-like to, but…I’m n-nervous. We’re going to s-spend even m-more time together now. W-what if he starts getting bored?”

Farica rolled her eyes. It still amazed her that Lane was totally clueless about what a babe she was. But then again, her friend always had her head down. It could be why she wasn’t aware of how men looked at her – or even how ugly her clothes were for that matter.

“I think it’s impossible he’d get bored with you. Like, think about it this way. Do you think being with him 24/7 would make you bored in his company?”

Lane shook her head.

“Then it’s the same for him because—” Farica winked. “You’re the perfect match.”

Lane rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling a bit either. Ever since she had told Farica about how Dylan Charbonneau had described her, the other girl had used the words like they were a solution to her every concern about Angelo.

Farica patted her friend’s hand. “There’s no use worrying about the unknown. Just concentrate on the preparations. Tonight’s the night!” She mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke. What Lane was planning was impossible for her to contemplate—

But then, she wasn’t Angelo Valencia’s match.

Lane was, and that might be why tonight would work.





Chapter Seventeen





Faces were plastered on every window on all sixty floors of Valencia Tower, all of them employees who had chosen not to clock out even though it was already two hours past the end of their shift. Who cared about going home early when there was the possibility that—

Everyone started shrieking the moment they saw the limousine rolling down the driveway. The employees held their breaths as a chauffeur came down to open the door—

AAAAAAH!

It really was Dylan Charbonneau of Minuit Rouge!

And oh, wait, who was that coming out behind him? Was that his fiancée Bree, a close friend of Saffi March-Aehrenthal, the wife of Sweden’s #1 Sex God, Staffan Aehrenthal?

Everyone inched their faces as close to the windowpanes as possible, but it was only those on the first five floors who were able to glimpse the tender way in which the rockstar helped the girl out of the limousine before placing a possessive hand on the small of her back.

This time, the women swooned and sighed, loud enough for those on the upper floors to hear them, and they sighed as well, none of them having any difficulties imagining what it would feel like to have a man like Dylan in their lives.

As Bree and Dylan stepped inside the elevators, she smiled at him, saying with good-natured humor, “A few years ago, this scene would have made me very paranoid.”

He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “And we both know that was my fault.” He tipped her chin up, and his eyes danced with wicked mirth as he asked, “Do you want me to prove to you right now how much I want you?”

Bree’s face flamed. “No!” And thankfully, the elevator doors slid open then, allowing her to escape her fiancé. If she wasn’t careful, he might just convince her to do something outrageous again.

And hot. And—

Oh Lord, what was she thinking?

She quickened her steps, but Dylan’s long-legged stride enabled him to easily catch up with her. Laughing, he curled an arm around her waist and pulled her indecently close to him.

“Dylan, we’re in an office,” she protested weakly, and her attempt to put some distance between them was paltry as well. She loved being close to him, but couldn’t they do it where there weren’t, well, hundreds of gazes trained at them?