For Angelo(64)

In the act of calling Lane, Angelo swiftly let his phone fall back into his pocket at the rockstar’s words. Even so, he told Dylan silkily, “No doubt, I’ve picked up the bad habit from you.” But the rockstar only shrugged.

When Bree picked up his call, Dylan asked, “Are you on your way back, babe?” It was a coded question, and when Bree said yes, he smiled. “See you then.” Ending the call, he turned to Angelo, saying, “Bree took Lane to the grand auditorium.”

“Where the corporate party’s being set up?” Angelo was perplexed.

“Also where our exhibit is,” Dylan reminded him. Coming to his feet, he asked, “Shall we join them?”

Angelo nodded, but even when they were inside the elevator, the grim expression on his face didn’t ease up, prompting Dylan to ask what was wrong.

“I’m trying to recall if there are any meetings scheduled there tonight,” Angelo answered reluctantly. While Lane had significantly improved in the past month, it didn’t mean she should constantly expose herself to possible triggers. He had once read that repeated panic attacks could have an adverse effect on—

Dylan started laughing. “Relax, man.”

“I am relaxed,” Angelo said stiffly.

The elevator doors opened to a darkly lit hallway, with the only light coming from the various spotlights beaming down on framed photos of Minuit Rouge on the wall. The exhibit featuring the band’s history, meant to celebrate the recent collaboration between Minuit Rouge and his company, should have been open until nine.

So why the hell were the main lights closed?

“What the hell?” Angelo stalked forward, furious and worried at the thought that someone filthy rich might have terrified her out of her wits right now. Bree would be there with her, but—

He paused when he saw two men in tuxes positioned at the end of the hallway, next to the entrance doors of the auditorium.

Each man held a phantom mask in his hands.

Dylan said from behind, “Lane organized all of this.” Taking one of the masks, he murmured his thanks before handing it to Angelo, saying quietly, “I think after tonight…” He put his mask on. “All your concerns about Lane will be addressed.”

The tux-clad men slowly opened the doors, revealing a stunning opera backdrop and hundreds of guests, all of them familiar because they were Angelo’s most frequent guests in his parties.

Guests who, for better or worse, shared his needs—

Sadists.

Masochists.

“Oh, and by the way…” Dylan clapped a hand behind Angelo’s back. “Happy one month of being committed, whether you admit to it or not.”





****





And so it began again, a cat-and-mouse game that turned into a seductive dance as Angelo Valencia’s darkest side came into light. Every layer of propriety stripped away, leaving someone so exquisitely cruel and sadistic—

Oh, how it would make most women cry.

But for Lane, everything about him was perfect.

The arrogant arch of his brows, the sardonic amusement that made his silver eyes gleam…

The icy precision of his tone and the sweetly acerbic wit of his words…

The way his shoulders would lift in a shrug, or the way his long, elegant fingers would clasp another woman’s hand as he brought it to his lips—

Every glance, every gesture, every syllable—

All of it hurt.

And she welcomed it.

She craved it.

This pain that was so terrible it seemed like Angelo had perfected the art of hurting her.

Her heart was his canvas, and he painted her with terribly beautiful strokes of longing, with the way he allowed her to gaze at him but forbidding her to come any closer. While every woman could shake his hand, brush the hair from his eyes, or pretend to stumble so they could press their breasts against his side, all she could do was stare and want him from afar.

The longer she gazed at him, the more her desire grew. Oh, how she loved the effortless way he moved through the crowd like an elusive lover, loved it as much as she hated the way women relentlessly chased after him.

He had changed before greeting his guests, his powerful body now made more breathtaking by the way his white formal jacket emphasized the magnificent breadth of his shoulders. The matching tapered pants molded perfectly to the impressively muscular length of his frame while the cotton dress shirt he wore underneath added just the hint of casualness – it was the perfect touch to have him stand out from the rest of the crowd of tux-clad gentlemen.

I don’t need a tux, his clothes said, to appear more gorgeous than most men.

And it was true.

As Lane moved closer, she heard a woman compliment his clothes, and Angelo paused before answering, his mocking gaze finding Lane’s.