One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty

Some of the warmth in her chest was squashed by his words. “Oh.”

He looked away, as he often did when she started getting personal or emotional. “Were you expecting something else? I am not a sentimental man, cara mia. You should have realized that by now. Honest, yes. Sentimental? No. I can fully satisfy your carnal desires, but your finer feelings will have to be dealt with elsewhere. Perhaps watching romantic movies?”

It made her angry that he did that. That he minimized then what had, for a brief, shining moment, become such a large thing in her mind.

A chance to be brought into his world. A chance to be part of it. A part of him.

So she didn’t feel so alone.

“You’re assuming I have any finer feelings,” she said, turning and walking into the dressing room, shutting the velvet curtain behind her. “I’m only a con woman after all. It’s very likely I don’t have them.”

She turned and saw an array of dresses hung there, waiting for her. She was having a flashback to that moment in her apartment, when she had realized that she was caught. When she was staring at a lingerie bag, a dress and a demand.

But this was different. This time, she had her choice of dress.

She reached out and touched the hem of one of the gowns, the fabric soft, finer than anything she could have afforded under normal circumstances. She touched each one of them, settling on the one in emerald green, the softest to the touch.

“I never said you didn’t have feelings,” he said, his voice coming from a much closer place than it had been only a moment before. He was standing right on the other side of the curtain, she could tell.

“But it’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I may have a difficult time understanding feelings, or connecting with them, Charity. However, I never said you didn’t have them. And I certainly didn’t say it was because you were a con woman. You are the one who seems hell-bent on identifying yourself as such as often as possible.”

“So neither of us forget.” She tugged her shirt up over her head, then made quick work of her pants, before taking the green dress off the hanger and undoing the zipper, stepping into the waterfall of rich silk.

“I am not likely to forget as it is the thing that brought us together. What a wonderful story for us to tell our child.”

She pulled the dress up, holding it against her breasts, reaching behind her and trying to get a hold of the zipper tab.

She managed to get it partway up, but could not get the fabric to meet more than midway up her back. She arched, trying to contort herself so that she could get it up the rest of the way, rustling against the curtains as she did so.

“Let me help you,” Rocco said, his voice softer, richer, darker than the crushed velvet that separated them.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t be so damned stubborn,” he said.

And then she felt his hands on the fabric of the gown, one braced on the base of the zipper, the other on the tab, as he quickly did it up. A lightning bolt of need shot through her as his knuckles brushed against her bare skin, only a fleeting touch, but it was enough. And not nearly enough all at the same time.

“There,” he said, “it’s much easier when you aren’t stubborn, isn’t it?”

She looked over her shoulder and was surprised by how close he was, his lips a whisper from hers now. “Easier, maybe. But it’s not as much fun.”

A smile curved his lips and she suddenly found herself being pushed deeper into the dressing room, his hold tight on her hip as he turned her to face him, pressing her back against the mirror. “You think this is fun?” He pressed his body against hers, and she could feel the hard length of his arousal against her stomach. “A little challenge?”

“What is life without a challenge?”

“Death,” he said, leaning forward, scraping the sensitive skin of her neck with his teeth. “As long as we struggle we know we’re still alive.”

There was no doubt that she felt alive now. Her heart was thundering hard, her pulse racing, her core aching for something only he could give her.

“We can’t do this here,” she said, her voice strangled.

“I’m paying a lot for this room. I’ve paid less for hotel suites. All things considered, I can do whatever the hell I want here.” He kissed her just beneath her jaw.

“This is a nice dress,” she said.

“It would look nicer crumpled up on the floor.”

“That won’t help me choose,” she said.

“I like your lips,” he said, leaning in and kissing her hard, deep. When they parted, they were both breathing hard. “But I like them much better when they are wrapped around my dick.”

Desire shot through her like an arrow, hitting its target straight on, the ache inside of her intensifying. But this was how things always went with him. He demanded; she acquiesced. He pushed and she gave way.

But not now. She would make him wait. She would make him beg.

“I have shopping to do,” she said, leaning forward and taking his lower lip between her teeth, nipping him gently. “And you need to go sit out there and behave yourself. And tell me which dress you think looks best.”

He growled, tightening his hold on her and pulling her firmly against his body. “Is that what I have to do?”

“Yes,” she said, keeping her tone firm.

He released his hold on her and took a step back, his dark eyes glittering. “Have it your way.” He turned and walked out of the dressing room, and for a moment she was afraid he had walked out altogether. Until she heard him settle in the chair.

She moved away from the mirror and turned to face it, so that she could get a look at the gown for the first time since she’d put it on. It was beautiful. Elegant. And not her at all.

Which was a strange thought to have, because she had only just been thinking that she wasn’t certain who she was. But she was not this dress. That was all she knew.

She managed to unzip it on her own, and then stood in her underwear appraising the other garments that were available to her.

She reached out and touched one that looked like molten gold, the fabric shimmering as it moved beneath her fingertips. It was definitely flashy. Not something she would have gravitated toward under normal circumstances. Not unless she was trying to draw attention to herself for a con. But then, standing there, looking at all the dresses, she found she liked that one best. There was no reason for her to like it best. No brief that she was filling, except for her own.

And because there was no reason for her to like it other than that she simply did, she decided to try it next.

She removed it from the hanger and slipped it on. This one was strapless too, but the zipper was a little bit more cooperative. She removed her bra. The support built into the gown was all that was needed for her curves.

She looked up at her reflection in the mirror and her breath caught in her throat. Even without makeup, and without her hair done, she almost looked like a different person in the shimmering golden wonder. It lit up her complexion, catching the warmth in the brown tone of her skin and eyes.

She shifted and the light caught hold of the fabric, lighting the small space with a shower of sparkles. She tilted her head to the side and placed her hand on her hip, shifting her weight to her left leg. The fabric parted, revealing a high slit that ended well above her knee.

She liked this. And that hidden bit of daring meant that Rocco would probably like it, too.

She turned toward the curtains and walked out of the dressing room. Rocco was sitting in the chair, his posture casual, his manner disinterested. Until he lifted his gaze and saw her standing there.

Then his focus sharpened, his expression going as hard as stone.

“What do you think?” she asked. But she already knew what he thought. And it made her feel hot all over. Such an amazing thing, to be able to read the thoughts of another person so clearly. To be close enough to someone to be confident that she knew what he wanted.