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She stopped tormenting him for a second and raised her head. “So we did.”

Merda, why had he said anything? He thrust what was now a truly impressive—if he did say so himself—erection into her stomach. Sliding his hands from her waist to her ass, he pulled her against him. He allowed himself to enjoy the sensation for a moment longer then took a deep breath and released his hold just as the music changed again to a faster beat.

“Time for some champagne,” he murmured.

He had a feeling the evening was going to become some slow form of torture. But he could do it to prove to her that…

What? He was no longer sure what he was trying to prove.

…

It had taken all Gabby’s willpower to say no when he’d asked if she wanted to go back to the hotel with him.

But the trouble was she wanted him too much.

It was scary how quickly and deeply he got under her skin. Dancing with him had been a sort of self-inflicted punishment. Though she’d allowed him to skip out on the fast dances, he had joined her for the slow ones. Each time they had stepped onto the floor, the desire between them ratcheted a notch higher. He’d felt it, too—it was impossible to hide an erection that big when you were welded together.

In between dances, they sipped champagne, and he held her hand, stroked her fingers, and kissed her palm, but nothing more. They didn’t speak, but the silence hadn’t been awkward; it was more expectant, rather.

And sometimes she’d danced alone, for him, loving the feel of his dark gaze following her every move. He didn’t seem put off by her flamboyant dancing.

Tomorrow she’d worry about that.

It was long past midnight when he ordered them a taxi. In the darkness, as the streets of London whizzed past them, he’d taken her hand and asked her to come back with him. And she’d wanted to so much it had been like a physical pain stabbing her in the gut.

Never had she felt like this, and in the end that had given her the strength to say no. He hadn’t pressed her, and she suspected that, in his way, he felt the same, and he hadn’t expected to. They were both in shock.

So, here she was back in her own apartment, contemplating her lonely sofa. At least there was no sound from Theresa’s room so she was saved the interrogation a little while longer.

Obviously, she’d thought too soon, because at that very moment, the door to Theresa’s room opened and her friend stood there, wrapped in her comfort dressing gown she’d owned since she was sixteen. At least some of the color had returned to her face.

She peered around the room. “You alone?”

“Of course.”

“Just give me a second to make a coffee, and then we’ll have our little chat.”

Inquisition, more like. “Do we have to?” She hated the pathetic whine in her voice, but pushed on. “Can’t we wait until morning? Don’t you need to rest? How is your arm, anyway?”

“My arm is fine, and not a chance.” She disappeared into the small kitchen, where the sounds of coffee-making drifted out. Gabby grabbed a blanket from the cupboard and wrapped it around herself—more for comfort than anything else—and sat cross-legged on the sofa, composing herself. She’d been meaning to tell Theresa, anyway. When she’d asked her not to mention to Luca that she was staying here, she’d known there would be a day of reckoning, but Theresa hadn’t pushed, maybe sensing that she needed time.

She came back five minutes later with two mugs of coffee, handing one to Gabby and taking the seat opposite.

“Luca called again earlier,” she said.

“He did?”

“He’s been calling a lot lately. He asked again if I’ve heard from you. If I know where you are.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I didn’t. Which was true at the time. But I hate lying to him, Gabby. So, what’s going on?”

“Okay. Full disclosure.” She needed to explain what led up to her somewhat bizarre behavior. “You know I cracked that bone in my arm a while back?”

Theresa frowned. “Yes. What has that got to do with you dating a D’Ascensio?”

“Have a little patience and I’ll get there. It was just after my brother got in his spot of bother.”