Page 118 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire

“I’m afraid I don’t.” But there was something wicked in his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what I was talking about. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The confidence in his voice made me want to step on his feet. Hard. With the pointy heels that matched this ridiculously perfect dress. Instead, I let him guide me through another turn, trying to ignore the way the passion vines along the walls seemed to be glowing brighter as we passed.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, nodding toward the flowering walls.

“They are. But they’re also very revealing.” His hand tightened slightly at my waist. “The deeper the red, the stronger the attraction between partners.”

I glanced around and noticed that most of the vines were a pleasant pink or light coral color. Pretty, but not particularly intense.

The section near us was definitely approaching red.

“Interesting,” I managed.

“Isn’t it?”

We danced in silence for several minutes, and I found myself getting lost in the music and the magical atmosphere. The scent dampeners made everything feel dreamlike, as if I was floating through a fantasy where nothing was quite real.

Which made it all the more shocking when the device Nicolo had insisted I wear suddenly came to life.

The vibration was gentle, barely noticeable, but it made me gasp and stumble slightly in his arms.

“Careful,” he murmured, steadying me with both hands.

“What” I started, then stopped as the sensation increased slightly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked with perfectly innocent concern.

I stared up at him, realizing with growing horror that he was controlling the device. Somehow, he had a way to activate it remotely, and he was testing my reactions in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

“You wouldn’t,” I breathed.

“Wouldn’t what?”

The vibration pulsed once, twice, then settled into a steady rhythm that made my knees weak.

“This is public indecency,” I hissed, trying to keep my expression neutral while my body started responding to the stimulation.

“This is data collection,” he corrected calmly. “How are your stress levels? Heart rate? Overall comfort with the testing environment?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s concerning. Perhaps we should try a different setting.”

The vibration increased, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.

“Better?” he asked.

“Worse,” I gasped. “Much worse.”

“Interesting. And how are you feeling emotionally? Any particular thoughts or reactions I should note?”

I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his scientific method, but a new song began and another couple bumped into us, reminding me that we were surrounded by people.

People who might notice if I started acting strangely.