Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Well, it was too late to worry about it now.
The damage was done.
Maybe he wouldn’t even care?
Maybe I was one of a dozen women he'd invited to dinner? It was, after all, fashion week in Paris, and he was a wealthy and famous man. It was reasonable to assume there were more than enough women throwing themselves at his feet.
I thinned my lips and paused in raising the glass to my mouth. There was absolutely no reason why that thought should bother me. Instead of being jealous, I should be grateful to those women for saving me.
And make no mistake, while Sebastian Diamanti might have saved me earlier, by ignoring his command to join him later, I was certain I had just saved myself from him.
After looking at the screen one more time, I once again flipped the phone down on the table.
It was the right decision.
It was just the people pleaser in me that worried over how Sebastian would react. That was all.
I should just forget all about my brush with darkness and focus on the party and my new friends.
Forcing a smile, I raised my glass when someone else made another toast.
The lighting technician, Henri, who had helped me set up the lights in my photography studio, placed a plate of radishes in front of me. “You have to try this.”
I laughed. “Radishes? I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve tried radishes before.”
Henri winked. “Not the French way.”
Unease settled in my stomach. He’d been flirtatious throughout the setup of the show. I’d flirted back but more in a co-worker, teasing fun, non-romantic kind of way.
Henri smeared some whipped butter on the radish and then sprinkled a dash of sea salt on it before holding it up to my mouth. I didn’t appreciate the intimacy of the awkward act, but I also didn’t want to seem rude.
I scanned the guests at the table to see if there was anyone who could run interference for me. No one paid us any attention. Mark hadn’t joined us, and Yelena had already left after her burly Russian husband whispered in her ear. Whatever it had been, it made her blush, and they'd immediately cut out.
Henri laughed while he moved the radish closer to my lips. “Go ahead and try it. Trust me. It’s good.”
A rush of cold air when the cafe door opened made me shiver. I leaned forward to accept the offered bite, figuring the longer I waited, the weirder it would become.
Then a voice behind me growled, “Don’t you dare open your mouth.”
A hand clamped over my wrist, hard enough to bruise, as lips brushed my ear. “Let’s go, Sabrina.”
Instinctively, I pulled back.
He clutched me tighter.
It should have repelled me. But instead—it burned.
What was wrong with me?
I was so fucked.
CHAPTER 11
SABRINA
Sebastian had found me.
From his clenched jaw to his furrowed brow, the man radiated rage.
The once-boisterous café stilled.
Even the musicians stopped playing, and all eyes turned to Sebastian Diamanti.
Behind me, my friends whispered in hushed tones, fragments of their conversation drifting to me.
"Diamonds."
"Mafia."
His firm hand settled on my shoulder. Warm, yet it chilled me to the bone—the touch of the devil himself.
I shrugged it off as I rose, determined not to appear cowed.
Unfortunately, the champagne I’d drunk also rose…straight to my head.
I swayed, my hand instinctively pressing against his chest for balance. His hand came down over mine, trapping it against the hard plane of his chest. His skin, tan and calloused, surprised me—a stark contrast to the polished businessmen I usually encountered.
I focused on his signet ring, its thick gold band bearing a black diamond at its center. The motion steadied me as I fought against the waves of dizziness.
Sebastian reached past me, snatching the nearly empty champagne bottle off the table. “How much of this did you drink?”
I leaned forward, narrowing my gaze to concentrate on the gold filigree label before answering with a small giggle. “Enough.”
More than enough, really, considering I’d barely slept or eaten in over twenty-four hours.
He slammed the bottle onto the table. “That’s it. Get your coat. We’re leaving.”
I shook off his grip and stepped back—or rather stumbled, colliding into the table behind me. It shook, sending glasses toppling. The champagne bottle tipped and rolled toward the edge.
With a cry, I lunged for it, knocking a plate of mushroom tartines onto the floor. The bottle slipped, shattering on the black-and-white marble tile.
Before I could kneel to pick up the shards, Sebastian’s hands clamped around my hips, pulling me back.
The unmistakable hardness of his body pressed against me.
My head snapped upright as I silently glowered at him, but he didn’t release me.
The café’s silent patrons fixed their gazes on the spectacle unfolding before them. I felt their judgment, their curiosity, their fear—but I couldn’t meet their eyes.
“The glass,” I murmured, still trying to lean forward.