Page 48 of Twisted Temptation

I need something to do.

Remembering there is a whole world sixty floors down, I decide to check it out.

Rule number two: never leave the penthouse without letting him know.

But he’s not here to tell, right?

Which is a delicious loophole.

Besides, technically, it’s still attached to the penthouse, so I’m not smashing the rule completely.

Buzzing with delinquent joy, I ride the elevator down to the casino. When the doors open and the Fortune Casino hits me all at once, I grin from ear to ear.

It’s like stepping into another universe. Thousands of lights turn the night into day, and the sound is a symphony of gaming tables, slot machines, and the hum of money, music, and murmured conversation.

I've been in casinos before. But this is something else.

This is like a city within a city.

Chance, hope, and possibility vibrate in the dazzling lights, and I stand at the edge of it in my T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, unable to help feeling alive with the energy.

I start walking because it’s like there's a beam of light pulling me forward and deeper into this glittering world.

And for the first time in days, I feel free and…

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I whisper to myself.

Because there he is.

The man I now call my husband.

He’s up ahead, but a good distance away so he won’t see me.

He's dressed in his usual black shirt and pants, moving through the room with the confidence of a king.

I duck behind a slot machine so he doesn’t see me, and peer around the edge to watch him move through his world.

People turn to look at him, but he doesn't acknowledge any of them. He doesn’t need their admiration to make him feel powerful because he is powerful. It radiates outward like heat from a fire, filling every corner of this room and touching every person in it.

This is his kingdom.

And he is every inch the king.

He stops to speak with a man near the baccarat tables. The man is older and says something brief. Dante listens then smiles, and I hate that my stomach flips.

He turns slightly, and the light catches his jaw. I remember what that jaw looked like an inch from my face last night when he faked moaning over bad cannelloni. I remember the heat of his breath on my neck and the dark rumble of his voice against my ear.

Fake those sounds again, and I'll drag the real ones out of you right here on this table.

A pulse of heat shoots between my legs so hard my hand grabs the slot machine for balance.

"Can I help you? Are you lost?"

I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice.

I turn to see a woman standing behind me. She’s in her late twenties, with her long dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and a bright, warm, professional smile on her pretty face.

"No," I say a little too fast. "No, I'm not lost. I'm just … I was looking at the, um…" I gesture vaguely at the slot machine. "The machine. I was thinking about playing it."