“They also sent these.” Jack held out twin ballet flats, satin and ivory like the dress.
She smiled, grateful she wouldn’t have to walk in heels again. “Thank you.”
Her gaze found his then traveled lower. Another emerald tuxedo, deep enough to be mistaken as black. His dark hair swept back from his face in high, sculpted waves—not slicked or lacquered, but thick and deliberately styled so every strand obeyed.
The angular cut of his jaw looked sharper, the hollows beneath his cheekbones deeper, more predatory. His brows arched with a cruel elegance above those pale, lupine eyes that tracked her with quiet intensity. Every savage inch of him disguised from his Italian leather dress shoes to the bridge of his aristocratic nose.
“You look like you stepped from the pages of a Fitzgerald novel.”
He stepped behind her, softly tapping the delicate earring at her lobe so it caught the light. “So do you.” He met her stare in the mirror. “Reading’s something we share.”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Your essays. You mentioned you liked to read.”
The warm sensation in her chest shifted as if something closed and she dropped her gaze. “I never thought anyone would read my words. I don’t even remember what I wrote.”
“I do.”
Her gaze jumped back to his face and she flushed with mortification. “You do?”
He nodded. “I was sitting in my study when I read yours. Your words hit a nerve in me, so deep I reread them three times.”
Her sharp embarrassment shifted into something softer. “You did?”
He pressed a kiss to the creamy slope of her shoulder and whispered, “It would be a luxury if, for just one day, I could breathe air that doesn’t smell of hunger.”
His words—her words—settled into the lowest part of her hollow stomach. She lowered her lashes. “I’m not like you, Jack?—”
He caught her jaw, lifting her chin before she could lower her head in shame, and met her stare in the mirror again. “You’re more like me than you realize.”
She looked at his handsome face wondering how that could possibly be. Behind him, gorgeous, custom-tailored suit hung in abundance. His soaps were labeled in languages she didn’t know. His lifestyle, his wealth, his power…it all went beyond anything her sheltered mind could measure.
It was then she knew this fascination he had with her wouldn’t last. She was a momentary distraction. Someone he could lean on as he worked through whatever demons of his past still haunted him.
A tightness formed in her throat and chest as she swallowed and tried to smile. “Thank you for the dress.”
Uncertainty flitted across his eyes, gone so quickly she dismissed it.
There would be many women in Jack’s life. Once he got past his insecurities, he’d be an unstoppable, irresistible, uncontainable force.
Turning to face him, she cupped the side of his freshly shaven jaw and rose on her toes to kiss his lips. His hands rushed to her hips, possessive and hungry.
“Whatever this ends up being, Jack, I’m glad you rescued me.”
He frowned, but said nothing.
One night. One fortune. Total transformation. It was the only promise given to her. She needed to be content with that.
Her smile trembled as she smoothed his collar. “You look very handsome.”
Her stomach tightened. This was the Jack Thorne the rest of world saw. The billionaire. The predator in bespoke armor.
His pale, glacial eyes searched her face. “Daisy?—”
His phone buzzed with a soft whisper that carried the impact of a wrecking ball.
He glanced at the screen and cursed under his breath. Eyes apologetic, he said, “We have to go.” And just like that, any signs of vulnerability vanished from his face.
