The laptop screen comes into view, and my breath catches in my throat.
It’s a photograph of me.
Not one of the formal shots from our engagement announcements or business profiles. This is from the summit earlier tonight—a candid moment captured when I wasn’t aware of the camera. I’m looking down at my tablet, a slight smile playing at my lips as I review our presentation notes.
I look... soft. Approachable. Almost beautiful in the gentle lighting of the hotel conference room.
The realization that Rafa is pleasuring himself to my image sends a shock of heat through my entire body. Not disgust or violation, as I might have expected, but something far more dangerous.
Arousal.
My nipples tighten against the thin fabric of my tank top. My core clenches with sudden, unwelcome need. The carefully controlled desire I’ve been fighting all night roars to life, threatening to overwhelm my rational mind.
This is what I do to him. This is the effect my presence has when he thinks no one is watching.
I should be appalled. Should be planning his immediate ejection from my loft and my life.
Instead, I’m captivated by the elegant control of his movements, how he’s managed to find release while maintaining the quiet that protects our dignity. Even in this, he’s considerate of boundaries.
Even in this, he’s thinking of me.
A soft sound escapes him, barely a whisper of my name. My entire body responds as if he’d touched me directly. Heat pools low in my belly, between my thighs, in places I’ve never allowed another person to explore.
He’s close now. I can tell from the increased tension in his frame and how his breathing has become more labored, despite his efforts to remain silent.
I should leave. Should return to my room and pretend this never happened.
Instead, I remain frozen in the shadows, watching Rafa Rosso come apart quietly in my living room while looking at my picture, my name a barely audible prayer on his lips.
When it’s over, he sits still for a long moment, breathing slowly as he regains his composure. Then he closes the laptop, wipes himself with a nearby tissue, adjusts his clothing, and settles back against the couch cushions as if nothing happened.
As if he didn’t just show me exactly how much power I have over him.
I retreat to my bedroom on silent feet, closing the door with the same careful quiet he’s just demonstrated. But sleep is impossible now.
I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, my body humming with new awareness and unwelcome need.
Later, I’ll have to face him across my workstation, lost in desire, as if I don’t know what he looks like. It is as if I haven’tseen how he whispers my name when he thinks no one can hear it.
As if the image of his pleasure hasn’t awakened something in me that I’ve spent twenty-seven years keeping carefully dormant.
For the first time, I understand why people make impulsive decisions driven by physical desire.And I’m terrified that I might become one of them.
CHAPTER 15
Rafa
Morning light filtersthrough the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in stark clarity that makes last night's activities feel surreal. I sit at Kira's kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee that tastes like liquid salvation after four hours of restless sleep.
The shower has been running in the master suite for the past fifteen minutes, long enough for me to wonder if Kira is avoiding me or if she simply requires an extensive morning routine to maintain her flawless appearance.
Long enough for me to replay every moment of last night and question my own judgment.
Did she see me? The thought sends anxiety crawling up my spine like ice water. I was careful—I waited until I was certain she was asleep, and maintained the kind of silence that years of living with Vito had trained into me.
But Kira isn't like other people. She notices everything and catalogues details that escape normal observation. If anyone could catch someone in a moment of private vulnerability, it would be her.
No. She was asleep. She had to be. The alternative, that she witnessed me losing control while staring at her photograph, is too mortifying to consider.
