Page 42 of Out of Control

I follow after him when he leaves the VIP lounge. Out the doors to the darkened balcony that overlooks the whole of Monaco with its sparkling lights and obscene real estate.

He’s a shadow in the night on the far end, and I swear he’s the flame because, like a moth, I’m drawn to him.

I move in silence toward him, his eyes on me the entire way. It’s only when I stop a few feet from him does he make a show of lifting his beer to his lips and taking a long draw on the bottle. The action may be slow, deliberate, but I don’t overlook the insatiable gleam in his eyes.

“Congrats,” he says evenly. “Apparently they’re in order.”

I nod, uncertain why I’m suddenly nervous.

“A gallery?”

Another nod. A glance over my shoulder. A shaky inhale.

“He didn’t follow you out here,” Rossi says.

“Who?”

“Chamalet.”

“I didn’t . . . want him to.”

“Why not?” He purses his lips and shrugs ever so slightly. “He sure fits the proper pedigree befitting someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“A Navarro.”

There is a delicate dance going on here. One I know I’m a participant in but that I don’t know the choreography to.

And for some reason I feel like playing with fire.

“Jealous?” I taunt.

“What? Of him?” He scoffs and lifts his chin in the direction over my shoulder. “Old money? Void of character? Spoiled rotten? Lacking in class?” His chuckle is low and unforgiving. “No. I’ve had you, Bellissima. By the way he was puppy dogging you, he hasn’t.” He angles his head to the side and studies me. I’ve never been more aware of how someone’s gaze can feel like it’s touching my skin than I am now. “In fact, I’m pretty sure no one’s touched you since I have.”

“That’s none of your business and not a fair assessment.” The words are meant to be said with more vitriol than breathlessness.

“No?” He steps in closer to me, and I fight the urge to reach out and touch him despite hating him in this moment.

“No,” I say more resolutely.

“I’m sensing some sexual frustration, perhaps?” He lifts his eyebrows and I want to kiss that smirk off his lips.

“What?” Yes. “No. I’m perfectly fine.” My voice cracks.

“Seems like it.”

“I am. I’m fine.” My nod is a little forced, as if I’m trying to sell myself on my own words. Our attraction is irrefutable. His eyes on me on the dance floor and my body’s heady reaction to it says as much.

But we’re in public and egging this on is playing with a fire I don’t think I’ll be able to control.

“Ollie?” I ask.

His eyes soften. His lips purse. “Hmm? Please don’t tell me you’re going to ask for even footing here because I rather like talking to you.”

His words are unexpected. “Exactly. On the liking talking part. Not the even footing part. I mean, I just—”

“Why do I make you nervous, Sofia?” he asks and reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.