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She scra on the hem of the short sparkly dress of silver satin that had also been herwoman in her pri man, Laurel Now she was afraid she understood all that had meant

Laurel knew she couldn’t stay in the lift; the doors would close and then the lift would start heading down again, back to Bavasso or his goons, somewhere she definitely didn’t want to be Cautiously Laurel took a step out, onto a floor of polished blackere visible in every direction, giving a panora in the darkness

Modern-looking sofas of black leather and glea space lit only by a few minimalistic table lamps, so it took Laurel a stunned second to realise there was someone in the room with her

A man stood at its centre dressed in black trousers and a charcoal-grey shirt that was open at the throat His hair was black and cropped close to his head, his eyes a piercing grey, the sa i about hier

Laurel’s breath hitched and she froze where she stood, dawning realisation, relief and fear colliding inside her with an alhty crash Could it be…?

Then he spoke, a voice like molten silver, pitched low His tone was both authoritative and sensual, winding around her shattered senses, pulling theht

‘Hello, Laurel’

She gave a little gasp of surprise even though she’d known, deep inside, that it was him That it had to be him The awareness she felt of hiers, yet she wasn’t surprised by it at all

‘Cristiano’ She let out a little laugh of relief; the adrenalin still coursing through her bodyher feel shaky and weak, standing there like a rock-solid pillar, arht ‘Thank God’

He arched one dark slash of an eyebrow, his gaze travelling to her tiny, torn dress ‘Things get a little out of hand?’

Laurel glanced down at her dress, an e with all the other overwhelled slip that revealed far too e One of the straps had torn froaped evena bra, only a tiny scrap of a thong And, from the hard look in her stepbrother’s eyes, Laurel suspected he knew it—and wasn’t impressed

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her scattered wits Her head was spinning fros still felt weak She longed to sit down, to breathe, to figure out how she’d got here and what on earth she was going to do next ‘I didn’t even know you were here’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No, of course not…’ Laurel frowned, belatedly registering Cristiano’s cool tone, the look of aze And then she reo, when she’d been a silly fourteen-year-old to his manly twenty-three, and when she’d practically thrown herself at hied dare

‘I don’t even knohere I a to s properly They just wobbled

‘You’re in the penthouse suite of La Sirena My private home’

‘Oh’ So she’d pushed that button? But how had she been granted access? ‘Well, I’lad’

‘I’m sure you are’ There was a note of sardonic amusement in his voice that Laurel felt too scatter-brained to understand at theshe wasto her stupid schoolgirl crush all those years ago Laurel doubted that She doubted her one clumsy attempt at a kiss—he’d pushed her firmly away before she’d so much as made contact—had stayed in Cristiano’s memory for more than a millisecond He’d been that unimpressed