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‘Do you mind if I clean myself up?’ she asked ‘I feel…’ Dirty She felt dirty But Cristiano didn’t need to know that He was already looking at her as if he thought she was, a realisation that made heat scorch Laurel’s face once et-up, but did he have any right to judge her? Although, considering her actions tonight, perhaps he did

‘Be estured towards a corridor that led to the suite’s bedroo you need in one of the bathrooms’

‘Thank you,’ Laurel answered, her tone turning a bit haughty to cover her confusion—and her guilt If she could have picked the circuain, these would not have been them Not by a million awful miles

Was it just the way she was dressed or was there another reason he was being so cold? Not that they’d ever had much of a relationship, or one at all Her mother had been married to his father for three years, but in that ti, when he’d had a blazing argument with his father, Lorenzo Ferrero, and then stormed out And the second time when he’d coirlish naivety, to impress him

Six months later Lorenzo had divorced Elizabeth and Laurel and herbut a pocketful of jewellery to fund Elizabeth’s often exorbitant lifestyle Ferrero had had a water-tight pre-nup, and her mother did like to spend money…

Cristiano was still staring at her, arms folded, the emotion in his silver eyes fathomless What had she expected him to say? Do? He’d never expressed any familial concern or even interest in her before

She was a stranger to hih to it, just as he was to her—or should be, except for the fact that out of idle curiosity—or perhaps, sha a little deeper than that—she’d followed his exploits on social media and scanned the many tabloid articles about his playboy lifestyle She’d always been fascinated by this man who had loomed on the periphery of her life, dark and powerful, when she’d been an innocent teenaged girl eawkiness into uncertain womanhood

It truly stunned her that she was in his penthouse now, although she supposed, if she stopped long enough to think rationally about it, she shouldn’t have been that surprised She’d known the hotel where they’d met Bavasso ned by Cristiano She just hadn’t expected actually to see him

Cristiano’s mouth curved in a slittered like burnished‘You said you wanted to clean yourself up?’ he prompted

‘Yes’ Laurel realised she was staring but it was hard not to stare at a antly attractive The silk of his shirt clung to his well-defined pectoral muscles and the narrow trousers ehs But beyond the impressive musculature of his body was the aura he possessed, the lethal authority and latent sexuality he emanated from every perfect pore—and that hat ine, shadowy, vague thoughts and is that been dormant for her whole life Thankfully they re a streak of restless heat in their wake

Staring at hied eyebrows, the sculpted mouth formed into a hard, hard line—he looked just the sao Perhaps he was a bit more muscular now, a bit more powerful He’d made his own millions in the last decade, she knew, in property, casinos and hotels, at the highest end of the market

He’d also, according to the tabloids, had dozens and dozens of raced his arm like the most expensive accessories, and, if the papers were to be believed—and Laurel suspected they ere discarded after a matter of days

It seemed incredible to her that she’d actually tried, in a clued self The realisation e even now—especially now—yet surely Cristiano didn’t remember that? He’d swatted her away like a fly