For Angelo (Full-Length Standalone Italian Billionaire Romance) (28 page)

Silence.

And then Dylan coughed. “That’s, umm, unfortunate.” He looked at Angelo, marveling silently at how sadistic the man was, in a—

It wasn’t exactly cruel or distasteful.
 

It was almost…sweet?
 

He mentally shook his head.
 

Angelo Valencia, sweet?
 

No, he must be mistaken.

Unable to help his curiosity, he asked Lane, “Do you really not mind he’s a sadist?”
 

Lane said sadly, “No.”

Bree quickly covered her mouth before someone could see her grin.
So this was what an emotional masochist was
, she thought. It wasn’t as taboo as she had feared. It was actually kind of…cute.

Dylan’s phone buzzed, his driver telling him the cake had arrived. He glanced at Bree, and taking her cue, his fiancée cleared her throat and asked, “Excuse me, but Lane, could you show me where the restroom is?”

Lane automatically stood up. “Of course.” It was going to start then. She quaked at the thought and struggled for a moment to make her limbs move.

Angelo looked up sharply, sensing her sudden discomfort. “
Tesoro
?” When she glanced at him, he didn’t mince words, asking simply, “Do you need my help?”

Oh.
Her heart constricted, and she wondered if he knew what that always did to her. She had lived with him over a month now, enough to know that his insanely hectic busy schedule would have made a lesser man collapse.

And yet—

Every time she needed him, she didn’t even have to say a word. He would know, and he would always show unreserved willingness to drop everything…for her.

Only for her.

Clearing her throat, she shook her head, stammering, “J-just telling myself I can, umm—” She mentally apologized to Dylan’s fiancée. “—bear going to the restroom alone with B-Bree.”

Dylan smothered a laugh.

Bree blinked. “Umm…” Should she be insulted here? Then she noticed the look of concern on the tycoon’s face. Right. She saw that look on Dylan’s face all the time. It was the look of a mercilessly alpha man who would do anything to protect his woman. She said quickly, “I promise not to turn into a monster while we’re in the restroom.” She gave Angelo a solemn look of promise.

Dylan watched Angelo’s narrowed gaze follow the women out of the conference room. When Angelo turned to him, he said baldly, “Why don’t you just admit it?”

Angelo shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His tone warned the other man to drop the subject.

Dylan only shook his head, continuing, “It’s written all over your face.”

“Again, your words are not making sense.”
But of course it did.
Angelo twirled his pen between his fingers, thinking grimly that the rockstar made it sound so easy.
Admit it.
He almost laughed out loud.
Admit it…and then what?

Let himself ruin her life for good, her every chance to keep her life normal?

Even he wasn’t as selfish and sadistic as that.

“I know you and Steel belong to the same club,” Dylan said under his breath.

Angelo stilled, but his voice was bland when he answered, “I have never hid the truth about myself.”

“Naturally. You don’t care enough about my opinion to do so.” The rockstar paused. “But I do know that you and Steel are somewhat similar, and it’s begun to occur to me that you may have the same…reservations as he does.”

“Is this the time you, March, and your beloved Bree were in a love triangle?” Angelo mocked.

“Yes,” Dylan answered pleasantly, “but ours, I’m afraid, cannot compare to
your
triangle with Derek Christopoulos and his wife.”

Humor briefly flashed in Angelo’s eyes as he acknowledged the barb.

“Being in a love triangle isn’t the issue here, though,” Dylan continued idly. “March told me once that the reason he was obsessively thorough in selecting his partner was because he believed not every woman had the capability to understand his needs.”
 

There were several moments of silence before Angelo said flatly, “I understand his concerns.”

And so Lane was right,
Dylan thought.

Instead of answering, he changed the subject, knowing it wasn’t yet the right time to voice his opinion. When Angelo began to exhibit signs of restlessness at the time it took for the two women to return, Dylan offered, “Let me call Bree. You’re just going to look intensely in love if you call Lane because she’s taking too long to come back.”

In the act of calling Lane, Angelo swiftly let his phone fall back into his pocket at the rockstar’s words. Even so, he told Dylan silkily, “No doubt, I’ve picked up the bad habit from you.” But the rockstar only shrugged.
 

When Bree picked up his call, Dylan asked, “Are you on your way back, babe?” It was a coded question, and when Bree said yes, he smiled. “See you then.” Ending the call, he turned to Angelo, saying, “Bree took Lane to the grand auditorium.”

“Where the corporate party’s being set up?” Angelo was perplexed.

“Also where our exhibit is,” Dylan reminded him. Coming to his feet, he asked, “Shall we join them?”

Angelo nodded, but even when they were inside the elevator, the grim expression on his face didn’t ease up, prompting Dylan to ask what was wrong.

“I’m trying to recall if there are any meetings scheduled there tonight,” Angelo answered reluctantly. While Lane had significantly improved in the past month, it didn’t mean she should constantly expose herself to possible triggers. He had once read that repeated panic attacks could have an adverse effect on—

Dylan started laughing. “
Relax
, man.”

“I am relaxed,” Angelo said stiffly.

The elevator doors opened to a darkly lit hallway, with the only light coming from the various spotlights beaming down on framed photos of Minuit Rouge on the wall. The exhibit featuring the band’s history, meant to celebrate the recent collaboration between Minuit Rouge and his company, should have been open until nine.
 

So why the hell were the main lights closed?

“What the hell?” Angelo stalked forward, furious and worried at the thought that someone filthy rich might have terrified her out of her wits right now. Bree would be there with her, but—

He paused when he saw two men in tuxes positioned at the end of the hallway, next to the entrance doors of the auditorium.

Each man held a phantom mask in his hands.

Dylan said from behind, “Lane organized all of this.” Taking one of the masks, he murmured his thanks before handing it to Angelo, saying quietly, “I think after tonight…” He put his mask on. “All your concerns about Lane will be addressed.”

The tux-clad men slowly opened the doors, revealing a stunning opera backdrop and hundreds of guests, all of them familiar because they were Angelo’s most frequent guests in his parties.

Guests who, for better or worse, shared his needs—

Sadists.

Masochists.

“Oh, and by the way…” Dylan clapped a hand behind Angelo’s back. “Happy one month of being committed, whether you admit to it or not.”

****

And so it began again, a cat-and-mouse game that turned into a seductive dance as Angelo Valencia’s darkest side came into light. Every layer of propriety stripped away, leaving someone so exquisitely cruel and sadistic—

Oh, how it would make most women cry.

But for Lane, everything about him was perfect.
 

The arrogant arch of his brows, the sardonic amusement that made his silver eyes gleam…

The icy precision of his tone and the sweetly acerbic wit of his words…

The way his shoulders would lift in a shrug, or the way his long, elegant fingers would clasp another woman’s hand as he brought it to his lips—

Every glance, every gesture, every syllable—

All of it hurt.

And she welcomed it.

She craved it.

This pain that was so terrible it seemed like Angelo had perfected the art of hurting her.

Her heart was his canvas, and he painted her with terribly beautiful strokes of longing, with the way he allowed her to gaze at him but forbidding her to come any closer. While every woman could shake his hand, brush the hair from his eyes, or pretend to stumble so they could press their breasts against his side, all she could do was stare and want him from afar.

The longer she gazed at him, the more her desire grew. Oh, how she loved the effortless way he moved through the crowd like an elusive lover, loved it as much as she hated the way women relentlessly chased after him.

He had changed before greeting his guests, his powerful body now made more breathtaking by the way his white formal jacket emphasized the magnificent breadth of his shoulders. The matching tapered pants molded perfectly to the impressively muscular length of his frame while the cotton dress shirt he wore underneath added just the hint of casualness – it was the perfect touch to have him stand out from the rest of the crowd of tux-clad gentlemen.

I don’t need a tux,
his clothes said,
to appear more gorgeous than most men.

And it was true.

As Lane moved closer, she heard a woman compliment his clothes, and Angelo paused before answering, his mocking gaze finding Lane’s.

I know you chose this,
those eyes said.

Of course he would. And it was true. She had spent hours poring over every magazine she could find, wanting to choose an outfit that would make him look like the fairytale prince that he was. And now that she saw him wearing it, every handpicked item—

Oh, the agonizing pleasure it gave her, knowing that she had made him even more beautiful than he usually was, and now no woman could take her eyes off him.

Because of her.

She had made him irresistible to women.
 

A helpless smile tugged on her lips at the thought.

If that didn’t prove to him she was as twisted as he was, she didn’t know what else would.

****

The night waltzed on, and they continued their dance of seduction where all other players were meant to paint her heart with every shade of jealousy there was. It was an endless parade of beautiful women wanting a piece of him, none of them realizing that every sound they made —

The coy notes of their laughter, the throaty invitation in their banter, and the rasp of their dresses as they moved on the floor—

All of it became mere melodies that played into the music only Angelo and Lane could hear, a song that would last only for as long as they could keep playing this little game of anticipation.

Every few minutes, Angelo would look to where Lane was, and he would ask with a lift of his eyebrow if it was time to stop.
 

Are you jealous enough?

Are you hurt enough?

Are you ready to cry?

But every time he did, she would only look at him, her eyes filled with such agony and desire that he knew she was telling him she wanted more.
 

Make me more jealous, hurt me more, make it so until I cried.

And so he did, seducing without being seduced, flirting with his body but never with his heart. The thought that she was aching with jealousy had his cock so hard it became difficult to walk, and it was only the knowledge that it was the same for her—

Ah,
Dio,
he only had to close his eyes and he could imagine her standing next to him—

Close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath every time he smiled at another woman—

Close enough to see the prickle of her breasts as her glorious flesh swelled in demand, wanting his hands on them and only them and no one else’s—

Close enough to smell the scent of her arousal—