confusion deepened. Why all this? So a man in his position had much to lose, but he was forcing her to serve a sentence in lieu of her family. Could he really think she’d want to prolong it, or try to bribe him or cause any trouble at its end?
But those extensive precautions said that he did. Why? Because of her family’s history? Didn’t he already know she had nothing to do with her father’s and brother’s actions and choices? With his surveillance and investigations, he must know she’d had very little to do with them in the past years. She maintained close relations with her mother, who had nothing to do with her husband’s and son’s transgressions and stupidities. Or was Vincenzo just this paranoid with everyone?
He had been very cautious with people in general. She’d thought she’d been the exception, that he’d been totally open and trusting with her. Yeah, sure. Just like she’d thought he’d felt anything for her.
It had all been a lie. A mirage. This was the reality. That he’d never bothered to know anything about her. No, worse, that he thought the worst of her.
Amelia’s harrumph brought Glory out of her musings. “You wanted my opinion? Based on a prenup like that, and the rest of this man’s pattern of behavior? Go for a billion dollars, Glory. Up front. And right after the wedding, go for his balls.”
*
After Amelia had given her verdict on Vincenzo’s offer and Vincenzo himself, she’d insisted on going over the “submission contract.” She’d spent the rest of the night dissecting it, and writing down in lawyer-speak what Glory would ask for instead. It was past two in the morning by the time Amelia left, and not of her own accord. Glory had to pretend to fall asleep on the couch to convince her she couldn’t take anymore.
Not that she’d wanted to sleep. In fact, she’d known sleep would be an impossibility tonight. Maybe every night from now on. As long as Vincenzo was back in her life.
Her sleeping patterns had already been irrevocably changed since she’d first met him. First, with nights of longing, then ones interspersed with repeated lovemaking, then memories and miseries. She’d only had a measure of her old sleeping soundness restored when she’d maintained a schedule that knocked her out for the five or six hours she allotted for rest.
Right now she felt she was back in the bed of thorns of post-Vincenzo devastation. Even worse. Now she was caught in his maelstrom again, in a far more ambiguous relationship than ever before; she felt she was lying on burning coals.
But apart from the shock of her family’s crimes and Vincenzo’s outrageous “offer,” what really shook her were those last minutes at his penthouse.
Everything inside her had surged so fiercely in response, it had incapacitated her. Outraged her. That after all the heartache and humiliation, he only had to touch her, to tell her he wanted her, that she’d been the best he’d ever had, to have her body come to life, proclaiming him its master…
A classic ringtone sundered the stillness of the night.
Jerking up in bed, her heart thundered, unformed dreads deluging her. Her mother. She’d been fragile since her last round of cancer treatments months ago. Something had happened….
She fumbled for the phone, almost dropping it when she hit the button to answer. A deep-as-night voice poured into her brain.
“Are you awake?”
Gulping down aborted fright, anger flooded in to replace it, dripping into her voice. “It figures. You had to be one of those unfeeling, self-absorbed people who wake up others to ask if they’re awake.”
Dark amusement tinged his fathomless voice, making her almost see, taste, the smile that tugged at his lips. “You sound awake.”
“I am now, thanks to a royal pain.”
A bone-liquefying reverberation poured right into her brain, yanking at her responses. “So you still wake up ready.”
He didn’t say for what. He didn’t need to. She’d been always ready for anything with him, on waking up in his arms. Even now, when her mind wanted only to roast him slowly over an open fire, her body obeyed his inexorable influence, readying itself with a languid throb of remembrance and yearning.
And that was before his voice dropped another octave as he whispered, “If I woke you up, I’m glad. I shouldn’t be the only one who can’t sleep tonight.”
“Your conscience weighing on you?” Her voice, to her dismay, was rough and thick, aroused, nowhere as demolishing as she intended it to