Page 13 of Tempted By the Devil

My cheeks flush with warmth. A bashful smile comes to my face. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t notice you.”

He stares at me for a moment, his hands deep in the pockets of his suit pants. “You have a thing for wandering off alone, don’t you,dolcezza?”

“I was… stepping out for fresh air.”

He ignores what I’ve said, stepping closer to me. “I’m glad to see you’ve come tonight. I was concerned you wouldn’t show.”

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” I say candidly, biting my bottom lip. “My friend… my sister insisted. She’s having the time of her life on this trip.”

“Hmmm,” he grunts. “And you?”

“I am too. I’m enjoying myself.”

“But not like her?”

A small, breathless laugh leaves me. “Jayla is always more hype than I am. That’s just our personalities. But… but thank you. For everything. I’m still not sure how we won or why you even hosted this contest to begin with?—”

“You look beautiful tonight,” he interrupts. “Very beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the club.”

The warmth flushed over my cheeks spreads. It migrates as his gaze does.

As his dark gleaming eyes travel the length of me, the heat sears my brown skin. The night’s air is no longer enough to keep me cool under Rafael’s scorching stare.

I swallow, practically feverish.

What is it about this man and the instant effect he has on me?

This isn’t good. It’s actually dangerous.

It’s making me lose my bearings as I practically melt under his heated gaze.

“Um… thank you,” I manage seconds later. “And you… you look very good in that suit.”

He glances down at what’s clearly an expensive suit and tie—all black everything—and then changes the subject again. Holding out his hand to take mine, he says, “Would you like to dance?”

“Dance? With you? Inside the club? To that music?”

He smirks. “I’m sure you’re good.”

I’m not so sure as Rafael Calderone guides me back inside Ballare. I’m cognizant of the many envious glares I receive from women still waiting in line outside the club. They’re probably wondering whattheRafael Calderone is doing with me.

Rafael holds my hand as he walks us toward the dance floor.

A song called “Una Notte a Sicily”is playing, filling the club with the seductive crooning of the female singer against the swirl of percussions, strings, and horns.

As the other dancers on the floor realize Rafael has arrived, they promptly step out of the way, clearing the path for him.

We’re practically the only ones on the dance floor as Rafael slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close.

We begin to move to the music, face-to-face, steps in sync. A deep chord strikes and the mood in the air changes. The watchful audience blurs into nothing more than the background and all thoughts empty from my mind. I’m staring up into Rafael Calderone’s handsome face, admiring the mysterious glint in his dark gaze, finding it impossible to look away.

My hand’s in his and my body’s responding to his lead.

He’s smooth guiding us across the dance floor. As smooth as everything else about him is.

Any nerves fade away. Hesitation and self-doubt disappear.

I’m tuned into the moment as the seductive Italian music deepens and the world outside is forgotten. So is the noise inside my head.

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