Page 82 of Precious Hazard

“Exfoliation creams and pore-minimizing products are hardly a good fit for Gateway Development Corp. We’ll have to pass.”

“That’s a shame,” Loretta comments, her calculating gaze fixed on Tara. “But perhaps your beautiful wife would be interested in becoming our brand ambassador? You have a wonderful complexion, my dear. I can already see the billboard in Times Square and—”

“No,” I bark. Just the thought of my wife’s image plastered every-goddamn-where for men to drool and jerk off to has the murderous wrath within me flaring.

“But why not?” Loretta insists. “She would be a worldwide sensation within twenty-four hours of her debut. Without the atrocious hair, of course.”

My head snaps toward the nasty woman. “Care to repeat that?” I growl, pinning the shrew with a look I typically reserve for degenerates I catch talking shit about the Family. It’s usually followed by the sound of their breaking bones.

“Um… I-I,” she stutters, casting a fleeting glance at her husband. “I meant the avant-garde style your wife obviously prefers.”

“I must have misheard you then.” I turn my glare on her husband.

“Undoubtedly. Avant-garde. Haute couture. She’s simply striking.” Wright nods, grabbing Loretta’s elbow. “But… ah, we should be heading out. Good evening to you both.” They are gone from view in mere seconds, lost among the crowd.

And not a moment too soon.

I’m glad I’ve mostly managed to lead Tara away from the remainder of the horde. With my occasional bout of fighting not to lose a lung, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to get too close anyhow. Still, there are a few who look like they might want to give it a try. And I can’t have that. Despite her bravado, my wifedefinitely isn’t at ease with all these eyes on her. While pressed to me, she keeps fidgeting with the side of her dress without seeming to realize that as she does, her hand rubs against me. Dangerously close to my already half-hard cock. She’s not even trying, but her propensity for stirring up hazards is top-notch.

“I thought you said my hair is ridiculous. You said as much when you called it a ‘monstrosity,’” Tara whispers next to me as she watches the crowd gathered around the champagne tower warily.

I take a step behind her and tighten my hold on her waist, dipping my head to speak softly into her ear. “Regardless of the reasons that forced us into this marriage, you are my wife. And you will be treated with respect. I won’t allow anyone to be rude or belligerent to you, especially in public. What you and I say to each other in private, that stays between us.” I blow on the peacock feather stuck in the side of her bun as it tickles my nose. “Andridiculousdoesn’t even come close to describing this abomination,gattina.”

Tara tilts her head, giving me a sideways look while something that sounds like a muffled moan leaves her tightly pressed lips. She appears as if she’s struggling not to laugh. For a couple of heartbeats, victory is nearly in her grasp. Until she fails. Her eyes sparkle with mischief while her lips pull into a radiant smile.

“I have to agree with you on that one, Satan.” A low, sensual chuckle slips from her, the sound mixing with the chatter of people and the occasional clinking of glass.

Her smile lights up her entire face. It’s not the fake grin this time, either. It’s real. And warm. And directed at me. Her anxiety seems to have also faded; she’s not pulling on her skirt anymore. I must have been able to distract her enough to allowher to forget her troubles. Realizing that makes me feel like a fucking superhero or whatever. It’s a damn good feeling to know that I was able to make her laugh, make her happy. And make her feel safe. When was the last time a tiny thing like that made my heart beat faster? Made me pause to enjoy a small, simple moment? I don’t even remember.

“Is the crowd tonight typical?” she asks. “There seems to be quite a menagerie of guests.”

“Yeah.” Somehow, I manage to pull myself together. “Lots of prospective business opportunities await. Let’s mingle.”

The chairman of the board, representing a well-known venture capitalist firm, is sipping a flute of champagne next to the hors d’oeuvres table at the center of the room. I’ve been trying to arrange a meeting with him for the past two months. But instead of heading directly to him and using tonight’s opportunity to back him into a corner until he accepts, I find myself steering us in the opposite direction.

One of the owners of a country-wide retail chain is lingering by the open bar on the far left side of the ballroom, swaying slightly as if he’s already had a few too many. This would be a great time to schmooze the man, try to see if I can dig up some inside information. Just last week, Ajello and I were debating whether we should buy some of their stock. I direct our path to the right instead.

For nearly half an hour, we walk aimlessly around the room, all while I do my best to avoid being dragged into a conversation by whomever we pass. What the fuck am I doing? Business was the only reason I wanted to come here tonight. I should be networking, making connections with the big fish in the room and trying to determine whether there’s a way for us to exploit them, not strolling casually with my arm around my wife.

But that’s all I seem to be interested in. I wish all these people would just magically disappear, leaving me alone with the gorgeous woman at my side. My wife. My wife, who I just want to take home and find some mundane, meaningless crap to argue about. All so I can enjoy her blatant attempt to defy me. To give me a reason to whisk her into my bed. Carry her off like some kind of caveman, then fuck her senseless, turning my bedroom into a sex den.

The thought stops me in my tracks. Have I completely lost my fucking marbles?

“Are you alright, DeVille?” Tara arches her perfect brow at me.

No. I don’t think I am.

And fuck! I hate,hate,haaaateher not using my name!

“Arturo DeVille,” a guttural, slightly accented voice calls out. “And little Tara Popov. What an unexpected surprise to see you here.”

I turn around, spearing the interloper with my glare. Katrakis Senior. He wobbles toward us on unsteady feet, looking slightly disheveled and obviously drunk.

“Heard you had issues with some paperwork recently. So awkward,” he slurs.

Motherfucker. I knew he was behind that fiasco with the permits.

“No sweat. It’s been resolved. A misplaced item is easily found when you have capable people working for you.” I tighten my hold on Tara’s waist, discreetly waving my security guys off when I see them approaching. “But I hear you’re still looking for yours. Any luck locating your missing son?”

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