9. Gigi

9

GIGI

I feel his gaze on me as I move deeper into the suite. The clap of a laptop being slapped closed sounds in the foyer, and I try not to flinch. I hate how I startle so easily.

Stephano Scalera is pissed off, and I don't blame him. But he's met his match tonight.

In the lounge, several tuxedoed men are waiting, their eyes drinking me in. One man is puffing at a cigar, and its sweet smoke ribbons through the air. Whiskey and wine glasses are filled, and a waiter holds out a tray of amuse-bouches to a duo in conversation. They wave him away to look at me.

This dress is a man magnet. A deep cherry red signaling confidence, with a V-neck plunging way below my breasts. The long, fluid skirts caress my legs, and with each step I take, one of them peeks through the high slits aligned with my thighs. It's sexual in every possible feminine way.

My gaze jumps from one man to the next until I do a double-take. Jean-Michel Baudin. Who would have thought? I feel Stephano's body as he comes to stand right behind me, so close but without touching me.

"You need to leave," he whispers, and the words ghost over my neck. "Unless you want to be taken for a prostitute?—"

"No man here is going to think I'm a prostitute."

"They might not think you're one, angel, but they'll treat you like one."

He comes to stand next to me. He doesn't touch me, and all I wish is for him to put his hand on the small of my back and lead me away, out of this suite to somewhere else.

"Leave," he says under his breath. "Or I'll get a bodyguard to help you along."

I glance up at him. Even with my heels, he must be a foot taller than me. "You mean you won't throw me out yourself?"

"Not touching you with my filthy Mafia paws, angel."

I hit a nerve earlier today, it seems.

"How disappointing." I pull in a deep breath. "I'm not going anywhere. I see one of my clients, and not acknowledging him would be the ultimate faux pas ."

I swoop away, head held high, shoulders pulled back, not even sparing Stephano a glance to see how much I just infuriated him.

"Jean-Michel! How nice to see you," I say in French.

Jean-Michel Baudin, a billionaire hedge fund owner from Paris, smirks at me as he stands. "Gigi Trapani. I feel caught with my hand in the cookie jar."

I wave his comment off. He might be married, but who am I to judge where he puts his dick. What a man does with his money isn't my business either, as long as he spends some of it with me.

He stands and kisses me on both cheeks. "You need to tell me what you're doing here and what just happened. Stay for a drink."

"Thank you. I think I will." I take a seat next to him on the half-circle sofa as he indicates to the waiter to bring some champagne. Several ice buckets filled with high-end bottles are on display, and I might have a glass to settle my nerves. I cross my legs, arrange my skirts, and lean back with my arm on the backrest, facing Jean-Michel. As I get comfortable, I'm overly conscious of Stephano where he's leaning against the wide foyer's door jamb, studying me.

The heat of his gaze is almost consuming, but it's one of annoyance and not lust. And yet, it turns me on because he only has eyes for me. Not that there are any other women in the room, but?—

"Stephano looks irate." Jean-Michel smirks. "You, my dear, have stepped on toes."

"So many today. All for a good cause."

"And was that scene in aid of your good cause? I assume our little virgin has been claimed by the American who stalked in and carried her out like a caveman?"

I chuckle as I take the offered glass of champagne from the waiter. "A most intriguing beginning to the night, I'm sure. Apparently, he's in love."

"Good for her. Stephano knows how to pick his crowd," Jean-Michel says as his gaze travels the room. "None of the bullies are here tonight, because if they were, I can promise you there would have been a fist fight over our little virgin after that scene."

Bunch of creeps. And thank God Tasha practically threw herself into Matteo's arms. If she'd frozen in fear, I don't know what I would have done. It's not the first time my own bodyguard would have been handy, but by the looks of the two bulky men Stephano talks to now, I might have needed four to ward them off. Blood would have been everywhere.

When Stephano looks up and meets my gaze, I stare back. Let him do his worst. Men like Jean-Michel might have particular tastes, but at the end of the day, I'm a Trapani, plus Jean-Michel won't let anybody here touch me. Least of all one of those fat-fisted bodyguards. I am not for sale, and nobody is going to doubt that. As for Stephano, he has too much composure to let this evening turn into a brawl.

I've done some crazy, reckless things today, meddling with the Mafia, with the Scaleras, but it was the right thing to do, and nobody can convince me otherwise. I face Jean-Michel again and lead the conversation to art and the recent purchase I made for him at Christie's in London.

Stephano is strolling from one man to the next, sometimes addressing them in the groups they're sitting in. There's laughter and some man-slaps on the shoulder, and with growing admiration, I watch him work the room. With Tasha's exit, there won't be any auction or a winning bid, and if Jean-Michel came from Paris for this auction, who knows where the rest of the men are from. I should follow in Stephano's footsteps and do the rounds. There could be some handy connections and big spenders here.

When he finally makes his way to where I'm seated, he shakes Jean-Michel's hand in greeting.

"Small world, Baudin," he says with a nod in my direction.

"Indeed," Jean-Michel says. "How do you know each other?"

"A family connection," he cuts in before I can say anything. "Tonight took a turn in an unexpected direction. I'm afraid the man who took our virgin made her an offer she couldn't refuse."

I frown. Stephano doesn't want them to know the man in question is his brother.

Jean-Michel cocks his brow. "Indeed. It is what it is."

"Our evening will proceed as usual. Take your pick and help yourself to one of our party packs. They don't disappoint, as you know."

For the first time, I notice the stack of glossy white gift boxes on a side console, each tied with an elaborate bow in white silk. Oh, my. He does go the extra mile. I'd love to see what's in one of those.

And then, as if on cue, the suite's door opens, and through the foyer, a line-up of beautiful women walks in. My heart skips a beat. The women are young and dressed somewhat provocatively. My dress is essentially the same, but the haute couture and price tag saves it from being slutty.

"As you'll see, Baudin, your regular is here, as well. Enjoy your evening."

Stephano gives me a last glance, but it's dismissive. I watch as he strides away, deeper into the suite in the direction of the bedrooms.

"This is rather…interesting," I say as the women close in on the men, clearly with one goal in mind.

"What did you expect, ma chérie ? That we'd go home empty-handed? Not with a Scalera-arranged virgin auction."

One blonde homes in on us, and my breath catches. His regular.

How the hell did Stephano manage that? To have this level of intel on someone?—

"You'll have to excuse me, Gigi," Jean-Michel says as he stands, his hand on my shoulder with a soft brush. "It's been a pleasure, but as you can see, we're well taken care of. I wish you the same."

I'm still flailing for words when he turns to kiss the woman, his hand on her ass, squeezing her to him. She shoots me a small, victorious smile, as if I'm one of them and she won the prize.

I sit, clinging to my half-empty glass of champagne, and watch as the bidders pair up with one, sometimes two women, or leaving in groups for their own rooms in the St. Chalamet. At some point, the waiter comes to top up my glass, and I let him.

He wishes me the same.

If Jean-Michel knew my usual modus operandi, he'd wish harder. Much, much harder.

Soon, the lounge is empty. One bodyguard does a last check before bidding me goodnight and exiting through the front door. Then it's all quiet. I'm all alone. In the St. Chalamet presidential suite, and several of those party packs are left unclaimed.

Stephano must still be here, because I never saw him leave, and I had my eye on the front door the whole evening. My pulse, which has been running sprints between marathons today, shoots out of the starting blocks again.

I kick off my heels. Rushing all the way from Monte Carlo earlier to meet with the Scaleras killed my feet. I pad over to the console table and tug at the ribbon on one of the boxes. I lift the lid and brush the golden tissue paper away.

Wow…

I'm still peering into the box, digesting its contents, when the tingle of someone else's presence eases down my spine. The peculiar feeling you get when you know you're being watched.

I turn, only to see Stephano standing mere meters away from me, hands shoved in his pants pockets, stripped of his tux jacket, his white shirt partly unbuttoned to reveal a smooth, tanned chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His arms are corded with muscles, and there's a hint of a tattoo on his inner forearm.

"Like what you're seeing in there, angel?" he asks softly as his gaze takes me in.

"It's extra, and a nice…special touch?"

He quirks his brow with a smirk as he comes closer. "Tell me, did this evening turn you on? The idea of it? That box's content?"

"No." But it's a lie. Everything tonight has been fine-tuned to turn me on, the idea of him most of all.

"Then why are you still here?" he asks.

"I—" I break off, not knowing how to answer him.

"I told you to leave, angel, and yet, here you are, last woman standing, as if you're waiting."

I shrug, heat spreading between my thighs at the way he's looking at me, intense, almost predatory. "It was a fascinating evening. And auctions are part of my day-to-day."

"Is that so?"

He's so close and even taller now that I've shed my heels. As I look up at him, I feel the heat radiating off his body. "Art. Art auctions."

"Hmm. In my experience, when a woman is still at a party long after the rest of the guests have left, she's only staying for one thing."

He's crowding me now, and I back away, edging along the console table until my butt and back hit the wall. Cornered .

"That's rather presumptuous of you, isn't it?" I retort, a blush flooding my face.

"But I'm right."

He leans closer, pressing one hand to the wall above my head. My breath catches. His other hand is still in his pocket, and all I want is for him to touch me.

"You're a bit of a challenge, aren't you?" he says as he lowers to my ear.

The rush of his warm breath over my skin sends sparks of desire all the way to my sex.

"The question really is, angel, if I can make you come without touching you with my filthy Mafia paws ."