Mariella’s hand trembled slightly as she took the glass of wine. She told herself it was just nerves, not the way Paul Razon’s presence filled every inch of the suite like gravity.
Up close, he was even more dangerous than the photos. His face was sharper, his eyes darker, his movements deliberate. The kind of man who didn’t need to speak to command attention.
His pictures hadn’t done him justice. He wasn’t merely attractive, he was larger than life, the kind of person whose quiet confidence pulled the air out of a room.
Mariella swallowed hard and lifted the glass to her lips.
The wine was smooth, expensive, and mercifully strong. It slid down her throat like courage in liquid form. She drank fast, almost too fast, ignoring the small voice in her head screaming that she was losing her
