Forbidden Never Felt This Good

~ 14

0014

~ Aria ~

Two hours.

I had two hours to prepare, and I was going to make every single minute count.

I stood in front of my closet, rifling through options with ruthless efficiency. Professional, yes. But also undeniably sexy. This was a business meeting, after all, I needed to look the part of a serious businesswoman capable of running a luxury hotel empire.

But maybe, just maybe, a small part of me wanted Luca to see exactly what he was missing. Wanted him to suffer through watching another man appreciate what he refused to claim publicly.

My fingers landed on a black dress that made me smile.

Perfect.

The dress was Yves Saint Laurent, a masterpiece of tailoring that walked the razor's edge between boardroom and bedroom. Long sleeves, high neckline, hitting just above the knee. From the front, it was the picture of sophisticated professionalism. But the back... the back was pure sin. Cut so low it nearly reached my waist, exposing an expanse of smooth skin that would make any man's mouth water.

I paired it with simple black Louboutins and minimal jewelry, just diamond studs and a delicate gold bracelet. My makeup was flawless but understated, and I left my hair down in loose waves that cascaded past my shoulders.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw power. Sophistication. A woman who knew exactly what she was worth and wouldn't settle for less.

I saw my father's daughter.

The thought should have bothered me more than it did.

I checked the time, fifteen minutes until we needed to leave. I grabbed my clutch, took one last look at myself, and walked out of my room with my head held high.

Luca was already waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes swept over me the moment I appeared, and I watched his entire body go rigid. His jaw clenched. His hands fisted at his sides.

Good.

I walked past him without a word, heading toward the stairs.

"Aria."

His voice stopped me, but I didn't turn around. Just paused, waiting.

"Don't you think this is too much for a business dinner?"

I turned slowly, letting him see the full effect of the dress from every angle. His eyes darkened dangerously when he saw the bare expanse of my back, the way the fabric clung to every curve before falling away to reveal skin he'd marked with his teeth just last night.

"I don't see how this is your problem," I said coolly. "You're my bodyguard, not my stylist."

"Aria—"

"Shall we?" I didn't wait for his response, just continued down the stairs, my heels clicking with deliberate precision on the marble.

Behind me, I heard him exhale sharply. Then his footsteps followed, controlled but heavy with barely suppressed frustration.

Perfect.

---

La Mer Bleu was exactly the kind of restaurant where deals worth millions were brokered over wine that cost more per bottle than most people made in a month. All white tablecloths and crystal chandeliers, panoramic views of the Mediterranean, and waitstaff who moved like ghosts.

Jean-Paul Mercier was already waiting at a private table near the windows.

And he was... attractive. Very attractive, actually. Late thirties, maybe forty, with the kind of refinement that came from old money and excellent breeding. Silver threading through his dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw. His suit was Brioni, his watch Patek Philippe, and he stood when I approached with the easy confidence of a man who'd never been told no in his life.

"Miss Santoro." His smile was warm, genuine, his accent a delicious blend of French and something else, Italian, maybe, or Greek. "Thank you for meeting with me."

"Mr. Mercier. The pleasure is mine." I let him take my hand, noted the firm but not aggressive grip, the way his eyes met mine with respect rather than the predatory assessment some men defaulted to.

"Please, call me Jean-Paul." He held out my chair, waited until I was seated before returning to his own. "And may I say, you look absolutely stunning this evening."

"Thank you. You're quite dashing yourself." I smiled, letting just enough warmth into it to be friendly without being flirtatious. Yet.

Behind me, I could feel Luca's presence like a storm about to break. He'd positioned himself near the wall, close enough to intervene if necessary, far enough to maintain the illusion of privacy. But I knew he was cataloging every look, every word, every gesture between Jean-Paul and me.

"I've been following your family's hotel portfolio with great interest," Jean-Paul said as the sommelier appeared to pour wine, a Château Margaux that probably cost more than a small car. "The properties are exquisite, but I think there's significant untapped potential."

"Oh?" I leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested despite my other motivations. "Tell me more."

And he did. For the next forty minutes, we talked business with the kind of depth that told me Jean-Paul had done his homework. He knew occupancy rates, revenue per available room, our positioning in each market. He had ideas, good ideas, about expansion opportunities, partnership potential with his luxury yacht charter company, ways to cross-promote that made actual sense.

He was smart. Really smart. And he listened when I spoke, asked questions that showed he valued my expertise rather than just tolerating it.

"I think we could structure this as a sixty-forty partnership," I said, swirling the wine in my glass. "My hotels provide the infrastructure and brand recognition, your company brings the high-net-worth clientele and maritime experience. We could start with Monaco and Nice, expand to the Caribbean within two years."

"Sixty-forty in whose favor?" His eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Mine, naturally."

He laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "I would expect nothing less from Vittorio Santoro's daughter. You drive a hard bargain, Aria."

"I learned from the best."

"Clearly." He raised his glass. "To partnerships built on mutual respect and shared vision."

I clinked my glass against his, noting the way his eyes held mine just a beat longer than strictly necessary. "To new ventures."

We finalized the key terms over the main course, him adjusting numbers, me countering, both of us finding the sweet spot where the deal made sense for everyone. By the time dessert arrived, we had the framework of something that could genuinely transform both our businesses.

"You know," Jean-Paul said as he finished his espresso, his eyes warm with something beyond professional admiration, "I have to say, the reputation doesn't do you justice."

"I have a reputation?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Beautiful, brilliant, formidable." He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "The whispers in Monaco circles are all true. Though they failed to mention how captivating you are when you negotiate. Watching you work is... intoxicating."

There it was. The shift from business to personal, executed so smoothly I almost missed it.

Almost.

"Flattery, Jean-Paul?" I smiled, allowing a hint of flirtation to creep into my tone. "I thought we were beyond that."

"Not flattery. Observation." His gaze swept over me appreciatively, not leering, but definitely interested. "You carry yourself like a queen. It's quite disarming."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was intended as one." He paused, then leaned forward slightly. "I know we've concluded our business for the evening, but I find myself reluctant for the night to end. Would you consider joining me for a drink? There's an excellent bar nearby, quiet, sophisticated. The kind of place where one can actually have a conversation."

I hesitated, my mind calculating. This was dangerous territory. Going for drinks meant extending the evening, giving him the impression that this was more than business. It meant Luca would have to watch me for even longer, his control fraying with every smile I gave Jean-Paul, every laugh, every moment of easy rapport.

But wasn't that exactly what I wanted? To show Luca that I had options, that other men found me desirable, that he didn't own me just because he'd made me scream his name?

"That sounds lovely," I said, watching Jean-Paul's face light up with satisfaction. "I'd enjoy…"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Luca's voice cut through the intimate bubble we'd created, sharp and cold and absolutely final.