Epilogue
ALEXANDRIA
Three Weeks Later
The grand ballroom is bathed in warm, ambient lighting.
Swaths of fabric hang from here to there, flowers are placed strategically in massive stands, and that’s not to mention every other detail Gennie’s family friend thought of.
The room is alive with the low hum of laughter, clinking crystal, and the soft notes of a live string quartet.
I would say the childhood cancer research charity gala is a smashing success by looks alone.
The entirety of this place is packed to the brim with Seattle’s elite, and every single one of them has their wallet open.
I stand near the edge of the elevated balcony, leaning back against the solid, comforting warmth of Dante’s chest. His arm is wrapped around my waist, keeping me flush against him as he reaches around me, stopping a waiter passing by for yet another glass of champagne.
Apparently, I’m no longer swearing the bubbly off these days.
“Be careful, Mr. Lombardi,” I mutter, taking the offered glass and bringing it to my lips for a long sip.
I turn my head slightly a moment later to smile at him.
“Between booking the luxury suite upstairs for the night and feeding me copious amounts of champagne, a girl might think you’re trying to marry her all over again. ”
“We’re already married, Alexandria. But if you want another ceremony, say the word. I’ll book the venue tomorrow.” A devilish smirk plays on his lips, his thumb stroking the silk of my dress right above my hip.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I laugh, shaking my head and leaning back into his embrace. Down on the main floor, the live auction is in full swing. Gennie crushed her date auction earlier looking like an absolute goddess in her emerald-green gown.
Now the big-ticket items are on the block.
In true Dante fashion, he couldn’t sit back and watch.
When a week-long excursion on a luxury yacht in the Mediterranean came up, his paddle went straight into the air.
He secured it without breaking a sweat and probably spent twice the amount it was worth, but like he said, it’s for a good cause.
Then came the court side seats to the NBA finals, followed immediately by a pristine, signed first edition from a historic author that he bought specifically for the library at the Medina house.
The real show begins when the rare, limited-edition Patek Philippe watch is brought onto the stage.
Across the room, Dom raises his paddle, casting a smug look in Dante’s direction.
My husband raises his paddle instantly, outbidding Dom by nearly fifty thousand dollars.
Dom’s jaw tightens, and he raises his again.
I roll my eyes and laugh when I see Cory shaking her head.
“Dante,” I whisper, stifling a laugh as Dom goes well above what I could ever imagine spending on a watch. “Don’t you dare. You’re only doing that to be a pain in the ass and piss off Dom.”
“And it was worth every single second,” Dante rasps, bringing his mouth to my ear as the auctioneer shouts, Sold!
The evening slowly begins to wind down. Some people move to the dance floor, others to the open bar, and a good portion of our friend group takes their leave.
Dante must have the same idea as them. He slides his hand into mine, guiding me away from the ballroom and straight toward the private elevators.
“I can’t wait to take my heels off,” I say as we enter the bank.
“I can’t wait for you to take it all off,” Dante murmurs, backing me up until I’m pressed against the metal. He dips his body, allowing me to feel his hard length.
“Dante.” I tilt my head, close my eyes, and sink my nails into his chest. The dinging of the bell interrupts us just as he’s about to kiss me.
“Come on, wife. Time to relax for the night.” We walk into the hotel suite directly from the elevator. I’ll never get over the view, not here, not in the penthouse, and definitely not the view when we’re in Medina. The Seattle skyline never gets old.
“I have something for you,” I say softly. Dante is unbuttoning his jacket; his eyes track my every movement as I walk over to my purse sitting on the coffee table.
“You most certainly do.” He arches an eyebrow, leaning casually against the edge of the couch.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, for now.” I reach into my bag and pull out the small piece of hard plastic, slipping it between my fingers before walking back to him. “Close your eyes and give me your hand.” Once he does what I ask, I place his gift in his palm. “You can open them now.”
Dante looks down at it; it’s my brand-new driver’s license. It’s the final piece to make me officially his. Amber eyes sweep over the text. The address is updated to the house in Medina, and right under my photo, printed in clean, official text, is my new legal name: Alexandria Holland Lombardi.
“I figure it was time to have my husband’s name. Officially.” I dropped my middle name to keep my maiden name.
“Alexandria.” Dante says my name in a low, growling tone coming from the back of his throat.
He tosses my license to the table, his hands lock around my waist, and he lifts me off my feet.
Then he marches us across the room, into the master suite, and doesn’t let me go until the backs of my legs hit the mattress, bringing us both down together.
“Dante,” I whimper when his lips land on mine, his hands slipping to the back of my designer dress. A quick, sharp tug, and he’s completely ripped my several-thousand-dollar designer dress, utterly unbothered by the destruction he left in his wake.
“Christ, my wife is beautiful.” I gasp, reaching for his shirt, shoving, yanking, and pulling to get it off him.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing down my neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my pussy.
“You’re mine, Alexandria.” He worships every inch of my exposed skin with each piece of clothing that leaves my body.
“You’re mine to love. You’re mine forever. Fuck, I love you.”
“I love you, too. Forever.”
I hope you enjoyed Alex and Dante’s story and will consider leaving a review.
Coming Next is Tell Me It’s Forever, Gennie and Gavin’s story
Prologue
Gavin
A Few Days Earlier
The air inside the grand ballroom at The Whitmore is thick with the cloying scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and desperate social climbing.
Crystal chandeliers hang low from the ceiling, swags of fabric line the walls, and the floral arrangements are on the verge of ostentatious.
Millions of dollars are floating around the room in the form of designer clothing, expensive diamonds, and whoever can outbid the other.
I’d be concerned about this being a guise for childhood cancer research except I’ve worked with the family who holds this event.
It’s rooted deeply in them to help others when they’re own child couldn’t be helped.
They’re good people, it’s a good cause, even if the event costs a ten grand, and that’s not including what you’ll bid on for auction.
I lean against the high-top table near the back of the room, adjusting my cufflinks in my Tom Ford tuxedo.
I’d already written a check for half a million dollars before I even stepped through the doors tonight.
I didn’t need to be here, in fact, I hate these events—the fake smiles, the surface level conversations, the endless parade of people trying to talk business.
Yet here I fucking am.
In my left hand, I hold a low-ball crystal cut glass filled with two fingers of Macallan 25, the amber liquid swirls lazily against the ice. In my right hand, I loosely grip an auction paddle with the number 15 in bold black color.
“You look like you’re about to execute someone, Gavin,” Nolan mutters coming up beside me, a drink of his own in his hand. His eyes scan the crowd with practiced detachment of a man who deals in high-stakes corporate takeovers for a living. I would know considering we’re one in the same.
“I’d rather be executing a deal,” I grunt, taking a slow sip. The smooth burn of the alcohol hits the back of my throat. “Or sleeping.”
“Relax. It’s for the kids. Plus, my wife promised me if I stayed until the live auction, I’d be well rewarded.” Vik chimes in from the other side, crossing his arms over his chest, barely contained by his massive size.
“And that’s a conversation I don’t want to hear about,” Nolan chimes in, tossing back the rest of his drink.
“You’ll get it, one day.” Vik is completely unbothered. “And right now, she’s helping direct the production on the stage.”
My eyes drift toward the elevated velvet-draped stage at the front of the ballroom.
The first event the charity is running is an auction with a date, where men and women volunteer a meeting of sorts type of package to raise funds.
It’s frivolous, absurd, and entirely not for me.
I have zero intention of participating, I’m just waiting for the main event to wrap up so I can take my private car back to my penthouse and lose myself in work.
“Next up, ladies and gentlemen, we have package number seven!” The emcee’s voice booms over the speakers, around us people applaud, and I nearly scoff. Jesus, I’m a bear tonight. “Featuring a date with one of our very own volunteers.”
The curtains’ part, and she steps out on the raised polished wooden dais.
The room seems to drop ten degrees, or maybe all the air is suddenly vacuumed out of my lungs.
A woman in a floor-length emerald-green silk gown that clings to every single curve of her body like a secret.
The deep jewel tone makes her honey bronzed skin practically glows beneath the stage lights.
Her neckline dips tantalizingly low, revealing the elegant slope of her collarbones and the swells of her breast. The damn dress has a thigh-high slit on the left side, teasing a length of smooth, curvy thigh every time she takes a small, hesitant step forward.
Her chestnut curls are swept up, leaving the long, delicate line of her neck completely exposed.
She looks breathless. Nervous. Stunning in every way possible.
“Ah.” Vik says, his tone shifting, noticing my intrigue. “That’s Gennie, sweet girl. Busts her ass for this foundation, she worked for hours setting up the décor along with working at Sterling Capital.
“She works on another floor, not for him or me,” Nolan adds, his voice is low, masculine, and approving as his eyes trace the line of her dress. “Focused. Doesn’t play the socialite games. Good girl.”
She’s young. The thought flashes through my mind, unexpected and sharp. Probably barely mid-twenties, a fresh, untouched contrast to the cynical, weary predators hanging around this room. She’s far too innocent for a room full of wolves like me. And I should definitely have my head examined.
Fuck, she’s young.
And then my brain clears the bullshit away, and I actually look at her.
I see the flush spreading across her collarbones, a slight tremor catches on her bottom lip as she forces a polite, gorgeous smile for the crowd.
My eyes lock on the tight cinch of her waist and the flare of her hips beneath the green silk.
Her being to young dies right there, instantly replaced by heavy heat that pools straight to my cock. My grip on the wooden handle of the paddles tightens until my knuckles turn white. My gaze notices the pulsing at the base of her throat, and in a spilt second, my mind is made up.
I want her.
I want her writhing under me, her back arching against my chest, her dress ripped down the middle or shoved up around her waist.
I want to feel her hands tangling in my hair, gasping my name into the quiet dark of my bedroom while I drive myself into her over and over again until she can’t remember her own name.
I want her on top of me, taking control, flush and breathless, her hair falling wildly around her while my grip on her hips anchors her down.
I want her from behind, bent over the arm of my leather sofa, my hand hooked firmly around her hip, biting her shoulder while I take her slow and deep.
The possibilities are endless, the sheer, filthy variety of ways I can break her composure and tear a scream from her pretty throat makes my blood run, hot, thick, and demanding.
“We’ll start the at ten thousand dollars!” The auction announces, and fuck me, paddles lift instantly around the room.
“Fifteen thousand!”
“Twenty thousand from the gentleman in the front.” Gennie’s smile wavers, her hands clasp nervously at her sides.
She looks overwhelmed by the attention, her eyes dart across the sea of faces, unaware that the real danger isn’t in the crowd.
It’s standing at the back of the room, watching her like a hawk.
Never in my forty-four years of life had I ever bid on a human being. I find the entire concept archaic, I’m Gavin Rhodes if I wanted a woman, I pursued her or she came to me. I don’t participate in public spectacles.
“Thirty thousand!” Someone calls from the right side of the room.
“Thirty-five,” some tech executive type says next.
“Gavin?” Nolan glances over at me, catching the lethal stillness that’s settled over my frame. I don’t answer him, instead I set my empty glass of Scotch Whisky with a deliberate, heavy click. I raise my paddle straight into the air.
“One hundred thousand dollars.” My voice cuts through the chatter of the room, carrying authority of a man who is used to buying whatever the hell he wants. The entire ballroom goes dead silent, gasps echo off the high ceilings, and heads snap in my direction.
Vik lets out a low whistle and Nolan chuckles under his breath, raising a glass in my direction. Up on the stage, Gennie is frozen. Her wide, brilliant eyes sweep across the crowd until they land directly on me.
“One… one hundred thousand dollars to Mr. Gavin Rhodes!” The auctioneer fumbles, his mouth opening and closing.
“Going once, going twice.” I never break eye contact with her.
I let my gaze slowly drag down the length of her body, lingering on the slit of her dress, letting her see the possessive promise written across my face.
I want her to know there’s no denying it now, she’s coming home with me.
“Sold!” The gavel bangs down, echoing like a gunshot.
The room erupts into polite applause, but I don’t hear a single second of it. I slowly lower my paddle, a dangerous smiler curving at the corner of my lips as Gennie takes a trembling breath.
Game on, beautiful, you’re mine now.