Chapter 19 #2
Resting his calloused hand on my knee, his thumb stroked circles over my denim jeans.
That subtle touch set off a slow burn under my skin as we exchanged glances, the undeniable pull between us escalating.
The awkwardness from Evangeline’s call in Capri and my unintended love utterance was fading, replaced by unquestionable need once again.
I wondered how it’d play out in Cannes.
Tamping down my desire, I took an inhale and spoke to deflect the amplifying savage desire.
‘So what’s the show design for amfAR?’
‘It’s an acoustic setup,’ Angel rasped. ‘Stripped back, raw, righteous, bare instruments only and lyrics.’
Damn, only he could speak about a performance and make me wet.
His eyes fell to my nipples hardening under my top, and he came closer, nipping my earlobe.
My breath hitched, and just as I was about to turn my head and explore those roaming lips, my phone buzzed in my lap.
I checked it, and my heated mood iced over.
Reese: Di claims you’re heading to Cannes. Keep your marriage publicity front and center. It’ll please our Saudi investors no end.
You cheap, manipulative bastard, I thought, locking the screen and shoving the device deep into my handbag beside me with a scowl.
‘Who the hell was it?’ my husband rasped into my ear.
‘Guess?’
‘No need to; no one else puts that frown on your face like Rosedale Snr. Forget him beautiful, let’s enjoy our trip without his particular brand of venom haunting us.’
Angel slipped a hand to my spine and stroked me, bringing me down from my fury.
Mason made an announcement from his seat, tapping on his tablet screen.
‘Remember, friends, billionaires and media moguls will be mingling among us at the Cannes Film Festival,’ Mason said. ‘From tech tycoons and shipping heirs, so be on your best behavior and expect many of them to be at their worst.’
‘Don’t they all follow each other like sheep, from St Barts to Fashion Week, the Met Gala and the French Open?’ I asked.
‘They do; it’s a birds-of-a-feather phenomenon,’ Angel muttered. ‘These events give them a sense of security and belonging.’
Across the aisle, Deacon tossed his cards onto the folding table and glanced at his phone, arching an eyebrow as he whistled under his breath.
‘You won’t believe this, but Senna Zavros is attending the function too,’ he called out.
I smiled at the name.
‘He’s my celebrity crush,’ I confessed.
Angel’s eyes narrowed on me with roiling, possessive intensity.
‘Is he now?’
‘Senna is the ultimate legend, rocking floor-length dreadlocks, silver septum rings, tailored velvet suits, and unbuttoned silk shirts showing off sun-bronzed skin. He radiates timeless, effortless cool, exuding sexual magnetism without even trying.’
‘Careful, wife,’ Angel rumbled into my ear, his tone dropping an octave as his grip on my thigh tightened just enough to make my heart hammer. ‘I don’t do jealousy well.’
‘Possessive much?’
‘You’ve no idea,’ Angel growled.
The way his eyes glittered told me he was serious.
I sensed that although Angel was still figuring out what I meant in his life, he deserved to have his feelings handled with care.
So I reassured him with a wink.
‘Relax, handsome,’ I teased. ‘You’re still the only rock god who makes my heart flutter.’
He narrowed his eyes at me.
‘Keep it that way.’
The fact was, the affinity we shared was ratcheting up again.
Could Angel walk away from me and cause me heartbreak?
It was a distinct possibility, but I was keen to love and cherish him better than my sister ever had.
Angel’s rasp broke through my thoughts.
‘Rox, prepare yourself for some entitled nastiness. Some of these billionaires and celebrities, including Senna Zavros, are cads and creeps in real life, hiding behind clean suits and expensive smiles.’
I got the memo and let Senna’s name drop, but I thought it was sweet how possessive Angel was on hearing about my crush.
Even though I’d confessed my love to him, he still seemed to have no idea he was my ultimate infatuation.
After a few more hours, the jet touched down.
The second the cabin door opened over the tarmac, the humid summer heat of southern France hit our faces.
We and our luggage rushed into two blacked-out Mercedes vans.
With aircon pumping, our ride crept through dense traffic as mopeds darted between rows of sleek sports cars lining the palm-fringed Boulevard de la Croisette.
The Mediterranean Sea stretched out to the horizon like a sheet of brilliant turquoise glass, dotted with white mega-yachts glittering under the blistering afternoon sun.
Our hotel, the Mondrian Cannes, was a vision of boutique elegance overlooking the French Riviera.
The bijou palace of polished alabaster marble and ornate gold trim buzzed with photographers, paparazzi, and linen-clad tourists mingling near the grand entrance.
We only had a three-hour turnaround before we had to get ready for the gala, so we moved to our rooms.
Angel and I got a double-bedroom suite, sharing a sumptuous living room and balcony with sightlines to the stunning sea.
After unpacking, we got a knock at the door.
I opened it to a concierge holding a huge monogrammed box.
They delivered a message with the package, which I read out to Angel.
‘It seems a famous Italian concept designer, LLANO X, has sent dresses for the event for Sofia and me.’
Angel arched a brow.
‘Damn Di. She’s probably reached out to designers with word that Jude and Angel from Six Sinners brought their wives on the trip. So she must have got them to ship the clothes to get some publicity.’
‘Can we wear them?’
Angel shrugged. ‘If you like them, don’t see why not.’
After a call to Sofia, I headed into her and Jude’s room to unbox our package and explore the show-stopping haute couture ball gowns.
‘Oh my god, Roxy, look at these,’ Sofia whispered in awe, unzipping one of the thick, cream garment bags with wide eyes. ‘They did not hold back.’
‘They really didn’t,’ I laughed as I opened another. ‘Which one are you thinking?’
‘This one for me, hands down,’ Sofia said, pulling out a sculptural gold gown.
I chose a concept black silk dress, which radiated pure glamour and sophistication.
‘Then this is mine.’
I escaped into the bathroom to change while Sofia tried on her dress in her bedroom.
Minutes later, I stepped into my ensemble, the midnight-black silk fitting like a glove around my waist before cascading to the ground in a sleek, liquid pool.
The off-the-shoulder neckline exposed my collarbones.
A high leg slit showed off my legs and heels with every step I took as I made my way to the suite’s living room.
Sofia emerged from the adjoining room in the gold gown, featuring a plunging back cut down to her spine and delicate crystal halter straps.
‘Holy shit, Roxy,’ Sofia breathed, stepping beside me. ‘Look at us.’
We stood together before a floor-to-ceiling mirror, two very normal women, now feeling like models in haute couture.
‘Not shabby for a pair of regular gals from Nashville, right?’ I whispered, adjusting the neckline.
‘Not bad at all,’ she smiled back.
‘Now let’s get out of these gowns and shower; the label is sending makeup artists and hair stylists in 20 minutes.’
As I spoke, Angel walked into Jude’s suite, freezing in his tracks as his gleaming eyes swept down my body.
The untapped admiration in his gaze made my cheeks flush, the distance between us melting away into a charged tension full of promise.
‘Fuck,’ Angel rasped, his voice rough as his smoky gaze locked onto mine. ‘You trying to kill me?’
My rockstar, badass husband was making it clear I was a turn-on in that dress.
I’d never felt more sexy than at this moment.
He walked up to me and hooked an arm around my waist, dipping to kiss my bare neck.
‘Even better is you without the dress on,’ he growled in a whisper just meant for me, before he stepped back, lips twisting as he appreciated me all over again.
Jude followed right behind him, letting out an appreciative whistle as he ate up his woman with his eyes.
‘Damn, sweetheart, you’re gonna start a freakin’ war in that dress.’
Angel strode close again, his heat wrapping around me as he leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my temple.
‘I want to tear this off,’ he murmured against my skin, his breath fanning hot across my cheek.
‘Maybe later,’ I whispered back, my heart thudding hard.
Our eyes locked and glittered with promise.
Definitely later.