Tango in Tulle

Dario’s eyes glittered in the low light. “Then where?”

Before she could answer, a flash of light cut through the darkness. Then another. And another.

Paparazzi.

Paloma froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Fuck.”

Dario moved fast, pulling her into the shadows, his body shielding hers from view. “Stay behind me.”

The camera flashes continued, relentless, invasive. Paloma pressed her face against Dario’s chest, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “They saw us. They got pictures.”

“We’ll handle it,” he said, his voice calm, controlled. “We knew this might happen.”

Paloma shook her head, her mind racing. “This is worse than I thought. If those pictures get out—”

“They’ll see a happy couple,” Dario cut in. “They’ll see what we want them to see.”

He was right. Of course he was right. This was the plan, the charade. And yet...

Paloma looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “And what do we see?”

Dario’s expression softened. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle. “We see what we want to see.”

It wasn’t an answer, not really. But it was enough.

They waited in the shadows until the camera flashes faded, until the only sound was the distant murmur of the sea. Then, hand in hand, they slipped back inside the villa, their smiles bright, their steps light.

The gossip would spread, the rumors would fly. But for now, in this moment, they were safe.

They were together.

And that was all that mattered.

The villa’s library was cool and quiet, a sanctuary of leather-bound books and the faint scent of aged paper. Paloma ran her fingers along the spines, her mind still buzzing from the near-discovery, the burning kiss that had almost unraveled everything.

“We shouldn’t be in here,” she said, her voice hushed. The door was closed, but the risk of interruption lingered.

Dario stood near the fireplace, his posture relaxed but alert. “We needed a moment. To regroup.”

Paloma turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. “To regroup? Or to continue what we started outside?”

His gaze darkened. “That depends on you.”

The air between them crackled, charged with silent hunger. Paloma’s breath hitched, her body swaying toward his almost against her will. This was madness, a reckless detour from their carefully plotted course. And yet...

“You’re supposed to be professional,” she said, her voice a low thrum of accusation. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

Dario took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “The deal changed the moment you kissed me back.”

Paloma’s cheeks flushed. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?” He reached out, his fingers sweeping a stray curl from her face. “Or was it the first honest thing between us?”

Her throat tightened, her pulse quickening under his touch. “We can’t do this. Not now. Not here.”

Dario’s hand slid to her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Give me one reason why.”

“Because it’s complicated,” she whispered, her resolve crumbling. “Because it’s dangerous.”

His lips quirked, a ghost of a smile. “Since when have you been afraid of danger?”

Paloma’s breath caught as his mouth lowered to hers, a slow, deliberate descent that left her trembling. His kiss was different this time, deeper, more demanding. It wasn’t a performance, wasn’t part of the act. It was raw, hungry, real.

She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, her body pressing against the hard lines of his chest. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him. The world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the low growl in his throat as she nipped at his lower lip.

This was madness, a reckless abandon that threatened to consume them both. But Paloma couldn’t pull away, couldn’t deny the need that coiled hot and insistent in her core. She wanted him, needed him, with a ferocity that left her breathless.

Dario’s hands moved to her hips, his fingers pressing into the silk of her dress as he backed her toward the desk. Paloma’s legs hit the polished wood, and she gasped as he lifted her onto the surface, his body settling between her thighs.

His mouth trailed down her neck, hot and open, leaving a path of searing kisses that made her shiver. Paloma’s head fell back, her fingers weaving through his hair as he nipped at the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

“Dario,” she breathed, her voice a ragged plea. “Please.”

He chuckled against her skin, the sound low and wicked. “Please what, Paloma? Tell me what you want.”

She arched into him, her hips grinding against the hard length of his erection. “You. I want you.”

His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress higher, higher. Paloma’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed the damp silk of her panties, a teasing touch that sent sparks skittering across her skin.

“Here?” he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers. “Now?”

Paloma’s answer was a moan, a desperate sound that seemed to snap the last of Dario’s control. His mouth crashed down on hers, his tongue delving deep as his fingers hooked in her panties and dragged them down her legs.

The silk pooled on the floor, forgotten, as Dario’s hand slid between her thighs. Paloma cried out as his fingers found her, slick and ready, circling the sensitive bud with expert precision. Her hips bucked, her nails pressing into his shoulders as pleasure coiled hot and tight in her core.

“Dario,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I need—”

“I know,” he growled, his free hand working at his belt, his zipper. “I know what you need.”

The sound of his belt hitting the floor was loud in the quiet room, a counterpoint to Paloma’s ragged breathing. She watched, her heart pounding, as he freed himself, his erection thick and hard against her thigh.

He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, filling her completely. Paloma’s breath left her in a rush, her body clenching around him as he stilled, letting her adjust to the delicious stretch.

“Okay?” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers.

Paloma’s answer was a whimper, a plea for more. Dario’s hips flexed, a slow, deliberate withdrawal before he thrust again, deeper this time, harder. Paloma’s legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she met him stroke for stroke.

The desk shook beneath them, the rhythmic thump of wood against stone a lewd accompaniment to their ragged breathing. Paloma’s hands slid down his back, her nails scoring his skin through the fine fabric of his shirt. Dario’s mouth found hers again, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips, claiming her, branding her.

Pleasure built fast, a relentless tide that swept Paloma under, under. Her body trembled, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as Dario’s thrusts grew harder, faster, his control slipping.

“Paloma,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

The words sent her over the edge. Paloma’s body seized, her muscles clenching as ecstasy crashed over her in waves. She cried out, her face buried in Dario’s neck as he followed her over, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged. Then, slowly, Dario pulled back, his hands gentle as he eased out of her, tucking himself away and straightening her dress.

Paloma’s legs wobbled as she slid off the desk, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She avoided his gaze, her fingers trembling as she smoothed her hair, her dress.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Dario’s hand settled at her waist, his touch warm and possessive. “But we did.”

Paloma closed her eyes, her throat tight. “This complicates everything.”

Dario’s thumb brushed her cheek, a tender caress that made her heart ache. “It doesn’t have to.”

Paloma shook her head, stepping back. “It does. We have a job to do. A role to play.”

Dario’s expression shuttered, his hand falling away. “And what about us? What about what just happened?”

Paloma’s eyes met his, her gaze steady despite the turmoil inside her. “What happened was a mistake. A moment of weakness. It can’t happen again.”

Dario’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He simply watched her, his gaze dark and inscrutable.

Paloma took another step back, putting more distance between them. “We need to focus on the plan. On the wedding. On convincing everyone that we’re in love.”

“And after the wedding?” Dario’s voice was low, dangerous. “What then?”

Paloma’s throat tightened. “After the wedding, we go our separate ways. Like we planned.”

Dario’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Disappointment? Anger? Paloma couldn’t tell.

“Right,” he said, his voice flat. “The plan.”

Paloma nodded, her composure cracking at the edges. “The plan.”