Crown of Curves and Cash

Later that evening, away from the flashing cameras and superficial socialites, Salvatore led Clara into the museum’s private historic library—a quiet, vaulted room lined with leather-bound first editions and smelling of aged paper and cedarwood.

Clara let out a soft sigh of relief, leaning back against one of the long mahogany reading tables.

"You didn't have to glare at him quite so intensely, Sal," Clara murmured, though a fond smile touched her lips. "I was doing a fine job destroying his ego all by myself."

Salvatore walked over, standing directly in front of her, placing his large hands gently on either side of her hips. He pulled her flush against him, looking down into her bright green eyes with a gaze so intense it made her breath hitch.

"I don't like anyone looking at you, talking to you, or breathing the same air as you unless I approve it," Salvatore murmured, his deep voice thick with raw, possessive desire. "Especially not a fool who made you cry tears of self-doubt in my presence six months ago."

Clara’s hands rested naturally against his broad shoulders, her fingers tracing the fine fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

"You remember seeing me six months ago?" Clara asked softly. "Before we were introduced?"

"I remember the exact moment you walked into that charity auction in your oversized black coat, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole because some skinny socialites made a snide remark about your size," Salvatore confessed, his thumb gently brushing her cheekbone. "I told my men right then and there: find out who she is. And if that miserable husband of hers ever lets her go, make sure I am the first man standing at the finish line."

Clara stared at him, her heart swelling with an emotion so deep and fierce it terrified her. For the first time in her life, she wasn't too much. She wasn't too heavy, too loud, or too bold.

To Salvatore Moretti, she was the entire universe.

"And what if I decide I want more than a partnership of convenience on paper?" Clara whispered, her pulse racing.

Salvatore’s eyes flared with sudden, consuming fire. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry, utterly intoxicating kiss that stole the very air from her lungs. When he finally pulled back just enough for them both to breathe, his voice was a rough, fervent vow.