“Wait!”

He paused and looked around the edge of the door.

“What should I wear? I mean . . . how formal is this dinner?” she asked.

“It’s black-tie.”

She nodded. He gave her a small smile and walked out of the bathroom.

With him gone, it was admittedly easier to attend to the task of getting ready. With him gone, it was also easier to feel a few flutters of nervousness at the idea of attending a glamorous, high-profile dinner with the world’s racing elite. Luckily, their lovemaking—not to mention some of the sweet things Vanni had said afterward—went a long way to shield her from too much anxiety. The vision of the way he’d looked at her while they lay in bed together just now—I was making love to you—went a long way to armor her against worries.

The flush of her cheeks and brightness of her eyes didn’t dissipate much after she’d showered and blow-dried her hair. When she left the bathroom, Vanni was nowhere to be seen. She recovered the rest of the items that Cristina had left her from the trunk and carried them to the closet. A feeling of warmth and gratitude swept through her yet again when she finally fingered the full array of dresses and other items that had been in the trunk. It was almost like the older woman was her fairy godmother, assuring her she would not only belong at the ball, but shine at it.

Heartened by the thought and by Vanni’s focused lovemaking, she chose a dress that was meant to be worn by a sexually confident woman, a female who was comfortable in her own skin. She thanked Cristina mentally yet again as she found some shoes and accessories to go with it.

Fifteen minutes later she examined herself in the bathroom mirror. Cristina had been right. They must have been the exact same size at the time Cristina had bought the dress. Emma had chosen a stunning teal green halter dress that emphasized her coloring nicely, but did absolutely amazing things for her figure. It clung to her curves like it’d been tailor-made, making her waist look especially small and her breasts more . . . significant. It managed to look sinfully sexy while still being elegant, Emma thought with amazement as she studied herself. She’d had no idea she possessed such an hourglass figure. She’d combed her hair behind her ears in a simple style and wore only a pair of dangling gold chandelier earrings and the Prisatti angel along with a pair of fierce black pumps. Her eye makeup was good, considering Emma had done it and not Amanda, making her eyes look large and smoky.

She turned and looked over her shoulder, flushing with pleasure and sheer amazement at what the dress did for her hips and ass. No wonder stars and models always looked so fantastic, if they could afford to buy dresses like this one. Her bottom felt tingly and slightly abraded beneath the fitted fabric of the dress. Vanni had accomplished what he wanted. She’d be thinking about those exciting, illicit moments with him all night.

She heard a sound out in the bedroom and grabbed the clutch that matched her shoes. Feeling both self-conscious and excited, she exited the bathroom. Vanni was across the room at the huge, carved armoire, standing behind an open door. He closed it a second later with a bang and was in the process of fastening a gold watch around his wrist, when he glanced up and noticed her. He did a double take. Emma stood there, her heart throbbing, as his blue-green gaze dropped over her. He wore a classic tux with a white shirt, a textured vest that was low enough to show off his tie—a classic black one versus a bow tie. He wore the garments, as usual, with insouciant ease, his long, lean body the ideal frame for such finely made, elegant garments.

“Well,” he said after a pregnant pause, clicking the watch into place and walking toward her. “Cristina knew precisely what she was doing in at least one thing. You’re stunning. You do incredible things for that dress.”

She smiled. “Isn’t it the other way around? If anything, the dress is doing it for me.”

He grabbed her hand and gracefully turned her. Emma stared at him in surprise over her shoulder as he regarded her backside. One dark eyebrow quirked up and his mouth went hard.

“No,” he said grimly, spinning her back around. “I had it right.”

“Then why do you look so unhappy about it?” she teased him as he led her toward the door.

“I’m not so sure I like the idea of you in that dress and a roomful of racecar drivers,” he said. “They’re the worst kind of womanizers, you know.”

“Like it would matter.”

He glanced back at her swiftly, giving her a hard, blazing look, before he swept down and kissed her mouth. His hand cupped her hip and then a buttock, the warmth and pressure on her tingling flesh making her shiver in his arms.

“Just remember,” he said next to her lips a moment later.

“As if I could ever forget,” she whispered.

Much to her surprise, there was a chauffeured sedan waiting for them on the back drive when they exited La Mer. Perhaps it was best that Vanni hadn’t talked too much about what to expect for their evening, because it likely would have ratcheted up her nerves. As it was, she was too amazed by the stunning scenery as they descended from the mountains, too overwhelmed by everything she was seeing. She stared out the window, enraptured as they traversed down the Boulevard de la Croisette, that famous stretch of road that ran between the exclusive Cannes beaches and luxury hotels and casinos. It wouldn’t grow dark for a while yet. People still lounged on the beach, swam in the turquoise waters, or strolled along the promenade. Others who passed were prepared for the evening, however, beautiful men and women dressed to the hilt as they headed toward the glitzy casinos.

It took Emma a little bit to realize she was one of those glamorous people as she alighted from the sedan and Vanni took her hand. As they headed toward the entry of the Hôtel Le Maj, several men took their picture. A few who didn’t have their cameras at the ready seemed to come to attention and scurry when they noticed it was Vanni.

“Just ignore them,” Vanni said quietly as he escorted her up some white marble steps. “The race is local headline news.”

Emma had a feeling Vanni was the news even more than the race, but she didn’t say anything as he opened the gilded doors for her.

The restaurant where they dined was right out of a movie set. A room had been reserved for the racing party. Although they would be eating inside, an entire wall of glass doors had been opened to a terrace and the sea, giving the impression of eating al fresco. A five-piece band played out in the open air. It took them a while to reach their assigned table, as so many people came over to greet Vanni and to be introduced to Emma. A few of the people spoke French, but several spoke English. The drivers were eager to discuss the circuit conditions with Vanni following their early morning practice runs.

Vanni was holding her hand as they crossed the room a few minutes later, so she felt him tense slightly when a tall, handsome man with longish dark brown hair, swarthy skin, and electric blue eyes intercepted their progress.

“How is it that you always manage to have the most beautiful creature in the room on your arm?” the man asked with an Italian accent and a heavy-lidded look at Emma.

“How is it that you always manage to make a grown woman sound like a pet bird, Mario?” Vanni replied. The man gave a slashing grin, as if Vanni had been joking. Vanni sighed irritably. “Emma Shore, this is Mario Acarde. He’s a driver.”

“The driver,” Mario assured her, taking her hand and caressing the edge of her palm. “Montand just doesn’t like to admit it since he picked that rooster Dellis to drive Montand cars. But Niki isn’t going to win on Sunday . . . despite the preferential treatment.”

“All of the drivers had the exact same opportunity to practice on the circuit, Mario,” Vanni said, his bored, weary tone implying this wasn’t the first time he’d told the Italian driver something similar. “The racing officials have strict orders from the local governments to shut down the route by eight a.m. Maybe you should consider getting to be bed early tonight so you can get your full practice time,” Vanni said, his dry tone implying that the idea of Mario going to bed early was as likely as a snowy Christmas on the French Riviera.