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  As I pull out the Lost and Found box, I hear the woman speaking to her female entourage. “Oh my God, Davis is the biggest nerd. He never wants to go out. All he wants to do is stay home and read books or watch movies. He’s so boring.” She sighs. “But at least we’re going away for the holidays to his family’s chalet in Gstaad. I can’t wait to see his new jet. We have invitations to so many parties when we’re there.”

  Suddenly, I know whose scarf I’m holding. It belongs to the shrew herself, Ashton Canterbury.

  Ashton’s friends giggle in enchantment over the gilded life she is supposedly leading.

  I walk back to Ashton with scarf in hand. I observe her, concluding that the tabloid photos actually make her look better than she does in person.

  “Took you long enough,” she huffs. “I hope nothing’s happened to it.”

  “It’s in pristine condition, madam. I kept it safe,” I reassure her.

  “Yes, well, it looks fine. Let’s go, girls.”

  The lack of a gratuity from her does not come as a surprise to me.

  * * *

  “‘O mio babbino caro’?”

  Two days later during the lunch service, I’m bent over picking some dust off the floor humming the aria to myself when a deep male voice interrupts me.

  I’m still distracted when I reply to the man. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “My family has a private box at the Met.”

  When I stand up and turn to the door, I see in front of me what no photo could ever do any justice, now that Davison Cabot Berkeley is standing in front of me. He has to be over six feet tall, with dark brown wavy hair that borders on black. His eyes are deep green with flecks of amber in them. On any other man, his lips would look odd because of their lush shape, but on his chiseled face, they are perfectly suited.

  He’s dressed in a navy-blue wool coat, open to reveal underneath it a dark gray pin-striped suit and tie, accentuated by a button-down shirt in a lighter palette. A cashmere scarf the same shade as his coat is tied around his neck.

  His eyes meet my dark brown ones, and in a flash, my throat goes dry. Shivers run up and down my arms. My pulse increases because of the way he stares at me. His head rears back slightly, and he takes in a deep breath through his aquiline nose. But it’s the intensity of his eyes that paralyzes me. They sear me, as if they have the ability to read my inner thoughts without having to speak a word.

  After a few seconds that seemed more like a full minute, I clear my throat. “You’re very fortunate. May I be of service, sir?”

  A small grin appears on his face. “Yes. I seem to have misplaced a glove. By any chance, would you happen to have found it?”

  “I believe so. Could you describe it?”

  “Brown driving glove, cashmere lined. My initials are on it. DCB. Davison Cabot Berkeley.”

  The sound of his voice warms my body, as if it were a cashmere blanket that tightly wraps around me. When he speaks, he speaks deeply, but it’s more like a rumble, as if something is inside him on the verge of erupting. Even though he’s only spoken a few words to me, I have a vision of him commanding others with that voice, and how intimidated I would feel, which is actually beginning to happen to me at that precise moment.

  All I can do is nod my head. “Yes. I have it. I’ll be right back.”

  As I turn to retrieve the Lost and Found shoe box, he says, “You have a lovely voice.”

  Thankfully, I’m looking away from him when he says that, because as soon as he does, my face turns hot. “Thank you, but I was just humming, sir.”

  “I can still tell, though. Are you a singer?”

  My face now cooling down, I finally turn around. “Yes, I am actually. I’m a graduate student of voice at the Gotham Conservatory.”

  “Opera?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I suppose the fact that you work across from one of the most famous opera houses in the world is not a coincidence?” His lips lift in a sly grin.

  I laugh slightly from my nerves. “No, it is not.”

  He smiles at me. “Umm, may I…” he asks, gesturing to the glove in my hand.

  I shake my head in embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course.”

  He takes the glove from me, running his fingers over the stitched initials. “Hmm. I wonder…”

  “About what, sir?”

  “I wonder when my parents named me if their goal was to see how many surnames they could slap on their newborn child.”

  I smile, laughing slightly. “I can imagine.”

  His head tilts at me curiously as he leans in closer to me. “What’s your name?”

  I swallow in my throat as his warm breath caresses my face. “Allegra.”

  “Allegra what?”

  “Allegra Orsini.”

  He pauses for a moment. “That’s a lovely name. Italian?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I look into his eyes, which are still boring into mine. I can’t move. Something is… there. Something… powerful. It takes my breath away. We both seem to be stunned into silence.

  He pushes back the tail of his coat to retrieve something from his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and shuffles through the bills.

  A fifty-dollar bill appears on the flat ledge of the door.

  I push the money back to him. “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Please take it. It’s not just for the glove. It’s been a long time since… I just want you to have it.”

  “Truly, I can’t accept it. For the same reason.”

  He nods in understanding. He puts his hand over mine, the hand that’s trying to return the money to him. He doesn’t move, and neither do I.

  Without warning, he begins rubbing his thumb over my hand, slowly. So slowly. My breaths begin to increase. His emerald eyes turn darker, hooded with a look that both scares me and arouses me. The warmth from his touch permeates my skin, setting the rest of me aflame. I can feel myself turning wet at the apex of my thighs. I press my lips together, determined not to break this moment. He is powerful and commanding. I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.

  Then he moves in closer to me. His lush mouth opens to say something, his thumb still moving again and again over my hand.

  “Do you think I could make you come just by doing this?”

  “What?” I manage barely above a whisper.

  “Answer the question,” he commands huskily.

  Before I can answer him, a cell phone begins to ring inside his coat, which effectively breaks the moment. I step back as he shuts his eyes, emitting a low growl, then pulls out the phone, grimacing when he checks the caller ID. He lets it continue to ring as he shoves it back into his coat.

  He pauses a moment, then takes the fifty and returns it to his wallet. Like a magician, he then reveals the glove’s mate from his coat, and I watch him put on both of them.

  His hands now fully gloved, he looks at me again, both of his green eyes fixed on my own. They seem darker, ominous almost.

  I swallow. “Have a good evening, sir.”

  He leans into my space, mere inches from me. His scent, something laundered with a hint of spice, permeates my nose, his hot breath caressing my face once more. “Good night, Allegra.”

  Once Davison Cabot Berkeley leaves, shaking Mr. Crawford’s hand on the way out, I step into a corner of the coat-check room, leaning against it in the darkness. I press my head against the wall as I try to catch my breath.

  No man has ever affected me like that before, mostly because I would never allow it. I know it was just a moment. That’s what I tell myself. We will never see each other again. And it’s just as well, because I never let a man in far enough to know my deepest secrets.

  ALSO BY SOFIA TATE

  Breathless for Him

  Devoted to Him

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  Looking for more books from Sofia Tate?

  Now Available from Forever Yours

  As a gifted opera singer, Allegra Orsini’
s only obsession is music—until she meets him. A strikingly handsome and powerful man with a life splashed across the tabloids, Davison Cabot Berkeley isn’t what she expected. He’s unlike the other wealthy patrons who dine at Le Bistro. Davison sees more than just a coat-check girl working her way through grad school. And from the moment he looks at her, those deep green eyes ignite a fire inside Allegra she’s never felt before.

  She craves Davison’s touch—his possession—endlessly. Even though every fiber of her being is telling her to stay away, that it’s best for both of them, she can’t. As his passion consumes her, Allegra can no longer deny Davison’s hold on her. He’ll never let her go. But as much as she wants him, Allegra can’t surrender to his love—not until she faces a painful secret from her past that could destroy them both…

  * * *

  Two months ago, Allegra Orsini nearly lost the man of her dreams. Thankfully, Davison Cabot Berkeley, a powerful billionaire who always gets what he wants, refused to allow anything—or anyone—to come between them. Now back in the arms of the man she loves, Allegra receives an incredible proposal.

  Allegra is invited to study under the opera world’s most legendary diva. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity… but it means moving to Italy for a month. Thirty days without Davison’s touch. Allegra isn’t sure she can survive it—especially when Davison begins pulling away for reasons she can’t figure out. Is the man who has given her more passion and pleasure than she has ever known about to break her heart? Soon Allegra starts to realize that Davison could be guarding a secret even more devastating…

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Don’t Miss Crazy for Him

  An Excerpt from Breathless for Him

  Also by Sofia Tate

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  Copyright

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 by Ulyana Dejneka

  Excerpt from Breathless for Him copyright © 2014 by Ulyana Dejneka

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner

  Cover copyright © 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First ebook edition: August 2015

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  ISBN 978-1-4555-9068-1

  E3