Veronica planted her feet firmly on the plush carpet, and forced herself to look directly at the screen. Her gaze was unflinching, locked on Luca as he leaned back into the moment with Miss Porsche astride him. Every touch, every push and pull of the woman's body against his, every breathless gasp that filled the room, seemed designed to pull her apart, to strip her of composure—but she refused to give him that satisfaction.
He was nothing to her, just a man with too much control and an ego the size of Manhattan. His tactics were predictable, childish even, but that didn't stop her body from responding in ways she mentally scolded herself for. She remained stubborn, rooted to the spot, eyes tracing every line of his body, the way his hands moved, the way Miss Porsche reacted to his rhythm with surprising obedience and satisfaction.
