Zane felt it again—that sour, crawling rage that rose from somewhere just beneath his ribs and spread upward like nausea. It hit him the moment he caught sight of Gianna and the new fellow she had shamelessly latched herself to.
Of course he was rich. He looked it. It explained everything—why she was sitting next to him, leaning in, whispering into his ear like honey poured over warm bread. Gianna never settled for less. She didn't know how to.
The more they whispered, the more that ugly churn twisted inside him.
What were they talking about? What was she telling him that made the man grin like an idiot, lifting his paddle to bid—foolishly—for a necklace he obviously knew nothing about?
But then again, Gianna could make any man do anything. Her control was absolute. Her sorcery ran that deep.
