Dressed to Distract

The scalding water didn't stop the chill.

Isabella stood directly under the heavy spray, scrubbing a rough loofah over her forearms until her skin was raw. The water pooling at her feet ran a faint, sickly pink before spiraling down the stainless steel drain.

She braced both hands against the wet glass of the shower wall. Her lungs burned.

You just pulled a bullet out of a capo on a concrete floor.

The sheer insanity of the afternoon threatened to crush her, but she refused to let it. She closed her eyes, locked the trauma into a tight, dark box in the back of her mind, and turned the water off.

Ten minutes later, she stood in the massive, slate gray master bedroom. An emerald silk gown lay across the dark duvet. It wasn't a dress; it was camouflage.

Isabella pulled the heavy silk over her head. She reached behind her back, her damp fingers slipping uselessly against the tiny metal zipper. The freezing air conditioning hit her wet hair, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

The heavy oak door unlatched.

"¿Cuánto tiempo más, Doctora?" Diego's deep voice cut through the sterile room.

He stepped inside, pushing the door shut with a sharp click. "We lose the element of surprise if we arrive late."

Isabella dropped her hands from the zipper and spun around.

She expected to see the blood. Instead, Diego wore a bespoke, midnight blue tuxedo. The tailored cut hid the violence of the warehouse. He looked entirely legitimate, cold, and untouchable.

"I'm used to wearing scrubs, Diego," she said, her voice flat, refusing to pull the open bodice closed. "Not a silk straitjacket."

Diego didn't smile. He crossed the dark hardwood floor with slow, deliberate steps, stopping mere inches in front of her. The sterile air between them evaporated, immediately replaced by the heavy heat radiating off his chest.

He reached into his tuxedo jacket. A cascade of heavy diamonds spilled from his large fingers, catching the harsh modern light.

Isabella stared at the stones. "What is that?"

"Distraction," Diego stated. His voice was a smooth, dangerous hum. "When we step out of that car, the press will be waiting. I need them looking at my beautiful, hopelessly devoted bride. I need you looking absolutely exquisite."

He didn't ask. "Turn around."

Isabella held his intense gaze for a second, her pulse jumping at the base of her throat. She slowly turned her back to him, staring straight ahead at the minimalist gray wall.

Diego stepped directly into her space. His large hands brushed hers away and took the metal zipper. With one smooth pull, the silk tightened against her ribs, drawing her a fraction of an inch backward, right against his solid frame.

Then, his hands moved up.

He gathered the heavy, damp weight of her dark hair. The rough calluses of his fingertips scraped lightly against the sensitive, bare skin of her neck as he swept the strands over her left shoulder.

Isabella sucked in a sharp, quiet breath.

Diego draped the heavy choker over her throat. The freezing diamonds slammed against her warm collarbone.

As he secured the intricate clasp at the nape of her neck, his thumbs pressed deeply into the tense muscles of her bare shoulders. It wasn't a gentle caress. It was a heavy, possessive anchor.

"Tonight, you smile for the cameras," Diego instructed softly, his grip tightening just enough to remind her of the contract binding them. "You drink champagne with the board of directors. And you find out exactly which one of those elite surgeons used Vicryl on my man."

Isabella stared at their reflection in the dark, floor to ceiling windowpanes. His hands were still locked on her shoulders, trapping her against him.

"And if they realize I'm interrogating them?" she asked, keeping her voice level despite the electric shock of his touch.

Diego's thumbs slowly stroked the edge of her collarbone. The feral, calculating predator she had seen in the warehouse bled through the polished tuxedo.

"They won't," Diego murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the glass. "They will be far too busy staring at the diamonds."

• • •

The tinted windows of the Escalade offered a deceptive, quiet sanctuary.

As the heavy SUV slowed to a crawl in front of the hospital's grand entrance, the dark glass lit up with rapid, blinding bursts of white light. Even through the soundproofing, a dull, chaotic roar bled into the cabin.

Isabella stared at the flashing strobes. Her stomach tightened into a cold knot. It was a charity gala, an event she had attended for the last three years as a junior trauma surgeon, quietly standing in the back of the room.

Tonight, the red carpet was for her.

Diego turned his head. The flashes outside strobed across his sharp jawline.

"Remember," Diego said, his voice a low, steady rumble in the quiet car. "They want a fairy tale. Give it to them."

Javier cut the engine and stepped out.

The moment Javier pulled Isabella's door open, the silence of the SUV shattered. The roar of the press hit her like a physical wall.

"Isabella! Over here!"

"Mister Vargas! A statement on the marriage!"

"Isabella, look this way!"

A terrifying wall of blinding white flashbulbs exploded in her face. The rapid click, click, click of shutters sounded like automatic gunfire. Isabella instinctively took a half step back, raising a hand to shield her eyes, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer volume of the crowd pressing against the velvet ropes.

Before she could retreat back into the car, Diego stepped out beside her.

His large hand clamped onto her bare waist. It wasn't a gentle, guiding touch. It was a heavy, unyielding grip that possessed her, physically pulling her flush against his side. The heat of his body seeped through the thin emerald silk of her gown.

He was her shield against the blinding chaos, but the iron grip on her waist was a brutal, grounding reminder: she couldn't run.

Diego raised his free hand, offering the sea of cameras a flawless, charming smile. He looked exactly like a smitten, legitimate billionaire showing off his new bride.

"Smile, Doctora," Diego whispered, leaning down. His lips brushed the very edge of her ear, sending a hot shiver down her neck. To the reporters screaming their names ten feet away, it looked like an impossibly intimate, romantic secret.

Isabella forced the corners of her mouth up. She looked into the blinding flashes and smiled, playing the role of the blushing Cinderella.

Underneath the silk, her heart hammered against her ribs, fueled by the fading adrenaline of a gunshot wound and the terrifying reality that she was hunting a killer.

Diego guided her forward down the red carpet, his hand never leaving her waist. The heavy diamond choker felt like ice against her throat, directly contrasting the burning heat of his grip. They moved as a single, impenetrable unit through the shouting reporters.

"Mister Vargas!" a reporter shoved a microphone over the velvet rope. "It was so sudden! How did you meet the doctor?"

Diego didn't break his stride. He pulled Isabella a fraction of an inch closer, his thumb stroking the silk right above her hipbone.

"Some things, you just know instantly," Diego answered smoothly, his dark eyes flashing toward the cameras before dropping to look directly at Isabella. The intense, predatory focus in his stare had nothing to do with romance. "When you find exactly what you've been looking for, you don't let it go."

The cameras went wild, eating up the billionaire's devotion.

Isabella kept the flawless smile plastered on her face, letting him steer her toward the massive oak doors of the ballroom. The press saw a passionate, untouchable couple.

Only Isabella knew that they were walking straight into a viper's nest.