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I could run.
I could call the Viper, and tell him the job is off, because this is impossible. How the hell am I supposed to do this? But then he’ll hurt Sam...
Instead of running, my head nods, and I can see a spark of something dark and hungry in his eyes.
"Go wait for me in the bedroom," he snaps, his tone abrupt, and a rush of relief hits me, as he turns, stalking across the penthouse to the table with my things. The bedroom, the bedroom— god what am I doing? I look around the open-plan condo, the way the kitchen spills into a sunken living room, the city glittering through the windows at me.
This is madness.
"It’s to your left," he says, not even turning to look at me. He’s beautiful from behind, too, the way his shoulders fill out his shirt, and his slacks tight around his?—
Enough.
I walk into the bedroom through double doors, and it’s dark and warm, the lights dimmed, windows unadorned by curtains along one side to reveal another, different view of the city below. The bed is huge, a California King against, the linens a pale blue, a few shades darker than my dress. The furniture is all dark wood, a chest of drawers, a nightstand, a tall, narrow bookshelf full of old paperbacks. The bed is neatly made, the sheets tucked under the mattress, the pillows in place, the covers thrown back like he’d been in here, getting ready for a nap or to relax, maybe.
I swallow, and look down, not knowing what to do. Do I sit on the bed? Do I lounge on it, looking edible? How does anyone seduce a man, especially one like him, powerful, and strong, and dangerous.
My breath is coming faster, and I try to calm down, to steady myself. Instead I try to look around the room, focus on what’s here, catalog it in my mind for later. Every bit of it, every single detail, I’m going to have to relay to the Viper.
It’s part of the deal.
This is just a job.
I hear a soft laugh behind me, and I turn. Luca is leaning against the door, his arms crossed, and he’s staring at me, a look of amusement on his face.
"Why are you here?" He asks, and I struggle to make my tongue work. "Heather didn’t write that note, and the last person she’d send to me is you." His eyes flash with irritation. "So why are you here?" He stalks toward me, his hands at his sides, and I swallow, backing up. The backs of my thighs hit the edge of the bed, and he looms over me, so tall and broad.
"I," I stammer, and his hand lifts, and the tip of his finger touches my collarbone, the pressure feather-light, and a shiver runs through me, "I?—"
"Are you a spy, Miss Morrow?" he asks, his tone deceptively light.
"N-no," I whisper, and the lie tastes sour on my lips. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes me down, and I tumble backwards with a yelp. His hand wraps around the backs of my knees, and he drags me closer, spreading my thighs open for him. The skirt of my dress bunches up around my hips, leaving me exposed, instantly, the cold air rushing against the damp of my panties. It chills me and heats me up at the same time, and a soft sound leaves me, half-mortified, half-excited, and he laughs again, his finger tracing a line up my inner thigh.
"Why are you here?" he asks, again, a look of determined patience on his face.
"Heather, she— Heather doesn’t know I’m here," I confess, and his hand stops moving, and he looks down at me. I can feel my heart, thudding against my rib cage, and his expression darkens. I’m really not cut out for this. And now I’m going to die. I’m cracking like a creme brulee.
"I see," he says, and the hand on my thigh tightens, gripping me painfully. "Then what were you going to do? When I called her and found out that you’re a fucking filthy little liar?"
"I—" My mind goes blank, and he leans over me, his hand going to my throat. It wraps around me delicately, deliberately, like he knows exactly how much force to use.
"Answer me, before I lose my patience," he snarls, and a shiver runs through me. I can’t help the moan that leaves my lips, and the dark, angry look on his face deepens. "Are you fucking serious?" he says, his voice dropping to a hiss, and his hand slides between my thighs. "You’re a goddamn spy, aren’t you? And now you’re so wet for me, like you can’t fucking wait for me to fuck you, spread you open on my cock—" His hand pushes down, and then up, and I gasp, my hands clenching on the blanket underneath me, the rough drag of his fingers making my back arch up off the bed. "You want me to fuck you, right here, right now, and you’re soaking my fucking hand, Ash, are you a fucking spy, or what?"
"Yes!" I cry out, "yes, yes, yes," I can’t stop the word, and his mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss harsh, demanding, taking, and his fingers move, stroking up and down my slit, the wet noise of them the only thing I can hear beyond the pounding of my heart in my ears. He pulls my thong down, and I kick off my shoes, his fingers pulling the flimsy fabric down my thighs, until I can get them off, and they drop to the ground.
"I should torment you, drag this out, show you what it means to betray me, and what happens to everyone who does—" He pauses, looking down at me, my thighs locked around his shoulders, the most intimate part of me laid bare for him, his gaze, his touch, his mouth. He leans forward, and kisses me, the brush of his lips against my folds a tease. I’m writhing on the bed, my eyes squeezed shut, and the first stroke of his tongue has a cry leaving my lips.
"I should fuck you, and not let you come, until you’re crying and begging me, until you’ve broken and confessed everything," he continues, and then his tongue strokes against me, a slow, teasing lick, and my hips jerk against him. "I should fucking kill you, and send a message to whomever it is you’re working for."
He licks me again, taking his time with me, until my fingers clench in the tidy, perfectly made sheets, scrunching them up in my hands.
And I have to wonder... why he isn’t doing just that. Why hasn’t Luca Greco killed me already?
CHAPTER 9
luca
I’m a fool, and this woman has somehow wrapped me around her little finger, just like her employer must have thought she would. I have the proof that she’s a spy, she admitted to it herself, and yet, instead of killing her, instead of letting her go to run to the man who’s pulling her strings, or torturing her for more information, I’m licking her pussy, and loving the way she’s moaning and arching under my mouth.
