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“Get in, get in.” She shoves us inside a broom closet. Of course, out of all the closets in this place, we are squeezed into the smallest one.1
We pack into the narrow space. Light streams in through slats in the door, covering us in dim stripes and allowing a choppy view out. Our chests are almost flush against each other, and when I look up at Lochlan, he tilts his head to the side, eyes hooded as they drop to my mouth.
I’m drawn to the small flick of his tongue as he wets his bottom lip. His throat bobs on a swallow and as his hands find their way onto my hips, my breath hitches. His voice is a low purr as he whispers, “You can’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I breathe, barely audible.
He tugs me closer, our hips pressing together, and my heart patters wildly. His lips hover by my ear, his breath hot and teasing on my neck. “Like you want me to make you come in this dingy, little closet while you fight back your screams.”
I hear the heavy front door open and without thinking, I clamp my hand over Lochlan’s mouth. I feel him smile under my palm as he tightens his grip on my hips. My stomach flutters while my mind focuses on the other side of the closet door. I hold my breath as I listen to Marcella squeal in greeting.
“What’s so urgent you needed to see me? Thought you’d be tired after this morning,” he jokes, pulling her in by the waist. Bojan’s accent is lighter than his father’s, more Americanized. “My father’s headed to the spa. We have at least an hour . . .” He toys with the strings of her bikini. She playfully pushes his hands away and anxiously looks toward the closet.
Come on, Marcella, keep it together. I pray she doesn’t give us away before he confesses. It could be our only chance to catch him by surprise.
“I know. I sent him. I said I’d meet him there, so we actually don’t have long, but I wanted to thank you for what you did.” She wraps her arms around his neck, and he grins ear to ear like he’s about to get lucky.
“And what exactly did I do? Other than give you the best dick of your life.” He gyrates his hips and she trills a fake laugh. God, do women really fall for that?
I must be making a face because I feel Lochlan’s hot breath from his nose as he laughs. I widen my eyes to silently shush him. He mimics Bojan’s movements, but in the confined space, it’s less of a wiggle and more of a teasing roll. His hands, still on my hips, glide over the curve of my ass. There’s a testing glint in his eyes as he continues to slide them lower. His fingers brush the hem of my shorts.
His fingertips teasing my inseam and brushing against my inner thighs make me miss the first part of Marcella’s sentence. “. . . taking care of our little blackmail problem.”
I rock forward in an attempt to weasel away from his soft touches and their distracting, dizzying effect. It only presses me tighter to his front. When I feel his hard cock against my stomach, my hand on his mouth drops and I try to take a step back. He resists, fingers digging harder into my flesh as he lowers his mouth. I hold my breath as his lips slant a mere inch from mine. Every inch of my skin buzzes—
“Blackmail? What are you talking about?” Bojan’s flirty tone is gone in an instant. Lochlan’s hands freeze and he looks at the closet door, his stare intent, like he only just started paying attention. My chest deflates with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
Bojan backs up. He throws a finger back and forth between them. “Are you saying someone knows about us?” He’s either an incredible actor or he’s just been completely blindsided.
Lochlan and I exchange a look as another suspect is crossed off our list.
“Isn’t that why you killed Jeffery?” Marcella asks point blank.
“Jeffery’s dead? Someone murdered him?” Genuine shock paints his features.
“He had photos, videos. I thought he must be blackmailing you too—”
“Jesus, no.” He shoves his fingers into his hair, tugging on the roots. “It must have been my father.” He begins to pace, dragging his hand over his face. “He’s going to kill you—he’s going to kill me! I have to go, have to get out of here—”
“Wait, Bojan.” Marcella scampers after him as he shoves his phone and keys back into his pockets.
“No, no.” He throws his hands in the air to dodge her reach for him. “He won’t forgive me twice.”
“Twice?” Her voice drops. “He already knows? Oh god . . .”
“Well, no, not about us.” Bojan’s eyes shift uncomfortably. “You remember Milena, don’t you?”
“His bitch of an ex-wife? Of course, what does she have to do with—oh, you bastard!” My hand flies to cover my mouth as Marcella slaps him across the face.
This is better than any reality TV show.
“Do you sleep with all your dad’s wives? Ugh, get out!” She shoves him out and slams the door before releasing a frustrated yell.
Lochlan looks at me, tongue in cheek, and I snort a laugh as we say simultaneously, “Messy.”
My eyes water as I yawn yet again, making the words in the book I’m trying to read blur. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it to dinner.” I pat my cheeks in a futile attempt to wake myself up.
“Take a nap. I’ll make sure you’re awake on time.” Lochlan comes to join me on the couch back at our villa, sliding under my legs and resting my feet in his lap.
