Page 17 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘Anything for you, beautiful.’ He winked and turned away to make the drink.

Naturally, I ogled his ass. Professional interest… Okay, maybe not entirely professional. But honestly? Even that fine behind didn’t hold a candle to Si’s. That wetsuit situation was still burned into my retinas. Gods and baby kittens, what the hell was wrong with me? I needed to stop thinking about him like that… I was like a walking hormone when his image flashed in my mind.

‘There you go, Ma’am.’ The bartender placed my drink down. I gave him a lopsided grin and sucked down at least half of the Old Fashioned.

‘Thirsty?’ the bartender cocked his head at me.

‘Parched,’ I said flatly, then polished off the rest. ‘Another, please.’ I placed the glass on the bar, and he gave me a wry smile.

‘Someone’s having a bad day.’ He grabbed the glass and turned away. A bad day? I almost laughed. If only it were that simple.

This was officially the new worst day of my fucking life.

* * *

My next job was to find a boutique and a dress for tonight, now that Si Thalassa—the arrogant, sexy asshole—had demanded I go to dinner with him. I also needed a cover story for the fake picture on my passport… just in case. One can never be too prepared.

I took the stairs to my room, with the intention of quickly getting changed before going shopping, but halted in the doorway when I spied a tower of pristine white boxes stacked neatly on the bed. Frowning, I strolled over and picked up the larger box, opening it with trepidation. Inside: a mouthwatering Chanel cocktail mini-dress in hunter green metallic lace, with a fitted bodice, scalloped edges, a thin-strap halter neckline, and a tulip skirt.

“What in the world…” I muttered, fingering the luxurious fabric.

A small white card fluttered out.

Reading it, my eyebrows scrunched, then I laughed. The smooth bastard.

“You will look stunning in this.

Don’t be late. Si.”

The second box held a pair of metallic silver open-toe heels—the kind that lace up the calves. The third: a matching clutch and a shimmering silver pashmina.

‘Great. He’s a complete control freak.’ But I knew I needed to keep him happy. Sighing, I stripped and slipped into the dress. If it didn’t fit, I’d still have time to shop. But it did fit. Perfectly.

Had someone come in here to check my measurements?

A chill rolled down my spine, but I shoved that freaky thought aside and turned to the full-length mirror.

The dress hugged me like a whispered promise, and as I ran my hands over the satiny lace, I shivered at how it kissed my skin. ‘Whoa there. Easy, tiger,’ I murmured to myself.

My year-long dry spell was messing with my brain. Or maybe it was the memory of Si Thalassa, and that stupidly hot body; that heart-throbbingly beautiful face. Just thinking about him caused my blood to heat and my lady parts to tingle. Damn him. Good grief, I was behaving like a horny, capricious adolescent.

Maybe I could screw him tonight and get him out of my system?

Oh, yes, screw him before you decapitate him.

Ugh, my inner snarky voice was such a belligerent bitch. Then a pang of guilt pierced my chest. Shit. I smacked my forehead with my palm, shook off the rampaging thoughts buzzing around my brain, and stripping again, sank into a long, hot bath, pushing all thoughts of the mysterious Si Thalassa from my head.

At 6.30 p.m. I placed the final pin into my woven-braided low bun and smoothed the wisps of hair framing my face. My eyes popped with the dark kohl rimming them, lips painted a deep, provocative red, and my cheekbones were sculpted to perfection.

Not bad—for a killer who usually wore fighting leathers.

I smoothed the skirt of the dress as I stood and glanced in the mirror. Satisfied, I snatched up my clutch, which contained the vial of white powder hidden inside an empty lipstick tube, and headed out, pashmina draped over one arm.

Butterflies dive-bombed my stomach as I walked the hall, spine straight, chin high, with adrenaline shimmering under my skin like static. Once on the ground level, I breathed through the anxiety, but tingles of nervousness still radiated through my chest—the feeling of anticipation was smothering.

‘Good evening, Ajax,’ I called sweetly to the bodyguard standing by the entrance. His scowl deepened as I approached. ‘You know your face will stay like that if the wind changes?’ I gave him a regal smile.

‘I’m watching you, woman,’ he said in a rough whisper.