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“Yes.”
He arches an eyebrow. There I go again, making decisions before I can file them into good or bad categories.
His offer pounds around my head like a migraine.
“I mean, uh, I don’t know what to say.”
“Think about it properly.” His voice lowers. “Then say yes.”
I draw in a deep breath and think. I promised myself—and God, if he exists—that stealing a diamond from the Van der Boor yacht would be my last bad decision.
This sounds like a walking, talking bad decision.
I cover my face and groan. “What’s the catch?”
He swallows. “Two conditions. For the month, you’re mine. I own you.” His gaze burns below my collarbone and he licks his lips. “All of you. You’ll do what I want, when I want.”
My heart skips a beat, and I try my best to stifle a moan. Instead, it comes out in a weird sort of squeak.One month at the mercy of this smoldering, mystery man? Run. Run away and don’t look back.
“The second?” I choke out.
A train blusters past the kitchen window. On the counter, muddy brown liquid sloshes over the rim of his coffee cup.
Plunged back into silence.
He pushes himself off the counter and crosses his arms over his enormous chest. “You don’t tell me your new name, or where you go.” When I do nothing but blink at him, he adds, “We walk away. No strings attached, and we never see each other again.”
My fingers claw at the edge of the counter, just in case my knees fail me.
“One month and this will all go away?”
He nods.
I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, and I turn away from his scorching stare and sculpted torso so I canthink.
“You said you weren’t going to cash in your favor from me.”
“I changed my mind.”
I think.
I owe Lucky eight million dollars. He wants it in under two weeks. It doesn’t take a mathematician to figure out that if I go with this man, I won’t meet that deadline. Hell, who am I kidding? There wasn’t even the tiniest possibility I was going to meet it anyway.
That poses another question, then.
“This… relocation. How likely is it that I’ll never be found?”
He snorts behind me. “I make people disappear for a living, Dahlia Rose. Next question.”
“So, uh, no one will be able to find me?”
“No.” He pauses. Flares his nostrils. “Not even me.”
I spin around, faltering at how close his hard body is to mine. I search his eyes for something, anything, that tells me this is a bad decision.
Is this just history repeating itself? The man on the motorcycle all over again?
I have to be sure it isn’t.
