Page 28 of SINS & Temptation

Or, what if it isn’t even Enzo or his jet at all? This could be up there with sightings of aliens and yetis. Just a bunch of sex-starved women clinging to the hope that Enzo the Sex God is skipping around like a wickedly bad Santa, ready to bestow his mighty Christmas stick to women near and far.

Or, what if this is one of the women he’s actually rescuing? Like the ones I saw with my own eyes. It’s easy to imagine Enzo as the king of the ruthless mobsters by day, and hot, dark hero by night.

That in his own special, maniacal way, he’s doing what he can to right all the wrong’s of the world.

Then again, there’s one more option left. What if his legion of fans are actually right? I mean, they’re spot on about the size of his obelisk of a dick, that’s for sure.

God, why can’t my hyperactive brain just shut down already?

Feeling deflated, I set down the phone and grab my purse. If Riles really did leave me cookies, they’re about to get demolished.

I rummage through it in the dark because everyone knows there are no calories in the dark, and finally pull out the box. It’s harder to open than I thought, and I pretty much tear it apart in my frustration.

That’s when I notice it—a small red dot glowing from the corner of the ceiling.

What the hell is that?

I stare harder, trying to remember. Was that there earlier? Maybe. Who ever looks up at the ceiling?

Is it . . . it couldn’t be . . . a camera?

And does the red light mean that thing is actually on?

I switch on the light, and there it is—a camera, clear as day. And in my hand? Definitely not cookies. Not even close.

It’s the Titan 2000. The label reads:

Extra-long, Extra-thick,

Made for her Ultimate Pleasure

Engineered for maximum satisfaction with

lifelike texture and revolutionary technology

20-settings plus heat

Below, in fine print, it boasts, “Waterproof, rechargeable, and guaranteed to deliver toe-curling ecstasy—or your money back.”

Blech. Who takes back a vibrator?

And my baby sister found it, bought it, and stuffed it in my purse. I couldn’t be prouder of her if I tried. How I didn’t notice it earlier, considering it’s roughly the size of Florida, is beyond me.

But I’m definitely noticing it now—along with the watchful eye of Enzo’s spyware dangling from the ceiling.

Is he watching me?

Fondle a vibrator?

My pulse skyrockets at the thought of him spying on me, stalking me in my intimate, private moments. It should make me feel angry and violated, furious if I were even the slightest bit sane.

But it doesn’t.

Of all the things I could feel right now, I feel bold. And definitely a little bit naughty.

And whether he’s watching or not, my hand moves without permission. I know I shouldn’t do this. I’m asking for trouble. And possibly a straight jacket.

I slide a finger along its length, delicately stroking every ridge, smoothing my hand up and down as if every move is for the pleasure of two golden eyes hiding in the dark.

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