Page 63 of SINS & Temptation

He bats my nose playfully. “Exactly,” he says and disappears into a back room.

I’m about to grab my bag and run for the hills when my phone rings. Loudly.

The name Riles flashes across the screen, accompanied by the ringtone, “Who Let the Dogs Out?” because she’s been messing with my phone again.

“Shh!” I press the volume down until my thumbprint feels permanent. I answer and rush into—well, I’m not even sure what. A sewing room?

Three sewing machines sit quietly, along with half a dozen ironing boards, irons and steamers, and a mannequin that looks eerily like me, hair and all.

Except for the fact that she’s already naked.

Lace litters the room like a fabric bomb exploded. To my right, a board catches my eye. There’s a photo of me from the beach yesterday pinned to its center, surrounded by sketches of dresses, each one signed with an extravagant flourish.

“What the fuck?”

“What the fuck is right! Oh, my God, Kenni, your boyfriend has his own private jet?”

Her words snap me back to the call. “You’re on his jet?”

“And headed right for you. Did you know they’ll serve me any drink I want? And food. And they even have?—”

“You need to call Agent Knox,” I cut in. “Tell him where you’re landing. Make sure he picks you up.”

“Why?” she asks, confused and wanting answers. “What’s going on?”

“There’s no time to explain.” My heart pounds as I glance around the room, paranoia creeping in. My fingers clutch the phone so tightly it hurts. “Make sure he meets your plane and takes you somewhere safe.”

“But—” she starts to protest.

“But nothing,” I interrupt, gripping the phone tighter. “Don’t ask questions. Just trust me, okay?” Footsteps echo down the hall, coming way too fast. “I have to go,” I whisper urgently. “I love you, Riley.” I disconnect the call.

The door slams shut, and I whip around.

Ricardo stands there, studying me with a cold, hard expression. “Tsk-tsk-tsk. Sneaking off. Discovering my lair,” he chides, leaning in, his voice a low, sing-song whisper. “It rubs the lotion on the skin, or else it gets the hose again.”

Horrified, I flinch. “What?”

“Oh, my gosh. I’ve always wanted to say that.” Ricardo chuckles dismissively while I’m busy scouting the room for exits. “But seriously, darling, if you don’t do exactly as you’re told, I won’t be able to finish in time. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

I don’t know. Is there a deadline? Like being a few minutes late will ruin the big reveal? News flash: Andre D’Angelo already knows what I look like. I mean, when a grizzly bear rips apart a lone hiker for breakfast, does he give two shits what they’re wearing?

Ricardo’s fingers are unexpectedly gentle as he brushes my hair behind one ear. “Make my year and tell me you’re not attached to it.”

I gulp. “Attached to it?” I squeak out, my throat suddenly dry.

“Attached to the length.”

He toys with it some more, and I take a long, hard look at him. There’s something unnervingly familiar about him. How do I know him?

I rub my temple. Is he a mass murderer? Top 10 on the FBI’s most wanted list? My stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He takes a deep, meditative breath, his hand gripping mine. “No, no. You can’t be sick. You must be brave. Brave and daring, darling,” he says, tossing back the last of his drink.

He sets down the glass and pulls out a straight razor, the blade glinting menacingly in the light. “Brave and daring?” I ask, my eyes wide, voice trembling.

“I’m going to make Enzo D’Angelo wish he’d never given me free rein over you,” he smirks. “Don’t worry. The first cut’s always the worst.”

My gasp is so loud he stops. He gives me a sympathetic look, patting my hair once more.

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