Page 26 of Unlawful Lies

Drawing every ounce of self-possession at my disposal, I rear back before the kisses go brutal with need.

“We’ll figure it out together,” I assure her.

“What are we going to do with him?”

I blow out a breath and take a step back. The night air is chilly but not nearly cool enough to calm the raging lust. And those fucking nipples of hers, so high and perky against the fabric of her sweater?—

“Where is it? The place where your dad stores the bodies?”

Nicola jolts back. “He doesn't have a place like that.”

“I assure you, he does.” My gaze hardens. “Would your brother know about it?”

“My brother barely knows how to tie his shoes properly without a joint in his hand.”

“Then maybe your mother. They have to know more than you.”

Telling her she’s been sheltered isn’t the right way to get what I want, and what I want right now is another cigarette and some sleep.

I want to fuck Nicola Salvatore until she’s screaming my name hard enough to shake the ceiling rafters. My gut tells me none of those things are going to happen.

“Do you trust me?”

She scoffs. “Not a damn bit.”

“You’re going to have to. I’ll store your father, and in the morning, we’ll arrange for a discreet funeral. That’s what he wanted, right?”

She blows out a breath, shaking her head, her eyes going glassy. Her lips are red and plump, and her chin raw from our kisses. “I have no clue.”

My chest puffs out. The daughter of my enemy, my dead enemy, and she’s delicate and pretty and breakable. It doesn’t matter what complications brought us together, and it doesn’t fucking matter what sins we’ve committed against each other. I want to do this for her.

“I’ll handle it. Let me take him someplace, and I’ll be back.”

Before I take a step, her arm whips out, and she grabs my jacket. “Don’t leave me.”

Ah, fuck. It’s exactly what I want her to say and the opposite of what I need her to say.

“I’ll be back. Which one is your bedroom?”

Wordlessly, Nicola points to a room on the second floor at the corner of the house. A light burns inside, muffled by some kind of sheer curtain.

“When I’m back, I’ll find you.”

It takes hours to arrange the body with the funeral home my family bought off. Hours to get the details hammered out with them—they ask no questions—before I’m in the shower and pulling on a clean change of clothes. The cigarette never happens, neither does the booze, and my head is clear enough to make me wish I had both.

Why did I agree to go back?

Why did I agree to do anything for her?

Because I’m a fucking sadist. Because I want to torture myself with the person I can’t have, and I want to be the one who holds her through her sorrow. Not that Nicola will cry. I’ve got a feeling I'll find her with her eyes dry and her nipples still perky.

By the time I drag my ass back to her place, it’s nearing three in the morning. Being in the house before helps, and Nicola left the back door open for me. I climb the stairs, finding her room with the door ajar and the light still burning for me.

She sits up in bed, and her dark hair falls over her shoulders, richer for the paleness of her skin.

She’s changed into her nightdress and the material cuts low.

Any other time, I would have done it. Gone straight for what I want and damned the consequences.

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