Page 54 of Hearts Of Darkness

“I learned how to drink warm beer and fuck women. The idiosyncrasies of the English language may have escaped my attention.”

“Tell me about your scars then,” I say, running my finger along the ugly blemish staining his rib cage. “Did you anger the wrong woman,or the wrong cartel?”

“If I said the former, would you be jealous?”

“I’d feel respect more than anything else. You’re not easy to wound.”

“I’m not easy to catch, and I never fight fair when I am.” He rears up and presses his lips against mine, catching me off guard. Stunning me with his magnetism until I’m pulling away, breathing hard.

“Is that why you hide away in Africa?”

He sinks back down to the bed with a groan. “I don’t hide away from anyone. I’m strategic as to where I conduct my business from.”

“But you’re a mercenary. You go where the business is. You’re a rent-a-kill for the cartels.”

There’s a pause. “And you came to this conclusion, how?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Hush, Eve. You’re spoiling for a fight again, and I have no wish to give you one.”

“But am I wrong?”

“Afghanistan,” he says abruptly. “That’s where I got the scar.”

“Afghanistan?” I’m shocked by his honesty. I had a hunch he may have served in the military somewhere, but I never expected him to confirm it. “What were you doing out there? Where were you based?”

His cell starts beeping. Ignoring my question, he reads the incoming message and frowns. I watch him swing his long legs out of bed.

“Who is it?”

“Someone blowing up the rent-a-kill hotline,” he drawls.

I wish it was a joke. I wish so many things were differentbetween us. I kneel behind him and slide my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts again the burning skin of his back, filling my nostrils with his rich scent—the one I’d drown in if I could.

He turns his cell screen away so I can’t read the message over his shoulder.

“It must have been quite a change for you,” I say, dropping my arms. “Demoting yourself from such an honorable profession to such an unprincipled one.”

“The lines are never as clear cut as you think.” He slaps his cell back down on the nightstand. He seems distracted. Angry…

“I’d hardly call the narcotics industry—”

“Drop it,” he says sharply, standing up and pulling on his jeans.

“Dante—”

“Take a shower and get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t ask twice, and because I want to show you something.”

He takesmy arm as we exit the house and steers me in the direction of the black Ferrari parked in the driveway. His cell beeps twice more, but he ignores it both times.

“This is quite a set of wheels,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Impressed?”

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