Page 56 of Hearts Of Darkness

Before I can stop myself, I’ve unclipped my seatbelt, scrambled onto his lap and I’m smashing my lips against his. A second later, he’s kissing me back with the same violence, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, tugging up my dress and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of my ass.

“You drive me fucking crazy,mi alma!”

“I don’t want you to ask nicely,” I pant. “Take whatever you want from me. Ineedyou to corrupt me.”

His hands are everywhere. They’re tearing at my clothes, grasping my breasts, yanking my head to one side to deepen our connection.

“I’ve never fucked in this car before…”

“Maybe it’s time to change all that.”

“You’re breaching my defenses!”

“Maybe your reactions are slowing?” I reach down to rip open his belt and zipper. He’s rock hard, and I let out a moan of lust. “Two weeks ago, I never would have gotten this close to you without a broken neck.”

“Too many maybes… I need your certainty now.” He shreds my underwear, balling up the ruined scrap of material and tossing it onto the back seat. “Tell me you’ll never unshackle these chains that bind us.”

“Dante…”

“Say it!” He takes my jaw between his hands. He looks so powerful, so hungry, so goddamn beautiful.

“I’ll never unshackle them,” I whisper, meaning every word. We’re bound by something far greater than the sum of either one of us now.

“No matter what happens?”

“I promise.”

Some of the tension seems to leave his face. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he never gets the chance to speak. A loud banging on the roof of the car makes us both jump.

“What the hell?”

Refastening his jeans, he jerks my dress down and pivots me back to my seat as his door is wrenched open. It’s that man Grayson—the American. He’s not wearing his army fatigues today, just black jeans and a T-shirt. The color seems to match the expression on his face. He doesn’t even glance at me.

“Jesus, Dante. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Can’t it wait?”

Dante’s expression is a mask of calm, but I know that look well. A serene surface barely conceals the thunderstorm raging beneath it. Grayson must have a death wish. Dante’s nuance of violence is terrifying when he’s like this.

“I tried calling. You should learn to answer your phone once in a while.”

I cringe into my seat and wait for the explosion. I’ve never heard anyone speak to Dante like that before.

“If this is about that fucking manifesto again…”

Grayson doesn’t even blanche. “Gomez is dead. They pulled his body from a restaurant in Cartagena last night. Sanders is off the grid.”

Dante goes very still. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Emilio keeps calling. He wants you back in South America. I presumed you’d want to leave right away. The jet’s fueling up right now.”

Who the hell is Emilio?

“Hang on a minute.” Dante jerks his head my way and switches off the engine. He exits the car, slamming the door behind him. Through the window, I watch him snap his belt together and rearrange his shirt.

I can’t hear what’s being said. Their voices are too muffled by the glass. Dante doesn’t look happy, though.

He doesn’t look happy at all.