Page 125 of Sinful Lies

The bastard had fucking shot me, for fuck’s sake.

But even he had barely registered in my mind these days, shoved aside by someone far more dangerous.

A pretty demon with long black hair, and eyes so haunting they should’ve come with a goddamn warning label. Every time I looked into them, it felt like they burned deeper, pulled harder—like they were made to drag me into hell and make me savor every second of the fall.

Last night, I’d fought like hell not to fuck her.

Every second had been a war because, for once, it wasn’t just about wanting her body—though God knows I did. I had needed her to see that opening up, baring something raw and buried deep inside, wasn’t just a ploy to get her into my bed.

I didn’t want her vulnerable for my gain.

I wanted her toneedme—really need me.

This wasn’t a fucking game for me.

I wanted the damned woman in ways I couldn’t even put into words.

I wanted her so badly it ached, like an itch I couldn’t reach no matter how hard I tried.

My father let out a heavy sigh, the kind meant to convey some profound disappointment I couldn’t fucking care less about.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

Good.

Now I knew exactly what I needed to do.

But first, I reached for the phone on my desk, and pressed the red button.

“Yes, sir?” Grace answered promptly.

“Miss Whitenhouse left for the day,” I began, leaning back in my chair. “Send her a voice message. Let her know a chauffeur will be waiting for her downstairs in thirty minutes. Tell her it’s a last-minute emergency.”

Grace didn’t respond right away.

The silence was long enough for me to picture her on the other side of the door, her lips pressed in that disapproving line she thought I didn’t notice.

“Of course, sir. I’ll handle it and head home. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Grace.”

I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled under my chin as my smirk widened.

The little devil has no idea what was coming her way.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Dragging me out on Christmas Eve? I tolerate your psychotic tendencies all year, Lazzio. The least you could do is let me drink hot cocoa and bask in the Christmas spirit for one freaking night, like a normal human being.”

Ah, there she was—back to her usual pain-in-the-ass self.

I suppose pretending she hadn’t been naked in my bed, pressing her body against mine, was just part of her twisted little holiday denial.

Fine. Let her act innocent.

We both knew the truth—her body had spoken a whole different language when my hands had been on her.

I extended a hand to help her out of the car, but she swatted it away like I’d offered her a dead rat.

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