Page 99 of Sinful Lies

The NYC skyline stared back, all glitter and steel.

My brows furrowed.

“Wait,” I started, still looking out. “Weren’t we just in Aspen?”

He sighed. “What do you remember?”

I closed my eyes, searching through the chaos in my head. My skull throbbed in response, like my brain itself was protesting the effort.

Please, aspirin, work your magic.

Flashes came back in fragments, scattered and blurry.

Then one hit me so vividly I opened my eyes.

The suite came back to me in flashes—dim lights, plush carpet, and… him.

I’d stripped right in front of him, the cool air prickling my nipples, his body pressing into mine like he couldn’t help himself. His hand had circled my throat, and my heart had pounded against his palm, not from fear but something elseentirely.

And then I’d begged him—actually begged—to take me hunting.

What the hell had I been thinking?

That’s where my memory fuzzed out, like a scratched DVD skipping over the good parts. Everything after that? Gone.

“I remember… the forest. Snow. That’s it.”

He nodded slowly. “We were hunting. A boar charged us. You panicked, fell, and hit your head on a rock hidden under the snow.”

I stared at him, stunned. “A boar?”

“Big one. Ugly bastard.”

“That’s … humiliating.”

He smirked. “You’re lucky I was there to carry your dramatic ass back to safety.”

“Dramatic?” I snapped, gripping the glass tighter. “I hit my head ona rock, Angelo.”

His name left my lips, unfamiliar, yet dangerously intimate.

I never called him by his name—too personal, too much of a temptation. But now, the way it slid off my tongue, making my lips ache for more, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to say it over and over again, just to feel it linger.

“Exactly. Next time, leave the hunting to me.”

I set the glass back on the nightstand. “And what about you? What’s your excuse for looking like you took on a bear?”

“Nothing,” he said, dismissively, reaching for his phone. “Anyway, I took you to the hospital. They patched you up, said it was just a bump to the head. Then we flew out—jet, helicopter, and now here we are.”

My jaw dropped. “And I just slept throughallof that?”

“You’ve been out for two days, Miss Whitenhouse,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Guess that rock wasn’t a fan of yours.”

I squinted my eyes, frustration bubbling up as I reached for something, anything, to throw. My fingers brushed against a pillow, and without thinking, I hurled it at him. It was a weak, half-hearted attempt, but of course, he dodged it effortlessly.

He straightened up and coolly gave me a look. “If you’ve got enough energy for theatrics, you’ve got enough to freshen up.”

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me there, alone and fuming.

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