Page 164 of Dance of Deception

Before I can find my words, Kir turns and disappears into the shadows.

Well…wow.

I turn to head back to the dressing room, when suddenly, something hard, muscled, and savage crashes into me. Powerful arms wrap around me like iron. The familiar, overwhelmingly masculine scent of leather, tangerine and rosewood swirls around me.

A grin lifts the corners of my mouth as I twist in Carmine’s arms to look up into his piercing blue eyes.

“Hi,” I blurt through a big grin. I laugh as he scoops me into his arms, dragging me into the shadows. His mouth crashes against mine, desperate and unyielding.

“What the fuck did Kir want?” he growls against my lips.

I ignore his jealous possessiveness and the raw fury vibrating off him. Instead, I whisper, “Did you seriously spend five million dollars to get into the show?”

His scowl deepens. “That Russian fucker has a big mouth?—”

“Thank you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his again. “For showing up.”

He shakes off his irritation, his grip tightening to lift me slightly off the ground as he kisses me harder, deeper, like he needs me to feel just how much he wanted to be here. His breath is hot against my mouth, his voice gruff and absolute.

“I’ll always show up.”

A grin lifts the corners of my lips. “Just like you’ll light the world on fire for me?”

“Exactly like that.”

35

LYRA

I winceas I towel dry my hair, my muscles protesting every movement.

We played rough last night after the show.

Like,reallyrough.

Heat rises to my cheeks as the memories flit through my mind—him chasing me through the house, his footsteps heavy and determined, my breathless laughter cut short when he pinned me down and fucked me within an inch of my life.

I tug on a pair of leggings and pull a sweater over my head, the soft fabric brushing over my still-sensitive skin and the bruises Carmine left behind.

I exhale sharply, shaking off the shiver that threatens to creep down my spine, forcing my hands to stay steady as I smooth the hem.

I don’t want to think about the text yet.

Don’t want to think about what I have to do.

Vera was fine yesterday when I called her. Still bitter. Still cruel. But fine.

She accused me of forgetting about her, said howI’m living it up in my new life while she’s still rotting away in that shitty apartment.Or words to that effect.

I almost reminded her that it was her choice to stay there, that she could have made something of herself a hundred different times over the years, but I didn’t.

At the end of the day, she’s still my mother.

I sigh, shoving the thought deep down so I don’t have to look at it. Don’t have to acknowledge what I might have to do.

Right now, I just need to breathe.

The scent hits me the second I step out of the bedroom.

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