Page 47 of Scarlet Angel

That was my first thought. My second was that I could see why he so-called rescued her by agreeing to marriage. But then she ushered us to the church, and I wondered what the fuck was wrong with Leo that he chose a bleached blonde when he could have pursued the fiery dame.

Leo said she killed her husband, and sick chap that I am, the tidbit intrigued. So I asked around. The bartender at my hotel in Rome had not only heard of her but shared gory details of a severed dick placed in her husband’s mouth and his death by asphyxiation.

My bullshit detector rang. But here’s the thing about tall tales, there’s usually a kernel of truth from which they sprout.

When I learned she was the bookkeeper for her uncle’s shipping company, I set aside my desire to fuck her and my curiosity about her torture techniques. She’s a resource. Sex can be procured with ease. Access to the Lupi Grigi’s Achilles’ heel is rare.

And now, I don’t know what the fuck is going on in my head—why I’m noticing every damn inch of her.

She’s handed over everything useful, but she needs to remain alive. If I had my head about me, I’d send her far away like she asked. Greenland. Australia. Some place they’d never look and that I possess zero association.

Yet the thought of flying her anywhere, even a quick jaunt to London, twists my insides. When she went to London, I tripled security for her and Lina.

And then I go and touch her. Fuck, how I wanted to curve my hands around her ribs to her chest, to cup her breasts, to tweak her nipples.

The little moans that escaped as I worked on her back went straight to my cock and fed my brain a constant stream of pornographic ideas. Visions danced of her naked before me. Her long legs spread wide. Tasting her, sucking her, memorizing every tattoo, every curve and ridge, and god, sinking into her tight heat, slamming into her. Over her. Behind her. Quite the daydream.

Where I got the strength to walk away without trying something when I had her pliant, I’ll never know. But I’m at the door, and it’s time to exit.

My heart thunders in my chest, and there’s a light coat of perspiration around my temples. I brush it away with my palm. It’s too bloody hot, an inferno of temptation and the ultimate forbidden fruit.

I pull open the door and am met by a cool draft.

“Wait,” a wily, feminine voice calls. I’ve one foot in the corridor and one too close to temptation. “Would you like for me to return the favor?”

Erotic visions blast through my filthy mind.

Her fiery strands glow crimson in the firelight. That scrap of cotton reveals the dew drop shape of her breasts and a hint of color…

Christ, her nipples. Shapely. Aroused.

“I’ve got to go.” I don’t bother closing the door behind me. It’s way too bloody hot in that room.

On the way to my office, Lina crosses my path. “Chef said you made her come back.”

“Do you need something?” What the fuck does Lina care about the chef?

“What’s up with you?”

“Lina.” I exhale frustration and suppress the desire to push my fist into a wall. There’s no need to be angry. This is sexual frustration, and I fucking know how to handle it.

“Did someone take a piss in your cornflakes?” she taunts.

I don’t bother with an answer. I’ve already worked out today, but I might go for a run.

I leave my sister in the corridor, round my desk, and skim a flurry of updates. Two cartel leaders captured in the United States. El Paso, Texas.

It’s just what I need. I set about investigating. A glorious coincidence. Perfectly timed. When the authorities descend on Titan Shipping and those involved within the Lupi Grigi, it won’t stink of me. Especially if Scarlet leaves to return home and mysteriously doesn’t arrive.

CHAPTER12

SCARLET

Touch.

It’s important to our sense of wellbeing.

That’s what my therapist said.

---