Page 14 of Dangerous Deceit

“Coffee?” a server asks.

Kenzo’s hand slips out from between my legs. “Please,” he says.

The conversation moves on, and I’m disappointingly empty. The server pours his cup. No one seems to know what Kenzo did, or at least, they don’t address it; they must have thought his hand was on my thigh—nothing more than a romantic gesture.

Kenzo cups his face, like he’s wiping his mouth, but I swear he licks the edge of his finger, tasting my need right in front of everyone. It’s disgusting. And…maybe a little hot.

Okay, maybe it’sreallyhot.

I sink inside of myself, my entire body aching for him. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like I need his hands on me right now.

“Coffee, Vi?” Kenzo asks.

“Coffee,” I repeat. “Yes, please.”

His smug expression makes my insides burn, and part of me hates him for being like this. For putting me in this bind. For making me like it. The server pushes my coffee forward, and I cross my legs so tightly my thighs go numb. But the achedoesn’t go away. Kenzo puts his arm around my back, dragging his fingertips along my bare shoulders. My skin is covered with goosebumps. He has so much sensual power over me; it’s embarrassing. How did I let it get this far?

I want to say this is for Uncle Jay—for our dream house—for living on the beach like we’ve always dreamed of. But it’s not that.

I’m supposed to act like a virgin, but I didn’t want Kenzo to stop.

CHAPTER 9

KENZO

The gala’s auction begins,but I already put in my bids, so I grab Vi and we slide out unnoticed. After giving instructions to my driver, I open the car door for Vi, then slide in next to her. The driver takes us down the Strip, so that our drive back to her motel room takes a long time. I want a couple of extra minutes with her before I take her back to her uncle.

Her cheeks are red like her hair, and her big blue eyes are glossy and bloodshot from the champagne. The woman had three glasses, but it’s been a long evening. She’s probably not drunk anymore, and the coffee may have balanced out her sobriety, but I don’t know for sure.

I find the refrigeration compartment and give her a cold bottle of water. As she guzzles it, I study her. She looks like she was born and raised in the Midwest, though she’s got the scent of southern California on her. I want to pry back those layers.

“What’d you think?” I ask, angling my head toward the conference center.

“Aboutwhat?” she snarks. She must be a little fuzzy from the whole evening. I run a hand across my face, sniffing inher glorious scent. I can still smell her tangy sweetness on my fingers.

“The gala.”

“Oh.” She lifts her shoulders. “It was fine.”

“And your salmon?”

She stiffens, and we both know we aren’t talking about the fish.

“It was good. I guess.”

After that, she’s quiet. She was compliant throughout the entire dinner, but now, her shoulders are stiff. She hunches in toward the bottle, crunching the plastic in her hands like it’s a stress ball. Every so often, her eyes angle toward her lap, like she’s too afraid to meet my gaze. But I don’t believe it for one second. If she was truly afraid of me, she wouldn’t be here.

But why is she trying to trick me into thinking she’s scared?

“Did you enjoy your evening?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I suppose there are worse things.”

She’s not agreeing to everything I say, like I thought she would. It intrigues me. She has uncertainties, but sheadmitsto them. She isn’t an obedient little lamb like her uncle implied.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

She widens her eyes. “You say that as if I have a choice.”

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