Page 106 of For Your Eyes Only

His hazel eyes move like a caress over my fingers wrapped around the cool drink dotted with condensation, to my exposed arm, to my neck, my lips…

“It’s so warm today.” My voice is breathless when he takes the glass from my hand.

I lift my long hair off my skin to tie it up on my head, and his eyes fall to my breasts, bound by the V in my lavender wrap dress.

The hunger in his gaze is as hot as my insides every night, and if he said we were going to have sex right now, I would likely stand and take off my clothes.

Instead, he grins. “Why are you so sweet to me?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, doing my best to act as casual as he always does. “You set me up in a fabulous condo. You gave me a job when I had none.”

“Am I allowed to take credit for that? I didn’t even know you.”

“You were a good boss. You cared about your employees, and I did jeopardize your business.”

He groans, dropping his head back. “None of that mattered to me.”

“You threatened to have me deported.” Heat rises in my throat, and it’s good. It reminds me why I have to keep my guard up around him.

His lips tighten, and he lifts his chin. “It’s time I tell you everything.”

“Okay.” I'm quiet. “I’d like to hear everything.”

Our eyes meet, and his are deadly serious. “I told you I’m a bad man. I’ve done things I never want you to know.” Exhaling heavily, he studies his hands. “Fuck, I don’t even know what I can tell you now without putting your life in danger.”

I sit back and wait, preparing myself for the worst.

He continues. “I work with very rich, very powerful men. I don’t mean just in America. These men are powerful on a global scale and richer than you could imagine. They’ll do anything to protect their power and money, but above all, to keep their identities secret.”

“Why secret? Most people like to show off.”

“Not these guys. They’re deadly quiet, because much, if not all, of their work—well, it bends the law.”

My brow furrows, and I remember my unexpected visitor. “One of them came to see me.”

“Who was it?” His eyes flash, and the muscle in his jaw flexes.

It’s such an intense show of anger, I’m afraid. “He was my Number 1 fan. Andre Bertonelli.”

“What did he say to you?”

Shaking my head, I cut to the main points. “He wanted money. He said he didn’t want to hurt me, but he said you would force his hand.”

Trip’s eyes close, with an exhale. He rests his head against the headboard, and his tone is flat. “Andre Bertonelli is dead.”

“Oh!” My throat tightens as I remember the desperate man in my room. “Is that how you were shot? Did you kill him?”

“No.” His tone turns deadly. “I wish I’d killed him. I was trying to get answers from the criminal who gave me the news when I was shot.”

I’m strangely relieved Trip isn’t a murderer, despite what he keeps saying, he’s not a bad man. Still, “Why do you work with men like that?”

Shaking his head, his green eyes meet mine. “It was a shortcut to wealth and power. I was arrogant. I wanted to be independent… I didn’t know there are no shortcuts, and in the end, it cost me more than I wanted to pay.”

“Are you in danger now?”

“I don’t know.” He looks down. “I quietly began divesting my interests in Manhattan, in south Florida, cashing in my chips and moving my money into offshore accounts. I don’t know why they were watching me, but I’m not looking to go back and ask.”

A loud knock on the door startles me. “Hold that thought.”

---