Page 8 of Hot-Blooded Killer

He isn’t immune to my attractions. Excellent. Men are always easier to control when their minds are hazed with lust. Something I’ve never experienced—not that I haven’t found plenty of men attractive. Just that I’ve never allowed it to overcome my good sense.

And I never will.

Clear vision—that’s the key to coming out ahead in any negotiation, but especially sexual ones.

“Second,” I say, “we will put on a show for everyone between now and the wedding. As far as Vegas society is concerned, you and I are going to have a whirlwind romance, culminating in a glorious, extravagant, if hastily assembled, wedding.”

A sardonic smile curls the edges of his lips. “There will be other rumors, of course,” he says, and this time his gaze flickers toward my father.

What are the two of them hiding?

“Of course.” I dismiss the concern with a flick of my fingers. “There always are rumors. But when we are in public, you and I will give no one any reason to believe that we are anything but madly in love.”

The lines on the sides of Lorenzo’s mouth deepen, and once again I see the shadow of his former, carefree self.

“And in private?” he asks.

“In private, we can ignore each other as necessary.”

“With the exception that I expect you to provide children.”

“Of course. We will deal with that as necessary.” I let my tone express what little concern I have for that issue. “But if you ever lay a hand on me in anger, then I’ll walk—and not only will you allow it, but you will also forfeit a third of your share of your family’s business interests.” I’ve seen far too many women in families like ours trapped in miserable, abusive marriages, unable to leave without dire consequences. I’m determined to have an out.

“And I presume the same goes for you?” This time, laughter threads through his voice. “If you beat me, I can walk?”

“Sure,” I acquiesce. “I’m fine with that.”

“I won’t abuse you,” Lorenzo says. “And I will never lay a hand on you without your enthusiastic consent.” His voice deepens and roughens on the last two words, and again, I feel a tiny shiver run through my body.

My three most pressing concerns dealt with, I move through the rest of my requirements quickly, and Lorenzo agrees to each of them easily.

When I’m done, Pop leans his elbows on his desk. “Anything you want to add to all that?” he asks Lorenzo.

The younger man shakes his head. “Nothing specific. What else should we consider?”

In the end, everything is negotiated—even down to how often we’ll engage in sex once I’m trying to get pregnant. Lorenzo pushes for every day, but I negotiate it down to three times a week. I try to get him to agree to ovulation tracking and the like, but he refuses—or at least, refuses to allow it to set how often we’ll have sex.

And of course, he insists on a wedding night consummation of the marriage. Again, something odd flutters in the pit of my stomach, and I fight to ignore it.

When I’d known him before, Lorenzo had never been this intense. But all through our negotiations, his green eyes bore into me, his gaze somehow both serious and laughing.

And unsettling me in ways I don’t care to acknowledge.

Not even to myself.

CHAPTER4

LORENZO

Ileave that meeting not knowing what exactly to make of Gia Rossi.

I only vaguely remember her from our time in school together. My images of her from back then are of a bright, cheerful ball of sunshine. She’d been a cheerleader or something like that.

She still looks like someone who was a cheerleader only a few years before. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes, a body that is at once muscular and curvy.

And I still catch glimpses of that girl underneath what I suspect is a façade built to please her father. Hard-hitting businesswoman in training, destined to take her place in the family business.

Until I came along, anyway. Now she’ll be lucky if her children are allowed to inherit anything more than token monetary amounts.

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