Page 9 of Tempting Little Thief

I couldn’t fault him for his failure to keep his word, and I’d hate for him to have to die because of it.

Lie rhymes with die for a reason, or so my father swears.

Why Dom’s in such a rush, I don’t know. We’re still stuck on the education train required of us, even though our IQs might surpass every professor on the payroll at Greyson Elite Academy. We both have a place in this world when all is said and done, but no one knows what that place is.

It has to be earned, as anything worth having always does.

Damiano dips his head, softly pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth, and then he’s out the door seconds after he releases me.

I trail him to the door, slapping my palm onto the large square on the left side of the wall, not bothering to watch as the steel pins jut out from both sides, piecing together and locking everyone else on the other side—not even my girls could get in now, without me allowing it.

Flicking my eyes to the crown molding above, I return to the bar in the left corner, pursing my lips at the topped-off decanter full of Louis Remy Martin.

Only in my world is it normal for a suite designed for and dedicated to three eighteen-year-old girls to be stocked with liquor worthy of a king.

Or queens, in our case.

Of the criminal underground world, that is.

I pour less than a shot into the short crystal glass and draw it to my lips for a slow sip of the oaky butterscotch flavor. Blindly unclasping and easing the zipper down along my left hip, the heavy-pleated uniform piece falls to the floor.

Resting my elbows on the bar top, I drop my head back, close my eyes, and revel in the moment alone as I release the long, slow sigh I’ve been holding for what seems like days. In reality, it’s only been hours since my father broke the foolish news to me, and it’s twisting me up inside in an irritating mix of anger and anticipation.

But seriously, what the fuck is he thinking?

“I’m no expert, but I’m damn sure that’s how them heels are meant to be worn.” The deep, gravelly words come from somewhere behind me, slicing through my thoughts, and it takes true effort not to jump.

With steady, overly practiced grace, I point my attention over my shoulder to the far-right front corner of the room, where a black velvet armchair sits, the particular nook dark for a reason.

The golden edging along the crease of the wall offers the smallest reflection off the chandeliers, creating the slightest silhouette but nothing more.

No man I know, or woman for that matter, would dare slip inside this suite without permission.

Silence falls, and the dead man leans forward in the chair, the light catching on something shiny along the left side of his face.

Gleaming back at me is a silver loop, curved perfectly around a full, crimson, crookedly hooked bottom lip.

My shock gets the best of me, my eyes widening the slightest as recognition dawns, and he doesn’t miss it.

A dark chuckle whispers into the air, the sound deep and rumbly like distant thunder, and then his gaze is flicking over my body. His teeth come out, toying with the piercing before his stare lifts, locking onto mine.

“We meet again, Rich Girl.” He cocks his head, an unrelenting, triumphant smirk spreading. “You gonna offer me a drink or what?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

Chapter 2

Rocklin

The urge to pass off this Don Juan wannabe to literally anyone else is high, but the sharp spark of intrigue, or the sheer lack of self-preservation on his part, is somehow greater.

He couldn’t possibly have tailed me from the gas station. He was nowhere near his broken-down car and I was pushing a hundred within seconds of pulling from the parking lot, so how he’s here right now, I don’t know, but I will find out.

I push off the bar, readying to step behind it, but Tall, Daring, and Dreadfully Dressed seems to be against such a move.

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