Page 23 of Of Desire And Deception

I had to put a stop to all of it.

Space. I needed space—needed to get away from the walking, warm-blooded temptation in front of me.

I stood abruptly, crossing the office in a few long strides, and pulled Wynn from the couch. Those big blue eyes widened when she saw the determination on my face. “I have to go. You can go home for the night if you need to. Zach can handle things.”

“N-no, I’m good, thanks,” she sputtered through her trepidation. I admired that. Too much.

She bit that damn lip again, and I couldn’t resist taking just one more taste. I pressed my lips to hers, softly this time, savoring how her breath hitched and her fingertips grazed the front of my black shirt.

A little more. “Say my name, Wynn.”

“Cosimo,” she breathed.

Yes.

I was skirting the edge of sanity, though what was lucidity, anyway? A definition made by men?

Reluctantly, I forced myself to withdraw, holding Wynn’s gaze as I stepped back and brushed my thumb down my cheek, gathering my blood and hers. I brought my thumb to my parted lips, my eyes rolling back as our tastes melded on my tongue. Her chest stilled completely, the air caught in her lungs as I licked the last drop away.

“Goodnight, goldilocks.”

It was a habit, at this point, to spin and leave her standing alone in my office. The air left her lungs in a rush, practically following me out into the hall and through the back door as I stalked across the dark lot to my car.

I let out a frustrated grunt when I climbed inside, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. In the future, I’d limit my time at Deception. Wynn was quickly becoming a weakness, an obsession I couldn’t afford to have when so much was at stake for the family.

Family is everything, I recited silently.

My car started with a purr, and I cranked up the classical music until there wasn’t room for anything else in my head. It was time to leave the memory of Wynn and look ahead.

Bloodshed would silence the beast within.

Time to hunt.

Chapter Eight

Two weeks had passed, and I’d barely seen Cosimo since he’d patched me up in his office. I tried not to think about the kissing, even though it had blown all previous kisses out of the water. Cosimo Neretti, my target and enemy, was not allowed to be so damn sexy. The longer I went without talking to or seeing him, the easier it was to remember my purpose at Deception, even if it felt like I was sitting in limbo.

Unfortunately, my boss had insisted on a face-to-face meeting since I’d been undercover for a month with no real progress to report. I didn’t typically wander down to the river, but to cover my tracks, I made a hair appointment for the morning at a nearby salon and got a much-needed root touch-up.

My head ached from the chemical smell in the salon, and I breathed deeply as I stepped into the brisk November air. The grey sky threatened rain, and I zipped my coat up to my chin before pulling the hood over my head to protect my fresh blowout. Not that it mattered much. The only person seeing me today was my boss.

People were strolling as I entered one of the paths that led into Jackson Park, but fewer than on warmer days. With my shoulder bag, I hoped I looked like a college student who wanted to visit some of Chicago’s sites. I headed toward the water, finding an empty bench and settling in for the wait, hoping the rain would hold off until after my meeting.

I pulled The Art of War from my bag and opened to a page marked by a neon pink sticky note. It might not have fit my persona, but it had belonged to my dad, one of the few items I never wanted to be without. Given my current assignment, it couldn’t hurt to brush up on the tidbits about espionage.

The wind blowing in off the water made me wish I’d opted for something warmer than my jeans, but the puffy bright pink jacket kept the rest of me comfortable enough. I unwrapped a granola bar and munched on it, tossing the trash into a nearby receptacle. I’d finished a chapter before a jogger in a black tracksuit made a weary beeline for the opposite side of the bench.

Madden made a show of stretching as he placed a foot on the bench and lifted an arm over his head. He looked ridiculous, and I hoped nobody from the Neretti family had followed me because I could see where his sidearm printed against his hip. It wasn’t a standard accessory for a jogger.

“Nice day for a jog,” I said, giving him the agreed-upon all-clear code before looking down and turning a page in my book.

“Nice enough,” he replied, out of breath. I relaxed at the words, knowing our meeting could continue. “What do you have for me?”

“I haven’t been able to get much.” Another page turn. “They haven’t even let me get supplies from the back yet. I told you about the time I was in Neretti’s office.”

“He hasn’t taken you there again?” Madden sounded disappointed.

I let my hair fall into my face before looking to the side where he’d switched legs. “As far as I can tell, he’s barely been at the club. There hasn’t exactly been time for him to try to seduce me.”

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