Page 34 of Corrupted Deception

“Never leave home without them,” she said in a singsong voice.

“I see you’ve done your research, but I think the cartel is onto you.” If the guy in the ring last night was any indicator. “I know the club, though. I can have people keeping eyes on you. But that still puts you alone in a hotel room with a man that’s likely twice your size.”

She scoffed. “It wouldn’t be the first time, Cielo. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

I shook my head. “You draw him in, and I’ll be in the hotel room, waiting.”

“Hey, Goose. You do remember what a wingman is, right?”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Goose died.”

“Yup,” she said with a shrug. “See what I’m saying. I’d hate to see history repeat itself.”

“This is the plan,tempesta.Take it or leave it. I should warn you, though, if you choose to leave it, this evening ends with me dumping your fine ass in my car and driving you away from here.”

“Why?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

I looked at her, at the perceptive silver eyes I’d never forgotten, at the puzzle I’d never solved.

I shrugged. “Because once upon a time I knew a girl.”

Chapter Ten

Charlotte Santoro

As I stepped into the strobe light-lit nightclub, the bass thumped in my chest.

I’d read that music can affect a person’s heart rate, and mine was already speeding up, thudding nearly in time with the heavy beat as the door shut behind me.

My gaze scanned the room, taking note of the vast mix of patrons, dressed in everything from jeans and Henleys to tailored three-piece suits.

I spottedCarlos Mendoza on a love seat in the far left corner of the club.He was an attractive man with medium-brown hair and eyes and dark scruff across his jaw. He wore a meticulously tailored dress shirt, the fine fabric gliding effortlessly over his broad shoulders. Its deep navy hue accentuated the sharp lines of his physique, and the top two buttons were undone, revealing the edges of a black tattoo and a sparse sprinkling of carefully clipped chest hair.

Well, at least this one manscaped.

He was hemmed in by two scantily clad blondes, makeup overdone and hair teased too much. It was too bad; they really were pretty girls, one curvy and one thin, the contrast highlighting the beauty of each of their figures. The music drowned out their laughter, but I could imagine it, tinkling light and fake as shit. If Mendoza were a wise man, he’d count his blessings and content himself with the two women who were quite obviously enthralled with the prospect of screwing the handsome man.

A wicked smile tugged at my lips. His preference for sophisticated-looking women would be his undoing.

I navigated the crowd in search of a partner to lure Mendoza in.

In my experience, there were few things a man wanted more than a woman with a “claimed” stamp on her ass. The challenge of putting his own stamp on her was just too enticing to resist.

My eyes honed in on a tall, attractive stranger standing a few feet from the dance floor and right in Mendoza’s line of sight.

I moved toward him with calculated sensuality, making sure I caught Mendoza’s eye in the process.

The stranger, with just a hint of rugged charm, looked at me with curiosity and a growing desire.

I extended my hand, and with a sultry smile, I invited him to join me on the dance floor.

He accepted with a confident nod, and together, we began to move to the music as a memory flashed behind my eyes and made them sting at a most inopportune moment.

“I look ridiculous,” I whine, staring at my reflection in the wall-to-wall mirrors in the near-empty dance studio.

I’ve been bumping and grinding and rotating my hips for the past two hours. Well, that’s what I’ve beentryingto do. I might as well be doing the chicken dance for all the sexual appeal I’m exuding here.

“Again,” my instructor from hell snaps.

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