Page 137 of Made to Sin

The corners of his lips faintly tipped up. “Dante.”

“Dante,” I repeated. Unfortunately, his name curled perfectly off my lips, and I had the urge to say it again. “Dante.”

“Yes, darling?”

The endearment, although false, set my heart into rapid motion. I was supposed to be messing with his head, yet the tables were unfairly turning.

Stupid good-for-nothing physiological attraction.

“What is someone like you doing in a library when there is a lively band of people downstairs?”

“Someone like me?”

“Your reputation isn’t the cleanest when it comes to women.”

“So you were aware of who I am,” he sharply confronted.

I internally face-palmed myself for the thoughtless slip-up. Sure, I wasn’t the best at lying, but I couldn’t say I’d ever been called out for it.

A tinge of blush rose to my cheeks, and I dropped my hand from his face, turning to the far wall of bookshelves. How did a person recover from this in the most natural way?

Catching me off guard, a calloused palm landed on my bare thigh and lazily grazed the flesh. I froze at the abrupt contact, my skin burning as if I dropped a bucket of hot coal at the site.

“What’s wrong, Alina? Cat got your tongue?” He taunted, drawing his hand higher than socially acceptable.

I gritted my teeth at the mockery but repressed the emotions before they showed on my face. He was good, I’d give him that, but I wasn’t one to give up so easily.

Staring into his eyes, I let out a sickly sweet smile. “I guess we both assumed then. With a face like yours, at least I have an excuse.”

He smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Touché.”

The competitiveness sparked to life again when he let me get away with the lie. There was almost nothing better than winning, and I loved to win. The heady rush of triumph was a close second to the high I got when I killed— unbeatable adrenaline.

Sadly, I didn’t get a chance to enjoy my sore-winner attitude for long. He stopped tracing at my inner thigh, changing the motion to a hard squeeze. My golden skin blemished red, the imprint of his hand starkly contrasting the stinging surroundings.

While the grip was distracting in and of itself, I was more worried he’d find the dagger I hid. His hand was approaching dangerous territory, and I needed the element of surprise on my side.

Promptly sliding off the armchair and away from his hold, I walked over to the generic minibar that was equipped in every room of the hotel. If he thought it was weird, hopefully, he’d chalk it up to me being nervous with his upfront flirting.

“Would you like a drink, Dante?” I threw the question over my shoulder, emphasizing the sway of the wig’s sleek bob.

I didn’t fancy alcohol. It blurred the mind, and I couldn’t afford mistakes when I was on a job. Though tonight, it didn’t stop me from pouring a finger’s worth for the liquor courage. Something told me I would need it when it came to this man.

“Cognac, please,” he responded.

I let out a small sigh of relief under my breath at his neutral tone. No emotion was better than suspicious emotions.

“In a cocktail?”

“Alone.”

“That’s a bit heavy on an empty stomach,” I mindlessly commented, focused on pouring a shot of the amber liquid.

“How do you know I haven’t eaten?”

That was two screw-ups in one day. What was wrong with me?

Coming up with a poor excuse, I reasoned, “Since you’re here and the party barely started, I doubt there was much food. Please, correct me if I’m wrong.”

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