Page 48 of His Deadly Lies

It’s been impossible to ignore since he touched me at the hospital. Even before I knew exactly who he was.

There’s always been something about his blue eyes, though...

The glimmer in them that hints of a mischievous bent.

The dry way he retorts and the wordplay he engages in effortlessly.

Chemistry is not something you can replicate. It’s either there or it’s not.

Those are heady, weighted thoughts and once not so easily dismissed tonight. For some reason, the heat swirling through my system after drinking the martini impacts every piece of me, including the apex between my thighs. Heat pools there as I turn around to watch Carter watching me.

The look in his eyes is a powerful thing too.

He either wants to fuck me or kill me, and right now, the combination is devastating.

Going with my gut, I walk over and grab him.

“How about we see if you can put those muscles of yours to good use.” I draw him steadily out to the dance floor. Inhibitions lowered to the point where I actually don’t give a shit if he says no or not.

He won’t say no.

Maybe it was a better martini than I gave it credit for.

“Mia, stop,” Carter warns.

“Why? Are you afraid someone is going to mock your movements?” I lean in with my hands trembling slightly—anticipation— and sweat trailing down my spine. “Or are you afraid to show me what you’ve got?”

His reluctance melts away, and within the next heartbeat, he gives in to me.

I walk backward, dragging him with me with my gaze locked on those eyes. He might want to show the outside world he’s an old man, to play into the image, but there is nothing old about him besides the years in his eyes. The ancient soul looking out at me.

And the look I’m getting right now is wicked enough to make me melt.

He offers up no argument when I stop in the middle of the crowd and draw his arms to my waist. He lands them there slowly as I wind mine above his neck and move up close.

He’s no longer sporting an erection—which is a damn shame in my book—but he’s strong and warm. Powerful and composed.

If I’m not careful, then taunting my bodyguard might turn into a dark, delicious habit. Not because he’s easy to get to but because he gives as well as he takes.

And when he falls into a rhythm with me, the music winding around both of us and his arms caging me, I sigh. Carter lifts a brow but doesn’t stop, doesn’t back away. He only holds me close and grinds his hips to mine, following the swaying movements of my body. We fit together. The thought is distant, more of a realization.

I shudder. Fuck, this isn’t good. And I can’t bring myself to care. Not when my blood is lightning now instead of poison, and I can’t keep hold of a stray thought. I tilt my head and lock my eyes on Carter as if he’ll somehow be able to keep me anchored in my body. Even he is blurry around the edges all of a sudden.

My stomach heaves, heat coating my throat. Blood drains from my face.

“Uh-oh. Come on, Princess. Let’s get you out of here.” Carter yanks me toward the front door hard enough for me to lose my grip on him. I windmill to gain my balance, head fuzzy and the rest of me light, and my cell drops out of my pocket. I fumble for it and manage to catch it in numb fingers before it breaks.

Back in the car, I settle into the front passenger seat beside Carter. My fingers twitch on my knees, my body unable to still, my gut flipping repeatedly.

“How long have you worked for Ricardo?” I ask him in a singsong. My tongue is about two sizes too large for some reason.

“Long enough,” he counters.

I grip the seat belt, leaning my head against the cool window pane. “Oh, come on, Carter. Give me something I can work with.”

Carter takes a deep breath, and the sound goes tinny in my ears as darkness creeps closer to the edges of my vision. “I’m not really in the business of making conversation.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from voicing your opinions before,” I tell him.

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