Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Not until you’re ready.” He waved a hand at the racks of clothes on the left wall. “That’s your side.”
Kicking at the sheet that draped her body, she investigated the extensive wardrobe. Cocktails dresses, casual wear, and lingerie filled the space, all with tags and in her size.
She mentally ran through the last twenty-four hours. She’d spent most of that time in this suite.
“When was all this brought in?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Does it matter?” He slipped a blue t-shirt over his head.
“Yeah, it really does. Was it here before I arrived?”
“What does your gut tell you?” He touched a fingerprint scanner on a small safe in the wall, unlocking it and removing the Glock he carried in his waistband.
“My gut tells me…” She studied his face, watching for a reaction. “You expected me to show up as a slave with Van.”
He seated the gun in the back of his jeans and stared at her, eyes and mouth giving nothing away.
“I can’t figure out how, though.” She snatched jean shorts from a cubby and held them up with a questioning brow.
“You can wear what you want during the day, but I choose your attire for dinner.”
Fair enough. “The thing with Larry…that was all kind of up in the air.” She dropped the sheet and slipped on the first bra and panties she found—white lacy things—then the shorts. “I followed him for months, knew he was involved in the trade, but I didn’t know exactly how I was going to infiltrate until I tortured him.”
He leaned against a shelf, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, regarding her with an unreadable expression.
“You must’ve been watching me for a while.” Her stomach clenched with that realization. “But you couldn’t have known my plan until I called you that night to pick up Larry’s body. And even then, I don’t know how you knew.” She put on a brown tank top while keeping her focus on him, examining every twitch in his body. “That would’ve given you two days to stock the closet with clothes in my size, which is really creepy, by the way.”
And immensely satisfying. How many men had that kind of attention to detail?
Stalkers did. And serial killers. Oh, and psychopaths.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “So am I warm on any of that?”
“You’re hot.” A panty-soaking smile filled his face. “Really fucking hot.”
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“The best rewards are the hardest to earn.” He straightened and held out his hand. “Let’s eat.”
Thirty minutes later, she swallowed down the last bite of egg soup and leaned back in the chair on the balcony. It was the best changua she’d ever tasted, filling every crevice in her stomach with rich, milky warmth.
A temperate breeze stirred the humidity to a comfortable level, and the landscape pulsed with the sway of large fronds and the bellow of frogs. But the high-pitched, repeating shrills in the distance sounded like something was dying.
“What’s that noise?” She reached for her coffee mug.
“Tinamous.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Mountain hens. They lay freaky alien-looking eggs with an unusual iridescent shimmer that changes color at different angles.”
“So basically they lay eggs that scream, Hey, look over here! Eat me!”
The corner of his mouth curled up.
“Are they safe to eat?” She wasn’t still considering going Rambo, but a backup plan wouldn’t hurt.
“The birds or the eggs?”
“Both?”
“Yes.” He studied her for an unnerving moment. “Finding food would be the least of your worries out there.”
“Same could be said for in here.” She pushed away the soup bowl and met his eyes. “You never carry a phone, yet you always answered when I called.”
“I don’t need one anymore.” His timbre deepened. “You’re here now.”
He’d only carried a phone for her? She folded her arms across her chest, refusing to be sucked in by the sentiment in that.
“Every device on this property is locked down.” He touched his fingers together like a steeple. “To make a call or access the Internet, two-factor authentication is required—a pin number and fingerprint scan.”
Fuck, there went that idea. She pushed her shoulders back. “I want to call my friends and let them know I’m alive.”
“Not yet.”
Her pulse jumped. “Does the yet mean there might be a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Gracias.” Now for the hard question. “Can I get a private meeting with Nico?”
“No.” His tone was final, his direct eye contact impenetrable.
“Because you’re afraid to ask him or because you don’t want me to talk to him?”
“Neither.”
Interesting. He’d said the inner circle knew about her history with him and that he kept nothing from them. Maybe he just didn’t want to be left out of the meeting. Damn men and their egos. She couldn’t think of another way to go about this, though. It wasn’t like she could snuggle up to Nico’s chair at dinner and demand a meeting from the kingpin. Not without drawing the attention of forty scary-as-fuck hitmen.