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What I didn’t expect was the sudden curl of desire in the pit of my stomach. A desire that I stamp out quickly, try to ignore.
In another world, he’d be my type. Exactly my type, smoldering dark gaze and all. But when I remind myself who this man is—and what he’s done—any desire I might have felt curdles into rage.
“Damon,” I say, for the benefit of the guard still standing in the doorway behind us.
“My darling,” he replies, his smile narrow and sharp. He knows, of course, that I must be here on my father’s behalf. On behalf of the infamous Mauricio Marrón, the only man who could pull enough strings to arrange for private visitations in a max security prison. Damon might be many things, but he’s not a stupid man. He must know my father is behind this visit.
“I’m closing the door,” the guard behind me says. “Thirty minutes, that’s what you’ve bought.” He pauses, and I can practically feel that leer of his on my back once more. “Don’t care how hot your girl is, Tell, no making a mess in here. This ain’t the conjugal bin.”
“Noted,” Damon replies drily. His eyes never stray from mine.
I wait for the sound of the latch to click behind me before I begin. “Where is it?” I say, the moment the door shuts.
Damon pushes out of his chair and rises to his full height. He stands at least a full head taller than me, towering over, as his smirk widens. “Now, now. Is that any way to greet the love of your life?”
I ball my fists to stop them from shaking. Only now, only when I’m alone in this room, do I realize what a dangerous idea this was. Granted, it was my suggestion—when Dad told me about the heist, and especially about what happened to Eric and his family, I was furious. I wanted revenge. I told Dad I’d help him any way I could. When he admitted that there was something I could do—that he needed a woman to pose as Tell’s fiancée to get in here—I volunteered in a heartbeat.
Now that I’m here, though, I’m starting to think about all the ways this could go wrong. Damon is bigger than me, stronger. If he attacked, could I shout for the guards in time?
Would the guards even come, after the privacy my father requested?
No time to worry about that now. Face him first, then deal with the fallout later.
“I asked you a very simple question, Mr. Tell. Where is the money you stole?”
“Mr. Tell?” Damon clicks his tongue, head shaking ever so slightly. “So formal. Tell me, little fiancée, how much did Marrón pay you to come in here?”
I clench my jaw and raise my chin. “We can make life in here more comfortable for you, you know. Or, if you’d prefer, we can do things the hard way. You see this room?” I gesture around me. “This wasn’t difficult to secure. We can arrange one just like it for you, down in solitary. Want to spend the next, say, six months there?”
“You’re a sexy little thing, I’ll grant you that.” Damon’s gaze rakes over my body, slow and lingering in a way that makes my stomach tighten and my chest feel two sizes too tight. “And you’ve got fight. I like that in a woman.” He takes a step closer. I force myself to hold my ground, to resist the urge to back away. Men like Damon can only understand one thing—strength. And that’s what I’ve always had. I narrow my gaze at him. “But you’re taking the wrong tactic with me. I don’t know who you are, or what you think you know, but barging in here and making threats isn’t going to intimidate me.”
“Who’s making threats? I simply told you how we could help you, Mr. Tell, as well as how we can hurt you. Now, I’ll ask one last time, nicely. Where did you hide the money you stole from the bank during that heist?”
He steps closer again. We’re just a foot apart now, close enough that I catch the scent of his body—soap and sweat and something underneath, something hot and adrenaline-filled that makes my palms tingle in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. His dark eyes haven’t left mine the whole time I’ve been in this room. Now, they narrow, searching. Finally, he huffs out a single laugh, shakes his head, and raises a brow. “Mauricio is going to have to do a lot better than sending in some random chick if he plans on bullying me into talking.”
“Random?” I laugh once, sharp. “More like his heir. And the next time you address me, Mr. Tell, it will be by my proper name. That’s Ms. Marrón to you.”
“Ms. Marrón.” His voice softens as he says it, eyes widening a little in recognition. I can see him piecing it together now. Recognizing my father’s features in mine—the wide brown eyes and black curls we share, as well as my small nose, sharp chin. “My apologies. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of the heir to Mauricio’s fortunes. Tell me, are you as cutthroat as your father?”
“Twice as bad,” I reply without missing a beat. My father is cutthroat, after all, a shark in business. The worst rumors about him, well, he uses those to his advantage to get ahead. He’s not nearly so great a monster as the world makes him out to be. But sometimes it’s useful to let people believe you’re worse than you are.
Like now.
“You’re going to tell me exactly where you put that money, Mr. Tell, one way or another.”
“Please, call me Damon.” He extends a hand. When I narrow my eyes and pointedly ignore it, he shrugs, then runs it through his hair instead. The motion makes the hem of his shirt rise just far enough to give me a glimpse of his washboard abs. “And why don’t we have a seat? Discuss this on more cordial terms.”
Fuck. My thighs clench. A tiny part of my traitorous brain can’t help but think about what those abs would feel like if I ran my hands over them. Or if I tugged off his shirt, ripped it off him right now and pushed him back into that chair so I could touch his chest, bury my hands in his long hair, what would he say then…?
I dig my nails into my palms. Focus. “Damon. Are you agreeing to do this the easy way, then?”
“Anything for my dear fiancée,” he responds with a smirk. “And by the way, now that I know you’re as bad a girl as I am a man, I have to say, I could’ve done worse for myself.” He clos
es the rest of the gap between us, until his chest is inches from my face. I hate the move, since I have to crane my head back to glare up at him now, but I hold my ground, refusing to budge. “Now, little Ashley, is checking me out part of the interrogation technique, or just a benefit for you personally while you’re in here?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping not to give anything away. “How do you know my name?”
“Everyone who works for Mauricio knows about Ashley. The light of his life, the reason he does all this, blah, blah, blah.” Damon tsks and reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my shoulder, slowly. The move is at once so forward and so familiar that it catches my breath in my throat, and I simply stare at him. Belatedly, I realize I should slap his hand away, but he’s already dropped it and cocked his head to study me once more. “I see now why your father is so proud and protective of you, Ashley. You’re quite a woman.”
I lick my lips, which have gone dry. Damon’s gaze drops to follow the trace of my tongue, and I find myself wondering what his lips would taste like. How that broad mouth would feel pressed against mine, his stubble grazing my cheek. How would it feel if he crushed his mouth against mine right now, wrapped those big, strong hands around my waist and lifted me against this wall? How would it feel if he pressed his thick cock between my legs, let me feel the bulge through his jeans, slid against me as I was pinned between him and the wall…?
