Page 34 of Wicked Fortune

“I should get going,” I say, expecting him to reach for me. To pull me back. To tell me I can’t leave until I show him that I obeyed. That I’m wearing the underwear he sent with the contract.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t try to pull me back.

“Nine tomorrow?” I ask once I’m standing.

He leans back against the smooth leather, both arms spread, one hand slowly swirling his drink. “Nine sharp. And Aria,” he adds with a cocky half-smile, “welcome to the team.”

TWELVE

Matthew kept a loose hand on the wheel, letting the low purr of the Aston Martin’s engine act as a balm on his frayed nerves as he navigated the straights and curves of Mulholland Drive, his headlights the only illumination on this moonless night.

To his right, night spread over the Valley like a glitter-covered shroud, the soft twinkle of lights seeming to mock him, whispering that he was an idiot, a cornered man who’d chosen to dance with danger, and now he was paying the price.

With a low growl, he shifted gears, taking the next curve at a speed that could only be described as foolish. But tonight he was dancing with the devil. And when Satan has you in his clutches, the only way to survive is to boogie on to the bitter end.

The rawness in his gut taunted him. A gnawing uncertainty that had been growing over the past few weeks. Jenny Garland’s death was a crack in the foundation of his empire, and if he wasn’t careful, the house of cards he’d risked so much to build would come tumbling down.

He hit the accelerator hard, hugging the curve as thoughts of Aria taunted him. The way she looked at him, as if she could see behind every mask he wore. She was trouble, he had no doubt about that. And he had to rein her in before she became yet another crack in the foundation.

He almost smiled, because he knew exactly how to distract her. And the good news was that he would enjoy it. Hell, they both would. Not to mention all the other upsides: Keep her close. Keep her occupied. Keep her busy. Keep her safe.

Not a bad assignment for himself. Not bad at all.

And that twinge of guilt? Well, he knew better than anyone how to quash guilt. How to box it up and hide it behind your heart. A heavy load, maybe, but he’d had years to learn how to carry the burden.

A jolt of anger roared through him and he shifted gears, speeding up as he took a sharp turn. His thoughts raced as fast as the little red Vantage, careening through the tangled mess of secrets and lies buried deep within the company he’d built.

He had to move carefully. Stealthily.

For years, the city had tagged him as one of Hollywood’s bad boys.

Well, they had no idea.

This bad boy had a plan. Wheels already set in motion. And when it was all over, he’d be the one on top. That much he swore on the memory of the stone he’d named the Duck, the biggest gem he ever stole. The yellow diamond that had put him on the path to the man he was today.

A respected man. An honored man.

And, yes, a dangerous man.

And now someone was fucking with him? Trying to hold him back?

Someone was going to lose.

Matthew Alexander Holt did not get fucked. Quite the opposite. And if everybody in this town didn’t already know that, they soon would.

But first he had to do something about Aria before she unraveled the entire thing—and got caught in barbed wire in the process.

Damn her.

Damn her and the way she looked at him, the fire in her eyes making his heart go soft and his cock go hard. Damn her for picking the worst time to start poking around in his business.

Most of all, damn her for making him feel things he had no business feeling.

She was poison wrapped in temptation, and if he wasn’t careful, she’d destroy him.

With a guttural growl, Matthew shifted gears again, steering off the treacherous road as he executed a dangerous U-turn. He didn’t want her involved in this—not in any way. The risks were too high, and she had no idea just how deadly was the snake that she was poking.

He told himself to just go home. What was that saying? Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.