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“That’s it,” I said as we rolled to a stop in front of a very expensive townhouse.
Theo didn’t comment at the sudden use of my vocal cords. “Trace isn’t in there, no. But the person who runs the underground house is.”
I shook my head. “Not what I meant. Us. We’re not doing that again. That was the only time.”
His eyes contained feral sparkle in the fading light. “Whatever you wish. You’re in control.”
“I may need to be more specific in the rules, I agree.”
Theo hadn’t argued, yet I still felt the need to put him in his place. “No kissing will now become noskin-on-skin contact.”
“Understood,” he said, then pulled himself out of the vehicle.
“Where are we?” I asked after exiting.
The double doors above the stone staircase opened, their beveled glass revealing a curvaceous shadow.
“I think you’ll remember her when you see her,” Theo said.
She stepped onto the terrace, her hands on her hips, the rest of her voluptuous in a black, silky thin fabric.
I took a step back, my butt hitting the car. Instantly, the alarm began shrieking. I shot forward, tap-dancing my apology.
Theo clicked a button on his keys, bringing silence to the night once again.
It seemed no matter where I was, what country I happened to stumble in or what year it was, this woman would always be better, more charming, more calmly seductive, than I would ever be capable of.
“Rada Khalaji,” I said.
