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“You two look like you belong on a marriage counseling ad.”
“Only if I get to be the scorned wife.” Asher leaned forward, nuzzled his face against Gio’s shoulder, and made an exaggerated show of fake tears. “Oh, Dr. Phil, he’s cheating on me. With another man.”
Cue more fake tears.
He could be theatric for a stone-cold killer.
When Asher and Lucy were attacked in their penthouse, Asher had his security guards play dead while he picked off his intruders one by one, toying with them, each death a taunt, each second he remained undetected in the dark a tease.
Me? I would have picked them off quickly. Efficiently, with little to no pretense.
I didn’t have Asher’s patience, and I. Didn’t. Give. A. Fuck.
Since when has patience ever mattered?
Gio pushed Asher’s head off his shoulder. “Fuck off.”
I ignored the three of them, my interest drifting back to Ariana. I couldn’t look away.
Why couldn’t I look away?
As much as she annoyed me, she also demanded my rapt attention. Perhaps that was why she annoyed me in the first place. That, or her smart mouth and tendency to wage battles against me that she could never win.
I was the dark prince. Jaded. Devious. And a little too fucked up for my own good.
I was the guy women talked about ten or twenty years from now, whispering in secret about how I’d given them the only orgasm they could remember only to never call them back.
Ariana De Luca, on the other hand, looked like she belonged in a jewelry commercial for wedding rings, standing between a slightly overweight golden retriever; some pathetic, clinically handsome sap, who doted on her every move; and their two-point-five blonde-haired, blue-eyed children.
When I’d first met her, I had dismissed her.
After our last encounter, which ended with her on her back and my cum jetting onto the desk, I knew better.
I couldn’t deny her allure, something that couldn’t be pinned down or described in a way that truly did her justice.
She was wearing a black cocktail dress.
Just like I’d asked her to.
Mid-thigh.
Just like I’d asked her to.
Light cleavage.
Just. Like. I’d. Fucking. Asked. Her. To.
Her obedience, unfortunately, was as much of a turn on as her defiance.
And I decided, then and there, that I wanted to fuck her.
Hell, perhaps I had decided that the moment she had served me a glass of Gewürztraminer with the charcuterie platter. The way her lips looked wrapped around a forkful of porchetta only sealed my intentions.
Any day now, L’Oscurità would get an applicant worth hiring. When that day came, I would fuck Ariana, and then I’d fire her.
Problem solved.
My phone buzzed.
