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  She tried not to think who had bought them, and just hoped sincerely it had been Ana. The woman definitely had a flair for slutty clothes, judging from what she herself wore around the villa.

  The camisole set Cora had chosen was a light cream and seemed the most modest choice. She grabbed her black silk robe from the back of the chair where she’d thrown it earlier, and drew it over her shoulders.

  She wasn’t going to put up with Finn accusing her of seducing him this time. All she wanted was to talk. To tell him straight up that what they’d had was fun, but that he was obviously not right for her, and she for him. That they should forget about each other—

  But it was Lars who stood in the doorway when she pulled the door open, not Finn.

  The sight of him paralyzed her for a few seconds. He had one hand on the door jamb, leaning against the frame with his hip as if there was nowhere else in the world he had to be right then except right here. Then his eyes fell to her breasts, which had escaped the modest veil of her robe and were straining against her camisole. She hurriedly drew the robe closed. “What are you—?”

  “I told you he’s not coming,” Lars said, sounding curious. He stepped forward, and she instinctively took a step back. Lars wasn’t as broad shouldered as Finn but he was just as tall, if not taller. “So who’d you dress up for?”

  “This?” she tugged at the strap of her camisole where it peeked out from under the satin robe. “I didn’t exactly have a vote, okay? This is all there is in that—” She turned and gestured at the door of the walk-in closet.

  A hand slid into her hair. She jerked violently, bending her knees to get free. But those fingers snagged, tugging hard enough to make her cry out in pain, in panic.

  Lars drew her against him. She tried landing an elbow in his stomach, but he curved out of the way like a snake. She tried stamping her foot onto his shoe, but he shifted as if he’d read her mind.

  He clapped a hand over the front of her throat, and whispered, “Milo said I shouldn’t judge you. Said I should get to know you first.”

  His words made her hesitate. “Finn said that?”

  “But I don’t think there’s anything else to you, bunny,” Lars hissed as if he hadn’t heard her. “I think you’re as vapid and as self-centered as they come.”

  A note of defiance entered her voice. “I’m not—”

  But then his lips were on the side of her throat. She shivered, and then squirmed away from him. “What are you doing?” Her voice was an octave higher, breathless.

  “I’m getting to know you.” Lars’s hand left a trail of skittering spiders over her flesh as he traced the outline of her collarbone. “With your permission, of course, my queen.” The last was bitter with sarcasm, but still the bass of his voice was doing incomprehensible things to her body.

  Her insides gave a hard, slow ache. Her skin had come alive. She could feel every touch of the silk and satin she wore.

  “No, I…” His lips touched the edge of her jaw, and her words cut off with a sigh. “You shouldn’t be…”

  He released the grip on her hair. Caressed her shoulder instead. Wormed his finger under the neckline of her robe and eased it from one shoulder, then the other.

  Her hands were still up, gripping his wrist—when she’d taken a hold of him she couldn’t remember—and his pulse thrummed under her fingertips. Calmly ebbing and flowing while her heart raced like a runaway horse. She could feel it slamming against its cage of ribs, making her skin vibrate. Nervousness? Excitement? Fear?

  “You do smell good,” Lars murmured, his lips close enough that they tickled her cheek when he spoke. “But that’s not enough. Finn saw something in you. Something…”

  His lips touched the corner of her mouth and, as if that touch triggered a hidden switch, her lips parted of their own. Her breath rushed raggedly in and out of her, her eyes fluttering somewhere between open and closed as she began losing motor function. She’d left only the light on the nightstand on—its feeble glow did nothing more than illuminate the outlines of the furniture scattered through the massive room.

  Which must have made guiding her to the chaise lounge chair that much easier for Lars. She was still turned away from him, still cradled against his body. When her shins bumped against the chair, he paused.

  As if giving her a last chance to escape.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  He turned her head, and brought his lips to hers. So soft, it was barely a touch. His breath so hot, it made her lips writhe whenever he breathed on her. He brushed his lips over hers, teasing her with the thought of what a full kiss would be.

  And that thought made her skin break out into goosebumps. She went on tiptoes, trying to deepen their kiss, but Lars pulled back.

  He stared down at her, his eyes no longer regarding her like a potential target. Instead, his gaze flickered over her face as if he was trying to memorize every feature.

  Like he knew this would be the last time he’d see her.

  What the hell was she doing? Realization doused her with icy, invisible water. She blinked furiously, and tried to step back. Which had her folding down into the chaise lounge before she could find her balance. Lars moved with her, a ghostly smile on his face as if he found it slightly amusing that she was so desperate to get it on with him.

  Her mind was a tangle, but surely nothing in those bramble weeds were thoughts of this. Of cheating on Finn.

  But was it? Were they even—what did you call it—an item? How the hell was she supposed to know?

  “Life’s a lot less complicated than you’re making it out to be,” Lars said, no doubt having noticed her deep frown. “You’re overthinking this.”

  “This?” she breathed. He was close, close enough that all she could see were his eyes. “What is this?”

  “Why does it have to be anything?” he murmured, and caught her bottom lip between his teeth. Barely a bite, but the feel of his teeth against that sensitive spot made her groan. “Why can’t you just enjoy it?”

  She wanted to argue, but she was trying to understand why the hell she was getting so wet from this. The man was on top of her now, but not with his full weight. That, or he weighed nothing. But one of his legs were between hers, either intentionally or by pure accident, his knee close enough to her clit that she could feel the heat of him. He arched over her, like a vampire who’d snuck in through her window.

  But no, they had to be invited inside first. And she’d done no such thing.

  He teased her again with his mouth, but it was more than she could bear. She lifted her face, trying to urge her mouth harder against her. Eventually, almost reluctantly, his lips met hers.

  She shuddered, and her hands slipped over the back of his neck. Trying to draw him closer. Failing. He resisted her with his muscles standing in slim cords over his arms. He wore a plain white shirt, sweatpants. His shoes had come off somewhere along the way, which mystified her.

  Harder. She made a desperate sound against his mouth, digging her nails into the muscles on his shoulders. He squirmed, but she didn’t care if she was hurting him.

  This was wrong. He was wrong. It should be Finn here, not Lars. But she’d wanted to say goodbye to him, and he hadn’t come. She’d been ready to do anything, let him do anything, if only he’d told her that she’d meant something to him.

  But it was obvious he didn’t.

  So what was the harm? Why should she care?

  Lars’s mouth ground against hers, and the sudden force in that kiss turned her heart into that of a terrified rabbit’s. She could taste him now—whiskey, weed. But something sweeter.

  Fingers touched her thigh, about an inch from her sex. She whimpered, shifted, drew away. She’d been ready to kiss this man, but more? As much as she ached and throbbed for contact, she had no idea if she could even begin—

  He tore his mouth away from her, and grabbed her thigh in a powerful hand. “So I can kiss you, but I can’t fuck you?” Lars murmured in her ear. He lo
wered himself over her, driving her breath out with his weight. “That where you draw the line?”

  She could feel him now. How hard he was. His erection pressed into her pelvis, about two inches to the side of her clit. A clit thrumming in want, now that his hip bone was almost touching it.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know if I can—”

  He cut her off with a kiss. Another hard one that had their teeth clicking together. He shifted his weight until the tip of his dick was against the seam of her satin hot pants. Just his sweats and that insignificant piece of silky fabric preventing him from rubbing against her.

  “Of course you can. Physically, I’m sure you’re perfectly fucking capable.” He arched his back, rubbing the tip of his dick hard over her clit. “But will you? Now that’s the fucking question, isn’t—”

  He cut off when her bedroom door crashed open.

  36

  Fuck him

  There was silence behind Cora’s door. Finn knocked twice, but not hard enough for the sound to carry down the hall. It was quiet out, but armed guards patrolled the corridor ringing the villa’s top floor. The men carried assault rifles from straps on their shoulders, half-cocked so they could aim and fire in a second.

  Expecting danger, even here…or just being cautious? He’d wondered the same of Swan at that manor of his. But Swan had been right to be cautious. It seemed he’d been the target of rival cartels for a long time. Martin too, perhaps. It was just more difficult to find Javier out here in the desert. Especially with all the precautions he took to keep this place hidden.

  Still no answer. Finn turned to the door and knocked again, slightly louder.

  He tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

  He opened it a crack, about to call out to Cora when he heard the unmistakable sound of people about to fuck; heavy breathing, whispered words.

  Finn threw open the door, jaw already too tight to shout out anything. He stopped in the doorway, staring over to where Lars and Cora were making out on an expensive piece of furniture that looked designed singularly for the purpose of fucking.

  Cora tore away from Lars with a gasp he heard all the way across the room. Lars looked over at him and gave him an open-mouthed smile.

  Finn fumbled behind him, found the edge of the door, and slowly pushed it closed.

  If her heart had been racing before, it was fluttering like a trapped bird now. Pins and needles speared into her fingertips and traveled with light speed up her arms. She tried getting out from under Lars, but he’d managed to trap her with his long limbs.

  Finn walked closer—mute, face a thunderstorm. He was all in black, but dressed as casually as Lars in a t-shirt and sweats. He wore a hoodie, but it hadn’t been zipped up and his muscles strained against the shirt as if it was a size—or two—too small. This, however, didn’t seem to hamper his movements as he grabbed Lars by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off her.

  She managed a breathy, “Finn, don’t—”

  But by then Finn had already slammed Lars against the wall. The man laughed at him, started to say something, and was cut off when Finn grabbed him by the throat.

  A scream bubbled up inside her, but it was strangled in a throat suddenly too tight to breathe. She half-fell, half scrambled off the chaise lounge, and staggered closer to the pair. She could so clearly imagine Finn pounding his fist into Lars’s face. Shattering the man’s jawbone. Sending teeth and blood spraying over the long-haired rug.

  But he didn’t. He just stood there, hand around Lars’s throat, glaring at the man as Lars slowly began to break into a laugh.

  “Did you think I was joking?” Lars asked, his voice struggling through a chuckle.

  “Yes,” Finn muttered. “Then I remembered what a cocky shit you are.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t interrupted, I’d have gotten to know her real good.” Lars brought his elbow into Finn’s stomach. Finn folded over with a groan, and tried to keep his hold on Lars. But he sidled out of reach and brushed off his clothes with exaggerated care.

  Finn straightened, a murderous glint in his eyes. Eyes that he then turned on Cora.

  Her stomach twisted, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hide her hardened nipples.

  “Do you want to fuck him?” Finn asked quietly in that rough, ruined voice of his.

  Her stomach went cold. She swallowed hard, and tried to force a protest past her lips. But it would have been a lie. And one thing Santa Muerte looked down upon was a liar.

  Inexplicably, her mind flashed to all those red candles she’d burned—almost as many as the black ones.

  Black for protection.

  Red for love.

  Until Bailey, she’d thought she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone. When Finn had killed the man, that thought had come back twice as fast and twice as hard. Because how in the world would she ever meet anyone—let alone someone she could fall in love with—if she never saw more than five people throughout her entire day. Each day, every day.

  And then Finn had happened. But she’d been wrong about him. He didn’t love her. And she probably didn’t love him either.

  Well, there was only one way to find out, right?

  She stuck out her chin at him. “Yes,” she said, voice warbling only a little.

  “You do?” Finn didn’t seem surprised. Maybe he’d lost conquests to his friend before. Lars wore a permanent grin now, and turned it on her.

  “Yeah you do,” Lars said.

  “Then fuck him.” Finn came up to her. For a moment, she thought he’d walk past her and out the door. Her heart hammered at the thought, knowing he’d never look at her again. Would never make eye contact. And tomorrow, he’d be gone. Never to return.

  But instead of leaving, Finn sank down in a single armchair close to the unlit fire. He brought one leg up, resting his ankle over his knee, and settled back in the chair with a hand draping over the edge of each armrest.

  She gaped at him. And then jerked when Lars touched her shoulder. She took a step back, glancing between the two men. “W-what are you doing?” Who the hell the question was meant for, she didn’t know. Maybe both of them. Her heart pattered furiously.

  “Go ahead,” Finn said dryly. “Fuck him.”

  “Wh—” she cut off, managed a laugh that sounded more strangled than anything else. “I’m not going to…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Lars trailed his fingers up the side of her neck. Traced the outline of her ear. And slowly stepped closer, as if afraid she’d bolt.

  Which is exactly what she should have done. Except she couldn’t. Panic had paralyzed her.

  What the hell was going on?

  She looked at Finn, opened her mouth to demand an explanation. Because maybe he was being all kinds of sarcastic, or he was waiting for Lars to take out his dick before he’d launch himself across the room and beat him to death.

  Or…maybe…

  Something in Finn’s expression had changed. She was still trying to figure out what when Lars’s mouth touched her ear. His breath whispered unintelligible, hedonistic promises to her. Her eyes fluttered, blurring Finn into a dark smudge.

  Her arms slowly slid out of the tight hold she’d had on her chest. Lars’s fingers caressed her collarbone, and then the man took a last step, closing the distance between them. Standing behind her, his body flush with hers.

  Warm.

  Hard.

  37

  Getting to know her

  Lars watched Milo over Cora’s shoulder. The man hadn’t moved since slumping in the chair. Hadn’t said a word. But there was an unspoken agreement between them.

  There always had been.

  Cora’s breast filled his hand, but barely. Her tits were as cute and perky as she was.

  He breathed into her ear, relishing the way it made her shiver against him. He could have fucked her right then—he was hard enough for sure—but this was theater. He and Cora actors on a stage. And the more entertaining the
ir performance, the more satisfied their audience would be.

  And it was impossible to satisfy Milo. He was a black void that could consume everything and still be left wanting.

  Lars squeezed Cora’s breasts hard enough to make her gasp. His other hand slid that annoying black robe from her shoulders. She grabbed his wrist as if trying to stop him, but there was no actual resistance in those arms. The robe fell to the crook of her elbows and gathered there. She clung to his wrist, shifting her weight as if she wanted to step away but never actually taking that step. Her pathetic excuse for pajamas skimmed her in all the right places; tight over her breasts where her nipples poked that creamy fabric, spanned across that inch of skin between her legs. He wished he had Milo’s vantage point right then, because he was sure she looked fucking amazing. Like a cold beer to a man dying of thirst.

  Still grabbing hard at her breast, Lars nipped on the edge of her ear as he slipped off first one of the camisole’s straps, then the other. Her only complaint was a low moan in the back of her throat.

  How complacent. But would it last? Or would she wake up ten minutes from now wondering what the fuck was going on and screaming at them to get out?

  They stood about two feet from the heavy oak coffee table perfectly placed between the chaise lounge and Milo’s armchair. Lars coaxed her forward until her shin was almost knocking into the edge.

  Milo shifted in his chair. It was a small movement, one anyone else would probably have missed.