“No.”
Because he was being rude, I shrugged just so I could toss my hair at him again. But this time, he grabbed my ponytail and yanked me flat to my back on the table. A gasp passed my lips at the unexpected roughness, and the sudden heat flaring inside me shocked me so much I practically growled at him.
Sitting back in his seat, a hand wrapped around my hair, he raised an indifferent brow. “Why swing it in my face if you don’t want me to grab it?”
“You think everything belongs to you, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
It was such a ridiculous answer I couldn’t grasp onto a quick retort, so I only glared.
Our tempers collided and condensed the space of the room. A second passed, and as if the action was unwelcomed and inadvertent, his gaze slid down my body and over the wet clothes exposing my every curve.
The touch of his eyes lit a line of fire in its wake, from the gentle rise and fall of my breasts, to the flare of my hips, to the black jeans with a frayed hole in the knee.
He released his grip on my hair with a sudden sense of annoyance and asked, “Why are you so fucking wet?”
Apparently, he hadn’t even heard the rain shower while sheltered in luxury. The sky would probably clear the moment he stepped outside.
I relaxed against the table as if this was where I wanted to be all along and stretched my arms above my head. “I don’t answer those kinds of questions on the first date.”
“This is nothing more than a poor striptease. One I would pay more to end than I’ve ever paid a stripper with actual experience.”
Amusement flickered inside me, but I forced a dire expression. “Your name doesn’t have a second or third on the end of it, does it?”
He yanked a piece of moist paper out from underneath me and gave me a dry look that implied he believed I already knew his name.
“I refuse to add a number to my future son’s name, so that’s going to be a hurdle for us to get past,” I said seriously.
“I guess we’re at an impasse then, because I’m not naming my daughter ‘Candy’ or ‘Cherry.’”
I laughed at the ridiculous stripper names. “We can agree on that. I was thinking ‘Bambi.’”
The man’s eyes narrowed at the smeared ink on his precious paperwork. He was the embodiment of broody, with a five o’clock shadow and discarded jacket. Though his features were so compelling, so masculine and perfect to the eye, I bet if I touched him he would disappear.
I sat up and grabbed the tumbler that sat on the table, took a sip, and released a soft moan when the whiskey hit my tongue. The man’s eyes lifted from his paperwork to my face, almost as if he was irritated but couldn’t stop the very male reaction to look when a woman made that noise.
“You know, I adore whiskey.” I swirled the liquid in the glass. “But not just any kind—the expensive stuff,” I told him. “If I was rich, I’d bathe in it.”
The sound of a knock on the door made me freeze.
Dark eyes watched me curiously before the man said, “Come in.”
I flew off the table and crawled underneath it, wincing when I bumped my head. Two sets of feet came into view: Italian loafers and black boots. Radio static sounded, and then a dispatcher’s voice. Shit. A cop. I’d cry if I had to sleep on a cot tonight and not my bed.
“Good evening, Mr. Romano,” Alfred said in a deferential voice as if he was talking to a king.
Romano . . . Sounded Italian. The man did have a warmer complexion. I couldn’t say the same for his personality though.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Romano didn’t dispense in pleasantries and remained silent.
“We seem to have had . . . a breach in security,” Alfred continued.
I rolled my eyes.
“You’d think that wouldn’t happen with the amount I pay in membership fees.”
A throat cleared. “Yes, of course, sir. . . Naturally, due to the inconvenience, all services will be on the house for the rest of the month.”
I wondered what services that entailed. I bet the usual was a naked woman dancing on a pole while he ignored her.
The cop stepped forward. “Listen, sir, a . . . wet and poorly-dressed woman wouldn’t happen to be in here, would she?”
Poorly dressed? No doubt Alfred had given him that description.
“We have reason to believe she might have come in here about ten minutes ago.”
As a kernel of panic bloomed inside me, I wondered if they had a surveillance camera in the hall.
“And you think, what? That I’m hiding her underneath the table?”
A breath of relief escaped me when I realized he wasn’t going to give me away. He probably wanted to take me out back, hit me over the head, and dump my dead body in the river himself.
“Of course not, sir,” Alfred rushed to say.
“Are you accusing me of something? Should I call my lawyer?”
I stifled a laugh.
The expensive fabric of this man’s pants looked incredibly soft, like fine wool. I ran my hand down the material. He threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled my face toward his dick. I sank my teeth into his thick thigh, hard. He didn’t even flinch.
Alfred spewed a plethora of apologizes, sounding as if he’d agree to a little self-flagellation for the error. Then the pair left, and the door shut behind them.
I climbed up between Mr. Romano’s legs, straddling his thighs as if I’d done it a hundred times before. God, he was warm. And hard all over. I made it a rule to not sleep with men I didn’t like, but I’d almost make an exception for this one. I took the initiative to straighten his already-straight tie.
He eyed me cautiously. “What are you, a thief?”
A smile touched my lips. “Only of men’s hearts.”
I smoothed a palm down his silk tie, my fingers moving lower of their own volition. He grabbed my hand just as it reached his lower stomach, the muscle beneath tense and burning through his shirt. He had abs. I was just as much a sucker for abs as I was for whiskey.
Disappointed he’d stopped me, I pouted. “You’re just mad I’m not going to take my clothes off for you.”
“I assure you, it’s a relief.”
I was getting him all wet—as platonic as it was—but I still relished the idea that, after I left, I’d leave an imprint on his expensive and handsome veneer.
He let me slide my palm against his, measuring the gross difference in sizes and the contrast between my chipped black polish and his clean, blunt nails.
My skin was a shade darker than his olive tone.
I received all my melanin from my father. He was a black car salesman who worked at Autos 4 Cheap. He didn’t know I existed—in a familial sense at least—but sometimes I’d walk the long way home just to give him a wave from the sidewalk. He’d wave back while he charmed his customers with a toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile.
I wondered if he had ever loved my mother; if he was bereft when she suddenly left him behind for a string of other men. Most of all, I questioned what he would think of me if my mother had ever told him he was my father.
“Have you ever been in love?” I asked, my voice suddenly soft.
“No.”
“Do you want to be?”
“No.” He slipped his hand from mine, and a weird sense of loss expanded within me.
“Why not? No, let me guess,” I hurried to say as if he was actually going to answer me. “Your parents are cold and so full of ennui they never showed you any affection, so you don’t know how to love. And even if you did, you think all women are just after your money. How did I do?”
He grabbed my thigh and tipped me right off his lap to the floor.
I grinned. “Spot on, huh?”
“It’s a wonder your parents didn’t give you away in sheer annoyance.”
I raised a brow. “How do you know they didn’t?”
He watched me for a heavy second. “I’m busy, and you’ve been an irritating distraction. There’s a back
exit down the hall to the left.”
Getting to my feet, I made my way to the door. “Goodbye, Romeo.”
“Romano.”
I ignored his correction. “Try not to think about me too much.”
“You’re already forgotten.”
I smiled. “Liar.”
And then I slipped out the door.
I thought writing this book was hard, though it seems this part is the most daunting—only because I need to thank a literal village of people. Without their help, The Darkest Temptation would probably not be here, and if it was, it would win an award for worst DL book yet. These people are the ones who saved my 2020.
Kaitlin, I once called your sudden appearance in my inbox divine intervention, and I’m sticking to it. I have no words for how insightful you are. You are truly beautiful inside and out and have an Einstein understanding of how to write a story. This book is so much better because of you. And I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for life now.
Mina, I honestly feel like I need to pay you for all of your encouragement. (*Sending a check direct to Martoba*) You have gone above and beyond as a beta, and I can’t thank you enough. You were a great fan from the beginning, but I now consider you an amazing friend.
Tawni, my sister from another mother. You’ve been with me since my very first book, and I know I never would have gotten this far without you. I also know I will continue to randomly Facetime you until I’m old and gray, so always be on your toes.
Lana, Alina, and Dina, you had your work cut out for you with my Russian translations. I can’t imagine what Ronan would be saying without your help. Thank you so much.
Hannah, Joan, Kelly, and Ratula, you have truly been the best betas dealing with my unprofessionalism, which includes but isn’t limited to sending you a chapter a week for a year. Thanks for sticking it out with me and helping make this book the best it can be.
Alice, thanks for being a great PA. I would be lost without you.
Bryony, I’m still questioning why you put up with me. I miss three-fourths of my deadlines, email you back a week later, and then need my edits stat. You are a fabulous editor, and I’m truly grateful for how well you clean up my writing.
Juli and Zainab, thank you so much for the proofreading work you do. And Nicole, who’s a great friend and got stuck with proofing TDT last minute, lol.
Sarah, you always do incredible work on my covers. And Stacey, I couldn’t imagine working with any formatter other than you.
To all the bloggers and Instagrammers who help promote my book, you blow me away. You have no idea how much you do for me and how amazing it is to wake up and see your reviews and edits. I truly wouldn’t be here without you.
This is a special shoutout to Bee and Silver. Not only are you both so talented, you are incredible people. I am truly honored to have fans like you.
Thank you to every reader who picked up this book and gave it a chance. I may be a writer, but you make me an author.
Love,
Danielle xo
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The MADE Series
The Sweetest Oblivion
The Maddest Obsession
The Darkest Temptation
Made #4 (Coming Soon)
The Vintage Club (Coming soon)
The Darkest Temptation Page 43
