by Skye Warren
“I know, Tia.” The last thing I want is a birds-and-bees talk from her. She’s like a mother to me. I’ve heard enough from the women to know what men like.
“Not only your body. Your everything. You’ll owe him. Understand? That’s the moral of the story. That’s what it means to free him from the trap.”
Sebastian
The man in front of me owns a major media corporation, which in turn owns a series of smaller merchandise and storage facilities that account for twenty percent of the global arms trade. Naturally, it’s in my best interest to pay attention. But the smell of the crowd—sickly sweet pine needles underlined with sweat—makes me turn my head just a fraction, seeking a whiff of fresh air in the packed ballroom.
Of course there’s no fresh air to be found—not with a man reeking of smoke one foot behind me. And I don’t need to make another deal, not after my recent acquisitions, a hostile takeover of a local crime syndicate.
It’s in that second, with my face turned toward the staircase, that I see her.
She stands at the top, framed by the gilt entrance. The marble staircase spreads beneath her like a stage, and I’m immediately captivated by her fragility. She’s tall, her figure lithe and willowy. Her long hair shines beneath the chandelier, a honey color mixed with brown and gold, in so many shades it defies a single name. I want to run it through my fingers.
I want to wrap it around my cock.
The business associate and the millions I could make from him? Forgotten. My mind’s empty except for the feminine figure clinging to the railing like it’s a damned life raft. She blinks up at the gold chandelier, clearly awed. Or blinded. From halfway across the room I watch her wobble on her heels. Shit. She’s going to tumble all the way down, and there’s nothing I could do to stop her.
Then one of his guards—discreetly dressed in a tux and earpiece—takes her elbow. For a second I think he’s going to steady her. My blood burns hot with possession, even though I’m glad she’s safe. How is it possible to feel like this about a stranger?
Except the guard doesn’t lead her down the stairs. Instead he bends his head slightly and speaks to her. What the fuck? If they’re trying to kick her out of the party, they’ll answer to me. I don’t care if she wasn’t invited before—she is now.
I offer a curt apology to the man who’s still speaking before heading toward the stairs. On the way I pull out my phone. Only my head of security is on speed dial. “The woman at the door. Let her in.”
“Yes, sir,” comes the response. Blue knows better than to question why. Within seconds the message passes through the security personnel headpiece and the guard steps back.
Something inside me eases. I don’t want anyone touching her.
At least, not until I’m done with her.
The woman hesitates on the stairs, glancing back at the entrance. Is she thinking of leaving? Fuck. I push through the crowd to get to the bottom. People call my name. People who paid fifteen thousand dollars a plate just to be here. The gala is for charity, but that’s not why they came. They came for business. They came for me.
A hand catches my wrist. “Sebastian, darling.”
I glance back only long enough to impale the woman with a stare. Sure, we’ve fucked. A few months ago, maybe? Who knows? That doesn’t give her the right to touch me now.
She shrinks back, feigning a laugh. “I’ve missed you.”
It’s a miracle I manage to mutter, “Excuse me. I’m looking for someone.”
Except the stairs are empty. I’m ready to take them two at a time, to search the parking lot for her. I’m ready to order fucking roadblocks out of town. All because I’ve seen her? It’s crazy, but I can’t deny my reaction. If I feel this electric just looking at her, I can only imagine how it will feel to fuck her. I’ve never felt instant lust before, but now that I have, I need more.
The crowd parts for a brief, breathless second.
Between suits and gowns I see honey-colored hair. Her angular shoulders and the slender slope of her waist. God, she’s gorgeous. And something else, too. Something fairy-like. A creature I’ll have to capture to keep.
I push past people, barely hearing them, barely caring. All I can think about is how soft her skin will feel beneath my hands. Whether or not she’ll play coy. I’ll have my answers before the night is over. I’ll find out in five fucking minutes even if I have to shove people out of the way.
Then she’s here, facing the other direction, hair falling over her shoulders and down the back of her silky dress. I touch her wrist, feather light, and feel heat spark against my skin.
She turns to face me, her pale blue eyes reflecting surprise and recognition. And fear? Maybe she’s heard my reputation. I’ve earned most of it, but I won’t hurt her. Not too badly.
“What’s your name?” I’m too demanding, too harsh.
Her mouth opens, pretty lips making my dick hard. I seem to have shocked her—and well, I hadn’t even gotten started yet. She’s in for a long night, whether she knows it or not.
I bend my head, breathing in her sweet scent. “Your name.”
The answer is barely a whisper. “Lucia.”
God, those lips. So pink, so lush. I want to sink my teeth into them. That soft flesh, all pale and ready to be marked. I want to feel her squirm beneath me, trying to get away.
And that name. As sensual and perfect as the girl in front of me.
“I’m Sebastian Conti.”
She blinks. “I know.”
Something about her seems familiar for a second. Except I would have remembered a woman this sensual, this gorgeous. I would have already fucked her, if we’d met before.
“Here’s what’s going to happen next, Lucia. You’re going to come with me to the balcony. You’re not going to look around or speak to anyone else. And you’re damn well not going to fight me. Understand?”
Fear flashes through her eyes, proving that yes, she understood.
I’m still not taking any chances. I slide my hand around her waist and pull her against me, reveling at the graceful curve above her hip. Her warmth seeps into me through the feather-light fabric of her dress, through the silk of my suit. My body reacts instantly, cock thickening, gut tight. Jesus, I can’t get her to the balcony fast enough.
Luckily most men don’t try to stop me with her at my side. Women, either. They all must read the intent on my face. Surely they can—the intensity of my need feels etched right onto my skin, plain for everyone to see. I have the insane thought that it might embarrass her, the fact that I’m pushing and dragging and commanding her, the fact that everyone knows we’re about to fuck.
Then the thought passes, because I don’t really care. She’s mine. I want everyone to know that, so that no one dares to touch her. I want to cover her in my come and parade her through the goddamned ballroom, marked for all to see. It’s sick and possessive and deeply primal.
The windows facing the balcony are two stories tall, tall doors open to allow guests easy access. Cool night air greets me as I cross the threshold. Lucia follows me, meek in my grip—at least, so far. I’m expecting her to protest at some point, if only a token refusal.
I’m almost looking forward to it.
I snarl at a couple making out beneath mistletoe. “Leave.”
They take one glance at my face and slink inside.
The last thing I want is another intruder, so I shut the door. And since this is my fucking house, I have the key. Then I make another call, ordering a guard to be stationed at the door. Overkill? Maybe, but I’m burning for her.
And she’s huddled against the thick concrete railing, looking small and vulnerable.
I stalk toward her, blood pumping for a taste of her.
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” Her voice trembles, but she still meets my gaze. It’s cute, really. Fucking adorable. I’ll enjoy hearing her voice shake the rest of the night. Enjoy her meeting my gaze while she’s naked and shuddering in climax.
“No mistake.
I saw you. I wanted you.”
Alarm fills her pretty hazel eyes. “Here?”
Curiosity slides through me, warm and rarer than fine brandy. What a question. Here? It meant she was open to fucking me somewhere else. Of course, I won’t wait for that. My dick throbs inside my tux pants, demanding to get inside her. Before that I want to touch her, to taste her. I want to own her body in every way.
“People come to the Christmas party for two reasons, sweetheart. To screw someone or to get screwed. So which one is it?”
She shakes her head, hard, almost desperately. A tendril of honey-brown hair slides loose and bounces against her cheek. “I need to talk to you first.”
First. Another curious statement. As if she had intended to fuck me all along, this innocent fairy I’d captured. Like a butterfly. So fragile. I’d tear her wings if he wasn’t careful.
And fuck, I’m never careful.
I step close to her, grasping the loose lock of hair, pulling until she falls against me. “I’m not really the chatty type. I want to fuck you. Are you going to fight me?”
“No,” she gasps, but she’s already fighting. Her small fists push against my chest.
My free hand captures her wrists, leaving her immobile. God, she’s slender. Almost frail. I could break her bones if I squeezed too hard. Something cold moves inside me at the thought of her hurt. “Talk,” I mutter. “You have between now and the time I take your dress off to talk.”
Whatever it is she wants—orgasms or money or a bullet sunk into some poor bastard’s heart—I’m going to find out what it is. It will be her Christmas present. Never let it be said that Sebastian Conti left a woman unsatisfied. And in return she’ll give me her body.
“Mr. Conti,” she says.
I press her up against the railing, letting her feel my erection through our clothes. God, the heat of her. She’s a flame, and I want to burn. “Sebastian.”
Lucia hesitates, so I yank at the gold strap over her shoulder. It’s a warning.
“Sebastian,” she gasps. “I need your help.”
She has until the dress comes off to finish. I can rip the delicate fabric in one hard pull. I can turn her over the rail and fuck her with the dress still on. This can be over as fast as I want, but I find I want her slow. And some deep-seated part of me wants to hear what she has to tell me.
Does she want money? Or maybe someone has sent her to smooth the way for a business deal. The thought makes my stomach turn. I don’t want anyone using her that way. Only me.
I press my lip to the skin at her collarbone. God, how is she so pale? And she tastes like air. Air when I’ve been underwater my whole life. “What kind of help?”
Except I have a lifetime of not fighting fair.
My mouth finds the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. And I bite down. Hard. She sucks in a breath, body shivering in my embrace. She can’t answer me, her whole body reacting to pain. And then the sweetest response—her hips pushing against my cock. Involuntary. Perfect.
It’s enough to give her space.
“My family,” she says, panting for breath, voice tremulous. “They’re in trouble. You—”
“I’m threatening them, is that it? What did they do? Default on a debt? Steal from me? And you came here to plead for their lives.”
Her blue eyes stare up at me, so ridiculously guileless. “I came here to pay for them.”
My hand fists in all that golden hair, pulling tight. “Oh no, Lucia. You won’t get away from me that easily. One fuck and you leave? A taste of your sweet pussy and then you’ll take it away?”
A moment, her chest heaving.
So pretty with her eyes wide and lost. I almost could have imagined she’d wandered into the wrong place, except that she knew me. She was made for me. She’s the breath of fresh air I needed, and I’m not letting her go.
Her arms push, suddenly, surprising me with their strength. It’s not enough to move me away, but it’s enough to give me pause.
Her blue eyes burn with determination. “They didn’t do anything to you. Anything but exist. Anything but inconvenience you, by living, by working for you.”
And that’s when it hits me, where I’ve seen those eyes like sky.
“The textile shop,” I ground out, pissed to hell. The fucking textile shop twenty miles outside the city. The sisters who own it. The profits that didn’t add up.
And the plain little secretary who’d captivated him from the first. The cheap suit she’d worn that day is a far cry from the gold dress sliding over her body now. Her ugly shoes so different from the gold heels on her feet now.
I hadn’t even recognized her.
Or maybe some part of me had, because I’d wanted her as soon as I saw her.
The balcony door opens, spilling light and sound over her them. I turn to see Margo Rizzoli, dark eyes blazing with fury. The woman has a lot to answer for, starting with why Lucia seems to believe her family will be killed. And ending with interrupting me when I’m finally going to fuck the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“You stupid slut,” she snarls, eyes laser beam focused over my shoulder.
A guard rushes behind her, eyes hard. “I’m sorry, Mr. Conti. Her sister setup a distraction so she could get out here. I’ll get rid of her.”
“No.” I’m planning to get answers. More than that, I’m going to hold her accountable for whatever fucked up shit happened in that factory to put fear into Lucia’s blue eyes.
A rustle of fabric, a brush of wind.
I glance back to reassure Lucia that I’ll fix this. All I see is a flash of honey-gold hair as she slips over the balcony. Her gold heels lay sideways where she stood. “Fuck.”
She might have broken her leg, but by the time I lean over the railing she’s disappeared. “Fucking hold her,” I growl to the guard, knowing he’ll contact the rest of the team.
Then I drop over the balcony after her. Except she’s already gone.
Lucia
It takes me longer to retrace my steps to the meeting point than it did to get there. Mostly because I’m barefoot. The terrain had been bumpy in heels, but it’s downright painful on feet that haven’t been outside in years. I wince with every step over stones and twigs. Once I have to hide in a hollow tree while a man with a flashlight and a headset goes by.
Eventually I reach the meeting point, where Jorge’s car waits. His gaze slides over me, insolent and hungry. “Where are your shoes?”
“I lost them. Let’s go.”
Without a word, he pushes off the side of the car and gets in. I swing into the backseat, because he can’t reach me here. I know it’s only a matter of time before he touches me. That was part of the bargain. He helps me in exchange for sex.
I would have had to whore myself twice—first to Sebastian Conti. Then to Jorge, as payment for bringing me here. Except I’m not sure I’ll do either of those things, because Margo’s waiting outside the factory when we show up.
“Fuck,” Jorge mutters under his breath.
I step out of the car on shaky legs. Margo looks more furious than I’ve ever seen her. I won’t get out of this alive. The worst part isn’t my death. It’s that I failed the other women. I failed Tia.
Margo backs me up against the car, grasping my chin, her nails biting into my skin. “What the fuck were you thinking? That you could seduce him? That you could take over?”
“She tricked me,” Jorge says, rounding the car. “I didn’t know where she was going.”
Margo produces a gun—from where, I don’t know. She backhands Jorge, making him swear. Blood drips from his cheek. Then she turns back to me, eyes hard like coal. “Put this slut into the trunk. We need to get her out of here before that bastard Conti comes sniffing around.”
Mercedes appears from inside the factory. “The other women are accounted for.”
“We’ll deal with them later,” Margo snaps. “Jorge, get her in the trunk.”
Jorge stalls, rubbing at his cheek. �
�Jesus, Margo. Do we have to kill her?”
“I don’t pay you to question me, asshole. Now do it, unless you want to go in with her.”
He hesitates for another second, which is another second than I’d given him credit for. Apparently he’s okay with bargaining for my body, but he’s not comfortable killing me. In the end, though, he grabs my forearm and pulls me around the car.
His grip on my arm, the uneven gravel under my feet—they drag a cry of pain from me.
“Shut up,” Margo hisses. “If we had more time I’d really make you pay.”
Mercedes opens the trunk. “We don’t. For all we know he’s on his way.”
Jorge gives me a rough shove, and I land on rough thin carpet. My knee bumps metal on the way in, my temple scrapes something sharp. None of that matters as the trunk closes, the sound echoing in my ears, the darkness folding in on me. I curl into a ball.
I feel mostly numb. This is how I’m going to die.
The only pain I feel is at the bottom of my feet. As I touch them against the wall of the trunk, they’re slippery. Bleeding, I realize. They’re bleeding.
A sound comes from outside—a car engine, tires on gravel. Not the car I’m in. It hasn’t moved. Is that Sebastian Conti? I can’t be sure he’ll save me. He was willing to kill the women in the factory for convenience. Maybe I’ve charmed him enough. Maybe wanting to have sex with me will be enough to keep me alive.
Except he won’t know I’m here. Margo and Mercedes will make up some lie about how I disappeared. Jorge will back them up, out of fear if nothing else.
I bang on the lid of the trunk. “Sebastian!”
Nothing.
More bangs—and then my racket is drowned out by shots being fired from outside the car. I would recognize that sounds anywhere. The sight of a body being shot in the back, falling, falling. The sound coming through the walls as Tia’s knee broke apart.
And then everything is quiet.
The lid opens. Sebastian Conti’s severe expression looks down on me, his face drawn in moonlight. My breath comes faster and then not at all.
Strong arms pull me from the trunk. “Shh,” he whispers. “You’re safe now.”
