Page 138 of Sinful Lies

I closed my eyes as his hand slid up to stroke my hair, and for a second, I pretended he wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“Rarely,” I finally muttered. “Only certain things set me off.”

“Like thinking about your family.”

“Yeah.”

“Ever considered that talking about them could set you free?”

I snorted, burying my face in his chest. “Set me free? I don’t think talking is going tomagicallyfix me, Lazzio.”

I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I just wanted to stay like this, safe in his arms.

God, I hated this—hated how those ghosts hovered. Always there, reminding me of how much of a disappointment I was.

His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.

His hand kept moving slowly, stroking my hair, his breath steady against the top of my head. I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me, the rhythm so solid, so dependable, that for a moment I let myself match it.

“Did you ever try to find the man who kidnapped you?”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Ah, so you get to ask the questions, but I don’t?”

I tilted my head, smirking as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His arm rested on the pillow, his hand lazily cradling my face.

“Yes.”

His finger traced the curve of my jaw, sliding down my neck.

It was slow—intoxicating.

He hummed softly. “And why’s that, Miss Whitenhouse?”

“Because you dragged me on this trip. The least you could do is keep me entertained. Answering my questions seems like a good place to start.”

His finger trailed lower, skimming over my chest, my stomach, before slipping between my legs to the sensitive flesh there.

“Entertained?” he murmured, his voice edged with mockery. “I thought the orgasm I just gave you—the one you screamed loud enough for every Lazzio in the mansion to hear—was proof you’ve been enjoying your stay,amore.”

His finger circled my clit.

“Nah,” I breathed out, fighting to steady my voice. “I was faking it.”

His hand stilled. “Oh, really?”

I shrugged, grabbing his face and pulling him closer until my lips brushed his, the barest hint of a kiss. His finger stopped moving entirely, replaced by the grip of his other hand on my chin.

“Then you’re a better liar than I gave you credit for, Miss Whitenhouse.”

He didn’t give me a chance to say anything else. His lips slammed into mine, making me lose my breath.

I shifted, straddling him.

I was itching to test that stupid rumor.

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