Page 153 of Sinful Lies

“Bonsoir, Monsieur DuMarais,” he said, smooth as sin, his Italian accent somehow getting thicker when he switched to French.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Lazzio,”came the Minister of Culture’s voice, rambling on about the Louvre and expanding museum contracts or whatever.

Blah, blah, money, blah.

Angelo’s eyes shifted back to me for half a second.

A warning.Don’t push me.

So, of course, I pushed.

Placing a single finger against my lips, I dared him to stay silent as I reached for the zipper of my dress.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought I heard his teeth grind.

I moved slowly, dragging the zipper down until the fabric slipped over my shoulder, pooling at the curve of my arms.

His hand, which had been so confidently clicking away at his mouse moments ago, froze completely.

“…et en plus, nous pourrions envisager un partenariat avec le château de la Loire…” DuMarais droned on, blissfully unaware of what was happening behind the computer screen.

Angelo’s knuckles flexed against the desk.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto mine.

Honey and dark wood draped in silk sheets.

The dress slid further, exposing the curve of my collarbone.

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall to one side.

He blinked, once, twice, before snapping his attention back to the screen.

Victory tasted sweeter than I’d imagined.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to laugh or combust.

Probably both.

The dress crumpled to the floor in a heap of defeated fabric, and I stepped out of it with deliberate ease, leaving me in my favorite sparkly navy Agent Provocateur set—the one that screamedtrouble—and a pair of glossy black Louboutins so sharp they might as well have been weapons.

If the dress was surrender, the lingerie was a declaration of war.

Angelo didn’t even blink.

His eyes stayed glued to the screen like his life depended on it, but the tightening of his jaw gave him away.

DuMarais’ voice dragged through the speaker, some nonsense about expanding accessibility to provincial museums.

Fascinating stuff. Really.

“Forse questo attirerà la tua attenzione, capo,” I whispered.

His brow arched.

Without a word, I dropped to my knees, crawling under his desk.

Sliding between his legs, I nestled in as his chair pulled back, giving me the room I needed.

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