Page 41 of Sinful Lies

“Give it back.”

I blinked up at him. “Give what back? Oh, this lovely watch? Thought I’d borrow it—such a shame to let it sit there collecting dust when it could be, you know,appreciated.”

“The money, Jade.”

A slow, simmering heat unfurled beneath my skin.

It was the second time my name had slid from his lips—a dark caress, cold enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

“Ah, you mean the crisp Benjamins currently keeping me company?” I grinned, letting my hand trail to the neckline of my dress. “Sorry, boss. They’re mine now. Call it a convenience fee for putting up with you.”

His patience—what little of it he ever possessed—shattered in an instant.

He reached for me, his hand fisting the front of my dress, the fabric twisting tightly in his grip. The neckline slipped, inching dangerously lower.

One sharp tug, and the delicate lace of my bra would be exposed.

I tilted my head, pouting playfully. “You know, for a supposed billionaire, you’re awfully stingy.”

For some obvious reason, he didn’t find it funny.

A low growl rumbled from his chest. “Now.”

I tapped my chin. “Mmm, no. Don’t think I will. But thanks for asking so nicely.”

He stepped in, way too close—close enough that the heat of his body almost made me gasp.

His tongue flicked against his teeth in that way he did when he was pissed, but I couldn’t help but notice how that anger only made him… deliciously sharper.Dangerous.

“Miss Whitenhouse?—”

I let out a bored sigh. “If you’re dying for it back, you can fetch it yourself, Lazzio.”

His eyes darkened, and that smile—oh, it was anythingbutfriendly.

Without warning, his free hand shot under my dress, fingers grazing my chest as he hunted for the bills. My breath caught, my pulse racing as his gaze stayed locked on my lips. His fingers brushed so close to my nipple I swear I felt the heat of it, teasing me just enough to drive me insane.

For a split second, I thought he might actually go further, and I almost wanted him to. But instead, he jerked his hand back like I was the one burning him, leaning back as if I was the last thing he wanted to touch.

But the look in his eyes?

It was raw, dark heat, and it made my skin ache.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. And sooner or later, you’ll get burned.”

“Maybe I like the burn, Lazzio,” I whispered.

His eyes flashed, and without a word, he grabbed my wrist; he pulled me in so close I could practically feel his heartbeat. Inone swift motion, he snatched the Rolex off my wrist, his fingers grazing over my skin, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach, fluttering lower, like they were racing to get somewhere they shouldn’t be.

It was the second time in all the years we’d known each other that his hands had touched me.

Fuck. I didn’t even realize how much I missed being touched—his touch was like a wake-up call, and suddenly everything feltaliveagain.

The last time I felt thisalive?

Three months ago, when I was moving into a place just a stone’s throw from Central Park. My lease was up, and I had wanted something bigger—somewhere close enough to run every morning before work. A mover had been helping me with the boxes. He’d leaned in, whispered that I’d lookedtoogood to be true, and, well… one thing had led to another.

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