Page 74 of Sinful Lies

But of course, three soft knocks on the door interrupted him.

He stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but before Grace could open the door, I closed the space between us. My towering Prada heels gave me just the edge I needed, finally bringing me eye to eye with him—a rare feat against his 6’5” frame.

For once, he didn’t loom over me. We were equals, if only in height.

Reaching up, I grabbed his black tie, letting my fingers skim the sleek fabric as I slowly undid it.

His dark eyes followed every move, his lips parted just enough to betray the breath he was holding.

He stayed quiet though, perfectly still.

I didn’t just untie his tie. No, I played with it, letting it slip through my fingers, the cool silk brushing against my palm. It was slow—painfully, deliciously slow.

And God, his scent.

It wrapped around me, heady and intoxicating, like expensive cologne and something distinctly him. A scent that made it hard to think straight, let alone remember why I had come here in the first place.

Fuck, when had he started smelling so damn good?

When I finally tied the knot back, I tugged it snug against his throat, tightening it just a little too much. The pulse in his neck jumped, his jaw clenching as my fingers lingered for a second too long.

“Wouldn’t want your enemies seeing any weakness in you,” I whispered, the ghost of my breath brushing against his lips. “Or would you?”

His tongue ran over his teeth, and his lips trembled ever so slightly.

“Sí, Grace,” he said sharply, the sudden loudness of his voice breaking the moment.

The door swung open, and Grace stepped in, her eyes snapping between us, her frown carving deeper as she tried to piece together what she’d just interrupted.

Smirking, I tugged on Lazzio’s tie again, pulling him closer as my fingers teased the silk, twisting it around my wrist. My nails grazed along the collar of his dress shirt, dipping just low enough to scrape against the warm skin beneath.

The red line I left there was faint, but satisfying, especially with Grace’s scowl deepening by the second.

Shifting forward, I let my chest brush lightly against his. His gaze dropped instinctively, flicking to the faint freckles scattered across my décolletage.

His breath stuttered, subtle, but telling, and it made my grin widen.

Grace cleared her throat loudly.

But Lazzio didn’t move. He just stood there, silent, watching me with that tightly wound restraint that was starting to crack. Then, suddenly, his large hands gripped my wrists and pulled them away.

“Enough, Miss Whitenhouse,” he said almost breathlessly.

I pouted.

Guess the fun’s over.

Grace’s voice wavered slightly. “Mr. Greg is here to see you, sir.”

Lazzio still didn’t look at her. His focus was locked on me, dark eyes tracing every inch of my face slowly.

“Let him in,” he said finally.

She stepped aside, waving the man in, and I took it as my cue to strut out of the room.

My job here was done.

I’d pushed Angelo Lazzio to the edge of his control—exactly as planned.

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