Page 139 of Made for Sinners

I glanced at my phone again. The blue dot had stopped moving. She was at the bar.

“My next move,” I said, grabbing my coat, “is to go meet my wife.”

Luca grinned. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself,” I said. “She’s probably already stolen your wallet.”

The bar was dim, crowded, and loud enough that I had to shoulder my way through a pack of drunk twenty-somethings just to get to the back. It wasn’t the kind of place I usually went—too messy, too public—but Emilia had a way of dragging me into chaos like it was foreplay.

And tonight?

Tonight, she was playing a game.

I spotted her immediately.

She was perched on a stool at the corner of the bar, legs crossed, a drink in her hand, her hair swept up in a messy bun that made her look both dangerous and entirely too inviting. She wore a short black dress that clung to her like a second skin, heels that could kill a man, and a smile that said she already had.

She didn’t look at me when I approached.

Didn’t acknowledge me.

She just sipped her drink and said, “Buy a girl a drink, stranger?”

I smirked.

“Depends,” I said, sliding onto the stool beside her. “You always talk to strange men in bars?”

“Only the dangerous-looking ones,” she said, eyes flicking to mine. “You look like trouble.”

“I am,” I said. “You should probably leave with me.”

She laughed, low and wicked. “What makes you think I’d do that?”

I leaned in, my mouth brushing her ear. “Because I know exactly how you taste when you come.”

She shivered, but her smile didn’t falter. “Bold of you to assume I’m that easy.”

“Not easy,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Just mine.”

She let me take it, her fingers curling around mine. And then, somehow, without me even noticing, she slipped my watch off my wrist.

I blinked.

She held it up, grinning. “You really need to stop letting me do that.”

“How do you do it?” I asked, genuinely impressed.

She winked. “I’ll never reveal my secrets.”

I slipped the watch back into my pocket, shaking my head. “You’re exhausting.”

She slid off the stool with a slow, deliberate grace, stepping into my space until the air between us felt charged. Her voice was soft but edged with something wicked. “And yet, I’m the only thing you never get tired of.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Trying to take me home, stranger?” she teased.

“Trying to fuck you in my car,” I said.

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