Page 3 of His Sweet Torment
Who was this dude? Was he a player who was trying to project an air of mystery? She studied him, trying to push past the crazy sex fog that came with being laid by a seriously sexy man to see the person underneath. He grinned at her scrutiny. “You like what you see?”
Padme smothered a grin. He was so cheeky, so obviously fun-loving, that she couldn’t quite reconcile that with his warning of potential danger. “Who are you?”
He shrugged. “No-one of importance.”
“Hmm.” She kissed him, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers. He tasted so good. As she reluctantly pulled away, she fixed him with a mock-serious look. “Now, I believe the proper thing to say at this point is that I don’t normally do this kind of thing. The one-night thing. But I’m glad I did it with you.”
He ran a hand down her body. “Me too,cara mia. Believe it or not, I don’t usually act with that much spontaneity – rather, I don’t get the opportunity or have the desire to act that way. It wasn’t a plan, it really was justyou. You can believe that or not.”
Padme decided she did believe him and kissed him. He smiled. “Sweet one…would you spend the weekend with me? I have to work from Monday – or rather, I’m going to be somewhat absent from public life for a while. I would love to spend the next couple of days with you, if you don’t have any prior commitments?”
Padme hesitated. She had planned on just preparing for her first assignment on Monday, getting some time in at the gym. If she were sensible at all, she would leave now, before it got complicated, before she got too involved with someone who, by his own admission, would be gone by next week.Someone who might be dangerous.No.She would say goodnight now and leave it as a very, very pleasant memory.Be sensible. Don’t risk your career over a handsome man. Good girl, she told herself.
“I’d love to stay,” her mouth betrayed her.
Oh goddamn it.
Frederick Ingles waited while the airport staff brought the ladder to his private jet. He’d never been to Seattle before, and he wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing now. He hated to be dragged away from his Paris home, especially for something as ridiculous as this, but Enver Toscano could bring down his entire world, and Ingles was not about to allow that.
He got into the waiting limousine to see his private detective waiting for him. “Where is he?”
“Hotel. With some whore, he picked up. They haven’t left his room all weekend.”
Frederick’s bodyguard, Wes, spoke up. “Seems ideal for a hit. Kill him, kill the girl – we could even make it look like a murder-suicide. Paint her a crazy-obsessed chick.”
Frederick rolled his eyes. “Except we don’t know who she is and her family or friends could ruin that plan. Besides, we had to register a flight plan – the F.B.I. know I’m here. How quickly do you think they would come for me if Toscano and some random girl end up dead as soon as I fly in? Think, idiot.”
He stared out of the window. “No, we play the long game. See if we can avoid any violence, for now, intimidate Toscano into keeping his mouth shut.”
“Probably shouldn’t have offed his business partner then,” Wes muttered but quelled under Frederick’s furious glare.
“Wesley, when this trip is over, I want you to take some time. Think about if you really want to defy me at every turn. Now shut up.”
Wesley shut up. Frederick sighed. The murder of Maximillian Nero had been unfortunate but necessary, but Frederick had underestimated Enver Toscano’s grief for his friend, and what he would do for revenge. Even threatening one of Enver’s girlfriends hadn’t stopped him from vowing to being the Ingles down, and the girlfriend had been quietly whisked away somewhere they couldn’t touch her.
The Ingles family ruled most of Europe. France, Italy, Spain, Germany – there were very few countries which their malevolent presence didn’t reach. Their business – money laundering – was run under the guise of philanthropy and their enemies were dealt with ruthlessly and efficiently.
Until Max Nero had uncovered the evidence of their dealings, the Ingles had run rough-shod over their competition, the police, even Interpol. Nothing and no-one could touch them.
Frederick shook his head, remembering the day he’d killed Max. A mistake. Frederick’s first misstep since taking over as head of the company after his father died. He should have paid off Max instead of killing him. Max was malleable, unlike Enver. Max had given him the option. Fred would never forget what Max said. “Believe me, Frederick, this is a better deal for you. If Enver ever found this information…you may think he’s the playboy in this, that he’d rather fuck your wife than use this information, but you should never,everunderestimate him. He’s a good man, through and through. Any whiff of corruption and he’ll bring the force of law down on you. Andthenhe’ll fuck your wife, and she’ll swear blind, even under the threat of death, that he was the best lover she’d ever known.”
Frederick had snarled, losing his temper and ordered Max killed. He was aware the second he had killed Max and his wife, Julia – and not quickly either - that it was the wrong move. Enver would mourn the loss of his friend and be like a tenacious puppy. It hadn’t taken Enver long before he’d found out what happened – some jerkweed on Frederick’s staff had sold the Ingles out. Enver had vowed to bring them down – Frederick had expected a bullet. But what Enver wanted was the destruction of the Ingles’ family business, not just one Engle. He went to the F.B.I. and told them he would testify, under oath, and destroy the Ingles’ reputation once of for all.
Which meant now that Frederick would have to kill Enver Toscano and soon. Whoever this girl was, Frederick hoped she was only a one-night stand because he hated to kill an innocent woman. He smirked to himself.No, you love it, you sick fuck, just admit it.He shrugged. He didn’t really care about this girl who was fucking Toscano.
But no-one would get in the way of Enver Toscano’s murder.
No-one.
Padme tried not to show how miserable she felt as Sunday night came around. She never,everthought she would be dreading this particular Monday morning but the last forty-eight hours had been nothing short of…magical.
Danilo – or whatever his name was – wasn’t just a phenomenal lover, he was incredibly funny, sweet and fascinating. He told her what he could about his past – born and raised in Florence, Italy, by his Italian father and American mother, he had lost both of them young, his father when he was five, his mother when he was just eighteen. His best friend, Max, had died recently and Danilo was still raw from it. Padme marveled about he wore his heart on his sleeve, how the conversation between them was easy and fun and above all else, it felt genuine. Often, she thought about telling him about who she was, asking him to trust her to tell her his real name. She wanted to know…him. The real him. His name was important.
Now, she wondered why she had worried about it. Their connection had been deeper than mere names or even the sex, as great as it was.
And now, she was going to have to say goodbye, and she was struggling to find the word.
“Hey,” Danilo came from the bathroom – a white towel wrapped around his body. They had just showered together, making love under the hot water spray. His dark curls were damp against his face, his eyes such a beautiful color against his tanned skin. Padme ran her eyes over his body, open in her admiration.
