For the entire shift, the text followed me, taunting me, and I was almost sick with nerves by the time I watched the last customer stumble out. I should have felt resolution. Peace. Instead, it felt like a mistake. A mistake I couldn’t talk to anyone about. A mistake that had Dario’s voice whispering in my ear, the phantom brush of his fingertips on my shoulder, his kiss on my neck. A kiss I’d never feel again.

I had lost control with him, my stability seeming to dissolve the longer I’d stayed in his presence. It was all just as confusing as the conflict I’d seen in his eyes.

I carried empty glasses and wiped down the bar, thinking of his hand closing around my waist, drawing me against his body, the soft give and dominance of his mouth against mine. The look of torture in his eyes when he’d stepped away from me.

“The women don’t mean anything to me. Maybe I’m ready for someone who does.”

Had it all been bullshit, lines of seduction that a dozen Vegas brunettes had heard? I stacked my tips, then handed them through the cage. Maurice spread the chips, then counted out my bills, passing them over with a smile.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, then locked the drawers. On any given night, there was a few million in the cage. I’ve watched them count out the stacks, had seen the nights when the armored truck had to deliver extra, and nights when they carted away the profits. It was a good business to be in. I tucked my cash into my pocket and moved to the control room. Grabbing my phone, I held my breath as I unlocked it and opened my texts.

Nothing. No text and no missed call. I’d sent out a grenade, and he hadn’t responded at all. I should be thankful.

I moved past everyone and out to the parking lot. I unlocked my car, got inside, and swore, hitting the steering wheel with enough force to hurt my palm.

I told him I didn’t want him to contact me again. He hadn’t, and the result was one that made me want to tear out my hair and scream.

I knew what I liked. What I wanted. Emotion-free, orgasm-filled sex.

While Dario Capece might be looking for the same thing in a side piece, I could already tell that—with him—my emotions wouldn’t behave. A physical relationship between us might take my cold and lifeless heart and actually cause it to beat. To hum. To swell with blood and emotion. To hurt.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was in full pity-party mood. In bed at three o’clock. Class assignments finished, I was bingeing on reality TV with impressive dedication.

If I hadn’t sent the Worst Text Ever, I’d be prepping for tonight’s date with Dario. Instead, I was elbow-deep in some housewives show where everyone seemed to be broke and bitchy.

It was ridiculous. Ian asked me on a date, and I blew him off without a second thought. I did the same thing to Dario Capece, and I was chewing through my fingernails like a meth addict in rehab.

My phone buzzed and I catapulted over the covers, frantically tossing aside pillows until I pulled it out. Ugh. A text from Ian. I closed it without reading it and settled back against the headboard and pulled my bag of Doritos closer. I was being pathetic. I hardly knew the man. I shouldn’t think twice about turning down his dinner invitation or never speaking to him again.

I shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

My mom hadn’t raised a starry-eyed weakling. I reached for the remote and clicked on the next episode.

A few minutes before eleven, there was a soft knock, and I turned my head as the bedroom door creaked open. Meredith stuck her head in.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

I paused the show and lifted my soda to my mouth, waiting to see what she wanted.

“There’s some old guy here to see you.”

She couldn’t mean Dario. While he was in his mid-to-late thirties… “old guy” wouldn’t be the terminology she’d use. Not for him, and not by her—a girl who’d recently dated a forty-two-year-old surgeon and didn’t take any of our shit about it. I pulled back the covers and stood, her eyebrows raising at my messy hair, hot pink leggings, and Save the MF Whales shirt.

“Sexy.”

“You know it.” I stretched, mentally flipping through my visitor possibilities.

“Guy looks like a cop.”

I passed Lydia in the kitchen, the smell of microwave popcorn thick in the air, and swung open the front door to—bonus points to Meredith—an old guy. Six feet tall, in a suit, with thinning hair and a military-precise stance. For a senior citizen, he was in shape, thick and muscular, with a glare that would get me to confess almost anything. “Can I help you?”

The man’s eyes moved to Meredith, who peered over my right shoulder, then back to me. “Miss Hartley, if I could have a word in private.”

I looked past him and saw what Meredith missed, the Rolls Royce idling behind her car, its headlights dimmed. I elbowed my roommate back, lowering my voice. “I got this.”

I stepped out on the porch and pulled the door behind me, ignoring the man and heading toward the car, my socks moving silently down the concrete drive until I was beside the Rolls and knocking on the window, the glass moving beneath my knuckles. Dario Capece was unveiled, and my heart both cracked and soared at the sight of him.

I crossed my arms over my chest and attempted to appear aloof. “Too fancy to ring your own doorbells?”

The window stopped, and the glint of his watch caught the streetlight. I couldn’t see him well, his features dim, but his voice was clear and firm, and tugged at every string of arousal I had. “I was trying to be discreet.”

Behind me, there was the snap of a lighter, and I turned to watch the older man lean against our front porch column, his cigarette glowing to life. I looked over the glossy curves of the Rolls. “This car isn’t exactly discreet.”

It was small talk, useless words that danced around what I should be saying. I told you not to contact me.

He nodded to the passenger side. “Get in. I want to show you something.”

I tucked a chunk of dirty hair behind my ear and cursed myself for being so slack. I should have showered. Brushed my hair. Should have been at least slightly optimistic that Dario Capece would put up a bit of a fight.

His eyes caught the movement, and I watched as his gaze moved down my body, taking in the outfit. “Nice socks.”

My socks didn’t match—one gray, one white, and I huffed in irritation. I’d bet someone laid out his socks each morning. I’d bet they were in perfect neat rolls in their own special drawer in his closet.

“Come on. You don’t need shoes. Get in.”

I frowned. “Your mom ever teach you how to say please?”

His mouth twitched, and the playful glint in his eyes almost melted my panties right off. “Please get in the car.”

I opened the door to a car worth more than my life and entered an interior that reeked of wealth. I shut the door and locked myself in with the one man I should avoid, the one I had promised Lance and Rick to stay away from.

I should be afraid of him, of everything in his world and the risks that he carried. Instead, I got into his car, without my phone or purse or shoes, and trusted him to keep me safe. He waved at his driver, then rolled up the window and turned to me.

“I’m sorry for coming by so late.”

I said nothing, tucking my palms underneath my thighs and watching as the driver got in. A divider rose with a quiet hum, blocking him from our view. I nodded in the general direction of the front seat. “Who’s the guy?”

Dario stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle, and I peeked at his socks. Yep. Matchy-matchy. Dark with a pattern.

“That’s Vince, my head of security. He’s worked with me for a long time.”

I thought back, to the first night I met him, and tried to remember if he’d been in the front room. Maybe he had. I’d been distracted by the two big guys, linemen who had practically snarled when Tim and Jim had approached them. I felt the car shift into gear and looked out the window, the night too dark to see anything. “Where are we going?”

“Not too far. Don’t worry.”

“Somewhere that doesn’t need shoes?”

I ran my hands along a group of controls on the door, finding and activating the seat heater and a massage function. Underneath me, the leather minutely shifted, a soothing roll of action that felt heavenly. I sank into the seat and Dario chuckled.

“Having fun?”

“This massager is much nicer than the one at the pedicure place.”

“I’d hope so.”

He reached forward and pressed a button, a footrest appearing, my chair reclining slightly.

“Wow.” I closed my eyes and let my arms hang limp. “I don’t know why you scowl so much. This is all I’d need in life to be happy.”

I heard the shift of him, felt the brush of his arm, but didn’t open my eyes.

“Do I scowl?”

There was humor in his tone, and I risked a peek, turning my head to see a hint of a smile on his lips. “Oh yeah. Big time.”

“I only scowl when I’m being tormented by a beautiful woman.”

“Oh please.” I reached forward and found the seat control, returning it to the upright position. The car rolled over a speed bump and barely rocked. I wanted to ask him why he showed up at my house in the middle of the night. I wanted to ask him where we were going. I wanted to ask him what he meant by “tormented.”

I swallowed my questions, and looked out the window, watching neon signs pass, their colors muted by the tint. I suddenly felt like a kid. Next to Dario’s powerful presence, I felt so young so…inexperienced.

It was unnerving, but in an entirely different way than I’d felt that night at the barn. While I felt powerless in his presence, I also felt protected, his strength giving me comfort instead of fear. As the Rolls hummed down the Strip, I felt another foreign emotion. Excitement.

This was his turf. His domain. The car slowed, and I straightened as it turned into the entrance of the last place I wanted to be.