Lorenzo paced back and forth on the terrace of his townhouse, his phone glued to his ear. “Nothing?” he demanded, not caring how he sounded. “Nothing at all? Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” The deep, gravelly voice of his half-brother, Nero, was barbed. “You think I’d miss anything? When it comes to taking Dad down, I’m on your side, remember?”

Lorenzo stopped pacing, staring sightlessly over his Central Park view, at the lights coming on in the park and in the skyscrapers around it, the clear, deepening blue of the sky tinged with hints of orange and pink as the sun went down.

“There has to be a digital trail of some sort,” he insisted, frustration coiling tight inside him. “You can’t move money these days without leaving some kind of footprint behind you.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t leave one.” Nero’s tone was flat. “Because if he did, I would have found it.”

“Are you sure?”

Nero was silent.

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. It was a stupid question. Of course, Nero was sure. The guy was a technical genius, and if he couldn’t find a digital footprint it was because there wasn’t one.

“He must have gotten someone to cover his tracks then.” Lorenzo tried to lock down the frustration that burned in his gut. “Someone very good if you can’t find it.”

“There are people out there who could,” Nero allowed. “Fuck knows he wouldn’t have been able to do it himself, not when he’s such a fucking Luddite.”

Lorenzo let out a breath, turning from the view of the park and scanning over the terrace reflexively, making sure everything was ready for Kira’s arrival.

He’d gotten Stacey to organize a special outdoor setting for dinner tonight, and whoever she’d gotten to do the decor had excelled themselves; the table was set with a white cloth, and there were crystal glasses and silver flatware. Rustic wooden dining chairs had been softened with silk cushions, and a number of tea lights glimmered in colored-glass holders.

A lattice pergola framed the dinner table, fairy lights threaded through it, and not far away was a big wooden daybed piled high with more silk cushions. Near the daybed was an ice bucket full of ice and a bottle of vintage Krug, and a table with some champagne flutes at the ready.

Lorenzo’s gaze settled on the daybed and his cock hardened, a fantasy of having Kira spread out naked on it already playing through his head.

But this isn’t about your fantasies, remember?

No, of course it wasn’t.

It had come to him in his office yesterday, that if he didn’t want to make his loss of control with her into a giant mistake, he was going to have to think of some way to turn it into an advantage instead. And because he was good at turning mistakes into advantages, it had only taken him a couple of seconds to settle on the perfect way.

He hadn’t considered using sex to build her trust and loyalty to him, but since sex was now on the table so to speak, he didn’t see why he couldn’t.

After an initial debate with himself about how to organize the evening, whether to have dinner first, maybe book a fancy restaurant, or whether to head straight to the bedroom, he’d decided in the end to go with dinner first.

It would be good to know a bit more about her, discover what was going on inside that beautiful head of hers. Find out what made her tick. Not for himself of course, but so he could build a bond between them. Women liked that conversation with their sex after all.

The main thing he had to keep in mind, though, was that Kira was a means to an end, and that end was all about taking his father down for his mother’s sake.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with what he wanted for himself.

Or what you need?

There was nothing he needed. Not a single thing. Not anymore.

“Maybe we’re focusing on the wrong person,” Lorenzo said, turning over a few thoughts in his head. “Maybe it’s not Dad we should be looking at. Clearly he’s got some help from someone. Perhaps we should be looking around for who that might be.”

“Shit,” Nero muttered. “That’s a good point. I think I have an idea about where to start.”

Lorenzo did, too. “If you’re thinking Ivan then we’re on the same page.”

“That bastard.” Nero sounded pissed. “Looks like I’ve got some digging to do in that case.”

“You could try that angle.” Lorenzo leaned back against the parapet, his brain ticking over, another idea slowly taking shape. “But I have a better plan.”

“Oh?”

“One that won’t risk any suspicion coming down on us.”

“Hey, if you’re worried about me getting caught—”

“I’m not worried about that.” Because he wasn’t; Nero was very, very good at what he did. “It’s more a case of why risk any more suspicion when we don’t need to?”

There was a silence.

“What are you talking about, Lorenzo?”

Lorenzo allowed himself a grim smile. “I’ve got someone close to Ivan who might be able to be of some use to us.”

“Who?”

But he didn’t want to name Kira, not yet. Not until he was sure he could get her on their side. “Let me see if I can make it work first.”

Nero muttered a curse. “This is no time for you to be fucking cagey.”

At that moment, the door to the terrace opened and his housekeeper put her head out. “Miss Constantin is here, Mr. de Santis.”

“I’ve got to go,” Lorenzo said to Nero. “I’ll let you know what’s happening.” Without waiting for his half-brother to reply, he hit the disconnect button. “Show her up, Janet.”

“Sure. How long do you want me to stay this evening?”

“We only need dinner served, so bring that up in half an hour. You can go after that.”

Janet, a laconic, older Scotswoman, gave a brisk nod and disappeared back downstairs again.

Lorenzo folded his arms and waited, staring at the door, a hot hungry feeling rising slowly inside him. A hunger that had nothing whatsoever to do with food.

It had only been a day since Kira had walked out of his office yet, for some reason, he’d felt every one of the hours, minutes, and seconds that had passed since. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so sexually obsessed with a woman.

You really can’t?

No, this had nothing to do with Katie. With her it had been about so much more than sex. He’d been obsessed with her and not simply her body, though that had been pretty obsession-worthy. She’d been warm and giving, always happy to see him, always happy to spend time with him. Always concerned about him and interested in what he’d been doing. That kind of emotional generosity had been so lacking in his childhood and in his family as a whole, he’d lapped up Katie’s adoration of him like cat with a bowl of fresh cream. It had been so good to feel needed by her. If only he hadn’t needed her in return. Because if he hadn’t—

He cut the thought off dead. No need to dwell on past mistakes. They were over and done with, and he couldn’t change them now. What was important was not repeating them, and that, at least, he had well in hand.

The door to the terrace opened and a figure appeared in the doorway.

A figure that turned into Kira, stepping out onto the terrace, shutting the door closed behind her.

Lust hit him like a sucker punch, driving the breath from his body. Because she wasn’t in one of the little pencil skirts, loose blouses, and pairs of low heels she wore to work. Tonight she wore a simple white silk slip dress that followed the slender line of her figure as if it had been poured on. The hem was perfectly modest, fluttering around her knees as she came closer, the neckline dipping between her breasts but not too deeply. A virginal dress almost, if it wasn’t for the way the silk pulled taut across her small round breasts and swirled like liquid around her hips. If it wasn’t for the fact that there was nothing but pale skin beneath those narrow straps, alerting him to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her hair was loose for a change, falling in platinum blonde waves around her shoulders, and on her feet were a pair of high heeled sandals that were nothing but one silver strap over her toes and another buckled securely around her narrow ankles.

She wore no jewelry, her makeup minimal, nothing but mascara and a slick of gloss on those beautiful, pouty pink lips of hers.

She looked like a virgin sacrifice, a princess, an angel.

The only color to her was in her eyes, the deep, clear azure of the darkening sky above the terrace.

“Is this your good girl look?” He let the rough edge in his voice bleed through since he couldn’t be bothered trying to hide it.

Kira stopped in front of him. She was holding a white satin clutch in one hand while the other lifted toward her mouth and then dropped away at the last moment in a nervous-looking gesture. “Kind of.” She made an awkward movement with the hand holding the clutch. “I hope it’s okay. I didn’t know if we were going out or . . . or what.”

He studied her fine-boned, delicate face, watching the ebb and flow of color on her cheekbones, the flicker in her blue eyes. She seemed uncertain, which was good since it gave him the advantage.

He tilted his head, watching her. “Are you nervous?”

She gave a small laugh, her gaze sliding past his and toward the park. “It’s that obvious huh?”

He hadn’t expected her to acknowledge it, and the fact that she had surprised him. It also turned him on. “Yes.” He gave her figure a slow, sweeping glance. “It’s obvious.”

A faint warm breeze had started up, bringing with it the scent of exhaust fumes and grass and hot earth and asphalt. It made her dress flutter, flattening the silk over her breasts and making the outlines of her nipples clear.

“Sorry.” She shivered and rubbed at her arm, looking resolutely out at the park and not at him. “I don’t know what’s happening here.”

“I think it’s pretty clear what’s happening here. You’re going to be my good girl, tonight. Aren’t you?”

Her gaze flicked to his fleetingly and then away again. “I . . . suppose.”

He watched her, gauging her reaction. That wasn’t genuine reluctance he’d heard in her voice, because she’d agreed to it yesterday. In fact, she’d been desperate to and he’d seen that desperation in her eyes. No, this was something else. A challenge maybe? A pretense so he’d chase her?

“What do you mean you suppose?” he asked. “You didn’t wear a white silk dress that I can see your nipples through just because you didn’t want this.”

She blinked, giving a little start. As if the words had shocked her.

Interesting.

Her gaze came to his once more, and he recognized the spark that was glowing in them. The same spark that had been there when he’d held her up against that door yesterday and told her exactly what he was doing to do to her.

Desire kicked hard inside him.

“I can’t wear a bra underneath this thing,” she said, a slightly thickened edge in her voice. “The straps are too thin.”

Okay, so she was admitting nothing. But the way she was looking at him . . . Yes, they both knew that she was lying. Did that mean she wanted him to push her harder?

He held her gaze this time, pinned her with it, showing her that he’d give that to her if she wanted it. “I like you being nervous, Kira. I like you being on edge. But what I don’t like is you pretending you didn’t wear that dress without a bra because you wanted to be sexy for me.”

Color flooded her face. “No, that’s not—”

“Are you wearing panties?”

Her eyes widened, her pale skin flushing an even deeper red, the blue glow of her eyes intense. “Of course I’m wearing panties.”

Aren’t you supposed to be having dinner first? Before you get into this?

It didn’t matter what came first. He wanted her desperate for him, eager to please him, and if this was the quickest route to that, then that’s the route he would take. It had nothing whatsoever to do with his rapidly escalating desire. Of course, it didn’t.

He looked into her eyes, caught by the intensity of the color. Fascinated by how different she was now to the pale creature who’d come into his office that first day. “Take them off.”

“What? Now? Here?”

“Don’t argue, just do it.”

She looked away again. Her free hand had dropped to her side, still clenched in a fist, while the knuckles of her other hand were white against the satin of her purse.

His heartbeat had accelerated, the blood rushing in his veins, his muscles tightening in anticipation. This felt important. He wanted her to obey him and he wanted it very much indeed.

No, you don’t. You want her to challenge you.

Bullshit. He wanted obedience. Needed it for his plan to work. He had to test her so he knew for certain that she’d do whatever he asked her to and without question. That was all.

A moment passed, the sounds of the traffic drifting up from the street loud in the air, along with the constant hum of the city, music, voices, and sirens. The familiar sounds of a New York evening.

The tension in the atmosphere pulled tight.

All his focus had narrowed to the woman standing in front of him with her gaze turned from his, so virginal in her white dress. So painfully beautiful.

Every muscle was taut, his fingers curling unconsciously into fists.

He wanted this. He needed it. And right now, whether it was her obedience or her challenge, he didn’t care.

“Kira.” He said her name softly, a seduction. “You wanted to be my good girl, didn’t you? So. Take off your panties.”

Slowly, her gaze came back to his, something hot and bright glittering in the depths. Then her expression relaxed, and her mouth curved very slightly. “No,” she murmured.

Adrenaline surged and he’d pushed himself away from the parapet, taking a couple of unconscious steps toward her before he could stop himself.

She didn’t move. Didn’t back away. She simply stood there, watching him from beneath her lashes as if fascinated, that faint smile taunting him.

He wasn’t in the mood for games, and he didn’t like being played. He liked being teased even less. Yet that didn’t stop his dick from getting harder or his heartbeat from getting even faster.

Jesus, what was she doing to him?

“If you don’t take them off right now, you’re fired,” he said coldly, attempting to regain some control of the situation.

Her chin lifted, the spark in her eyes glowing, the slight smile curving one side of her lovely mouth deepening. “Then enjoy the sexual harassment suit I’ll be bringing against DS Corp. I know I will.”

An uncontrollable pulse of excitement shot all the way down his spine, and he didn’t have the first clue as to why. There was just something about that wicked smile and the gleam of in her eyes . . .

You like her challenge.

Yes, but he shouldn’t. It should be the very last thing he should like. Yet desire gripped him by the throat, squeezing him tight, and he almost lost it. Almost went over there to rip her panties off himself.

But he managed to hold on. Just.

If she was going to push him, then he would push back. Hard.

“Take them off.” He looked into her eyes. “Unless you’re scared. Is that why you’re teasing me, little girl? To cover the fact that you’re afraid?” He kept his own voice quiet. “Because if you can’t handle this, all you need to do is turn around and leave. I’ll get a car to take you home. Nothing will happen if you refuse, I promise.”

Her smile faded, but not that hot, blue spark in her gaze. It was electric, making him realize, with a sudden jolt, that he actually didn’t want her to leave. Not at all.

Which means she’s got the power this time.

Christ. So she had. She’d stolen it from him, with her white dress and her glowing sapphire eyes. She’d made him want, and now he was trapped by his own need.

Another long moment passed, and he could barely breathe, the pressure of desire crushing all the air from his lungs.

Finally, Kira let out a breath, then moved over to the parapet, placing her purse on it. She reached up underneath her dress and eased down what turned out to be a thong in lace almost the same pale color as her skin. The material glittered as she stepped out of it, like it had been embroidered with diamonds.

She straightened, the thong dangling from her finger. “There. Happy now?”

Relief filled him, and he couldn’t speak, holding his hand out wordlessly instead.

But Kira shook her head. “Oh no, you want them?” The naughty smile was back. “You have to come get them.”

He shouldn’t give in. He shouldn’t. Yet he was, because he was already moving over to where she stood before he’d even made a conscious decision, reaching out to take the thong from her finger. The fabric was silky and warm from her body, and he had an intense urge to lift it to his nose and inhale her scent.

“Be careful with them.” Her gaze didn’t even flicker as it held his. “The beading is delicate and took me forever to do.”

He blinked and looked down at the pale silk in his hand, at the tiny glittering beads sewn in intricate patterns over the front of them. What? She’d embroidered these herself?

“I did what you wanted,” she went on, her voice turning soft and husky. “Now, it’s your turn. First, I’d like a drink, and then I’d very much like it if you fucked me.”

* * *

Oh God, why had she said that?

Kira gazed up at him, his eyes full of storms, a mirror to the chaos of emotion that was careening around inside of her.

What the hell had gotten into her? She wasn’t supposed to be challenging him or teasing him. She was supposed to be doing what he said.

You know what’s gotten into you.

Okay, so she did.

She’d spent the whole day battling the urge to call him up and cancel. Not because she didn’t want to spend the night, but because she did. And the last six months had been all about not doing what she wanted just because she wanted it.

Indulging herself in a night with him ran counter to everything she’d been trying to achieve and seemed like the very antithesis of controlling herself.

She’d already been nervous and uncertain when she’d arrived, doubting her decision to come, and then, when she’d been shown up to the terrace and she’d seen all the candles and the table prepared for dinner, her nervousness and uncertainty had deepened even more.

She’d expected this to be all about sex, not what looked to be a date. But clearly Lorenzo had other ideas. It had made her wonder what more he wanted from her, because whatever it was, it was more than likely she wouldn’t be able to give it to him. She’d never been able to give anyone what they wanted, not her parents, not her teachers, not her friends at college, no one.

That thought had only fed into her nervousness, because the last thing she wanted to do was to be put in a position where yet again she was going to disappoint someone.

Especially not him.

But then he’d reminded her that she was supposed to be his good girl, and just like that her uncertainty and nervousness had faded as a rush of intense excitement had filled her.

She hadn’t meant to tease him. She was supposed to be controlling her volatile emotions, and yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself from taunting him a little, too carried away by that excitement and by her own desire for him.

Had she screwed it up by teasing him? By defying him?

Remember what happens when you forget yourself.

The nervous tension in her gut was getting worse and she braced herself for what was to come. He’d change his mind, she was certain of it. He’d send her away, decide he didn’t want her after all. She was supposed to be good, she was supposed to behave herself, and not doing what she was told was definitely not behaving herself.

He was standing in front of her, her panties in the palm of one hand. He wore simple dark charcoal suit pants that sat low on his lean hips and a plain black business shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tanned skin and sleekly muscled forearms.

It did not help that he was gorgeous, just . . . gorgeous.

She couldn’t stop staring into his stormy gray eyes, looking to see if she could see the lightning there. But there was nothing but rain for now, rain and thunderclouds.

His dark brows lowered, his expression stern, making everything inside her curl up tight with distress.

She had ruined it, hadn’t she? God, she should never have opened her big fat mouth.

Lorenzo’s sharp gaze searched her face, making her feel vulnerable and exposed, which did not help calm her one iota. Then unexpectedly he lifted his free hand and cupped her cheek, his touch warm and gentle.

For some reason, it turned her to stone.

“You are scared.” His voice still held that roughness she’d heard in it before, but now it was softer, blunter. “Why?”

The question shocked her, because she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. Hell, hadn’t she been telling herself just before, when he’d issued his own taunt, telling her to leave if she was scared, that he was wrong? That of course she wasn’t scared? She was teasing him because she couldn’t help herself, because she’d gotten excited and couldn’t resist provoking him.

But . . . he was right. It was fear. All that nervousness and uncertainty and not wanting to let him down.

It made her feel even more vulnerable.

She wanted to turn her head, pull away, but the warmth of his palm against her cheek stole her breath. There had only been one other time in her life when she’d experienced such gentleness and that had been at the garden party all those years ago, when he’d put a Band-Aid on her cut after the wine glasses had fallen on her.

He must have seen her reluctance, because the look on his face hardened, even though his hold remained gentle. “Tell me, Kira. That’s an order.”

Do you really want to tell him? Do you really want him to know how badly he affects you?

Something locked in her throat and this time she did pull away, wanting to put some distance between them, turning and moving over to where the beautiful daybed, piled high with pillows, stood. Her dress moved caressingly over her bare skin as she walked, and she concentrated on the feeling of the cool silk instead of the emotion blocking her throat.

He didn’t call her back, and she didn’t turn, sitting down on the daybed and tucking the white silk beneath her with hands that trembled.

She should have told him, should have obeyed him. Because that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? To obey his orders and please him at the same time as she pleased herself. Yet doing so would reveal the extent of her vulnerability to him, and she wasn’t ready for that. Not when she hadn’t quite grasped it herself

It didn’t help either that it was clear he didn’t think much of her.

She’d been with men who’d despised her before, back in college when she’d been manically trying to prove every single one of the accusations her parents threw at her, true. Drinking and partying and screwing around. She’d told herself that she was happy, that doing whatever the fuck she liked had made her feel free, but it hadn’t.

Those mornings when she’d woken up in some stranger’s bed with a hangover and no memory of the night before, she’d felt the opposite. Trapped by who she was, by her parents’ expectations, by all her failures. By her ADHD. By her entire life.

Pity it had taken the deaths of two people—her friends—to make her understand how destructive her behavior had been. God, if only she’d thought about that before she’d gotten into the car that day. But she hadn’t. She’d failed her semester and so she’d decided her parents, and her father in particular, could go screw themselves. She was dropping out of college, end of story. Of course, she hadn’t been able to wait to tell her father the happy news, picking up her phone to text him as she’d raced down the New Jersey Turnpike, not thinking that maybe texting and driving wasn’t a good thing . . .

The sound of a popping cork jolted her out of her thoughts, bringing her attention back to Lorenzo as he poured some champagne out of the bottle he’d just opened and into two glasses that sat on the low table nearby. Then he picked up the glasses, coming over and handing one to her without comment.

Kira didn’t look at him as she took the glass, sipping at it and letting the bubbles of the champagne fizz on her tongue, the dry yeasty taste of it delicious. Trying to ignore the rush of heat that went through her as he sat down beside her.

“You went to a lot of effort.” She gestured toward the table and candles. “Just for sex, I mean.”

He shifted, angling so he could face her and leaning back against the arm of the daybed. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t make an effort?”

Kira took another sip of her champagne then looked down at the glass she held in her hands, watching the bubbles rise of the surface and condensation bead on the glass. “It’s not as if this is a date. You don’t even like me.”

There was a silence.

The air was warm, the sounds of the city around them filling the night air. The last few rays of sun were touching the buildings, sending glitters everywhere like disco balls in a nightclub, the sky gradually fading from blue into streaks of orange and pink and red.

Kira lifted her head and stared at the sky, because it was beautiful and it was easier to look at that than to face the man sitting next to her and see the truth in his eyes.

Attempting to ignore the part of her that wanted him to disagree. To hear him say, “Of course, I like you.”

But he didn’t.

“What makes you think I don’t?” he asked instead, sounding genuinely curious.

She kept her gaze on the sky. “Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been treating me like dirt since the day I started. Getting angry with me for absolutely no reason. Snapping at me. Judging me. Calling me out on my behavior when I’ve done nothing but do whatever task you set for me. I told you I was different, that I’d changed, but that didn’t seem to matter to you. So, yeah, I don’t think you like me one bit.”

He was silent a moment, as if contemplating that. Then he said, “Why does it matter? Do you want me to like you?”

You do. Of course, you do.

Her jaw hardened. Maybe once she had, but again, she wasn’t ten years old, a little girl holding out a paper crane for his inspection and desperate for a smile. She wasn’t that pathetic, not anymore.

“No,” she said firmly, to herself and to him. “I was only curious as to why you’d go to all this trouble for me.”

“It was no trouble. I got Stacey to organize it.” His voice was cool. “I thought you might appreciate something to eat before we did anything else.”

So he’d gotten his secretary to do all of this. He hadn’t actually had any hand in it himself.

She didn’t know why that disappointed her, since getting his secretary to organize flowers and lights was a nice gesture. It was almost as if she wanted it to mean more than that, which was impossible. He was her boss for a start, and then there was the mission she was supposed to fulfil for her father.

Nothing to do with being afraid that even if Lorenzo did want more from you, you wouldn’t be able to give it to him anyway.

No, nothing to do with that at all.

“Thank you,” she said. “Dinner is always good.”

Another silence.

Then he said, “Kira.”

She kept her gaze on her wineglass. “Yes?”

“Look at me.”

It was an order, no question, and she was here to obey him. So she turned her head and met his intent, gray stare. His face was set in hard, uncompromising lines, stern, harsh even. He looked like he never smiled, never laughed.

But she knew that he did, because there had been that smile at the woman who’d flung herself into his arms. And she remembered how those arms had closed around her and held her close as if he never wanted to let her go . . .

God, how she wanted someone to do that. Hold her tight. Keep her close. She wanted to be someone’s, because despite what the rest of the world thought, she hadn’t been anyone’s at all. Her parents had washed their hands of her when she’d failed school and apart from insisting she go to college, had basically left her to her down devices. She’d been given things instead of hugs, money instead of love and total freedom instead of boundaries. Which was most people’s idea of heaven, but it wasn’t hers. Because all that the things and money and freedom told her was that no one cared.

No one cared enough to put their arms around her and tell her it was okay. No one cared enough about her behavior to tell her what was acceptable and what wasn’t. No one cared enough to tell her they loved her despite how she’d failed at everything she did.

But who’d ever want to do that with a woman like you? This is the best you can hope for and you know it.

Her throat tightened, but she ignored it. She couldn’t let him see how pathetic she was. Not him, not this man who already didn’t like her very much. “What?”

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

His stare was as focused as a laser beam, the same way he’d stared at her when he’d asked her why she was afraid. She hadn’t answered him then, and she didn’t want to answer him now.

“It’s nothing.” She lifted her glass and took another sip of champagne.

He didn’t look away. “It’s something. Tell me.”

And all of a sudden, she was angry, at him and this ridiculous simulacrum of a date. It felt . . . dishonest. Like he was taunting her with something she couldn’t ever have. As if she was freezing and could see a fire through the window, but he wouldn’t let her come inside and warm herself.

“Why should I?” She didn’t bother hiding the sharp edge to her voice, not that she could have even if she’d wanted to. “I mean, seriously. You don’t like me and sure, you want to fuck me, but why bother with a drink and conversation if you don’t give a shit?”