The hotel was luxurious. I’d passed by it at least a dozen times on my way to the park when I was at school. It had been a pipe dream I’d admitted to Cara once. Stay there like a baller, like I’d just won a Pulitzer and every editor of every major magazine in the country wanted to work with me. We’d stay here and look down on the city below from the twenty-fifth floor. Our own kingdom beneath our feet.

But as I followed Cara inside, watched those tempting hips sway in front of me, I reminded myself that sometimes dreams stayed dreams for a reason. I didn’t need a Pulitzer. I didn’t want to be anyone’s damn king, and the hotel wasn’t as impressive as it had been when I was a senior in college, interning at New York Magazine.

For starters, nice as it was, the place was a monochromatic wet dream. Variations of dark, light, grayish, and pale beige covered the lobby from floor to ceiling. What wasn’t beige or close to it was marble, with hints of beige or dark wood, with tones of beige or its cousin, greige. Occasionally, there’d be the sparkle and glitter of light overhead, but it didn’t bring any color to the space or kill the color-blind sensation I got as Cara marched us to my room.

A maid waited for us at the door, holding it open as we entered. Cara walked straight to the expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the suite and closed the curtains. The movement hid the manufactured stars made up from the buildings surrounding us that scattered light around the city. The panels didn’t close completely, and a sliver of light fell across the room, casting Cara in brightness. She looked good standing there, silhouetted against the light, her curves exaggerated in shadows, her full breasts moving as she exhaled. But Cara wasn’t some sweet pinup goddess promising release and surrender. She was a manipulative, greedy bitch who drew prey to her with the sway of her hips and the cock-aching slip of her tongue along her criminally full lips.

Son of a bitch.

“If you need anything at all—” the maid started, grin stretching when I winked at her.

“Thank you,” Cara interrupted, nodding to the door so the maid would kill the flirting and leave.

The room was no room at all. It damn well shouldn’t be for a grand a night. There was a small entry that led into a large living area. I threw down my bag and slipped off my jacket, checking out the full kitchen and wet bar. I glanced down a small walkway and into the bedroom. It was equipped with a king-sized bed and a sixty-inch tv mounted to the wall next to the windows.

“Gotta hand it to you,” I started, rolling up my sleeves as I walked back into the living room, “You pulled out all the stops.”

She turned then, stepping away from the window as I fell into a large chair next to the sofa. Cara moved around the room like she owned it. Posture straight, gait slow, without the slightest shake or shudder to her movements. I couldn’t help watching her, appreciating the long lines of her legs and the plump curve of her ass.

“Not everything I do has an agenda,” she admitted, walking to the wet bar to pull out two tumblers. She lifted one to me, eyebrows up, and when I didn’t refuse the silent request, she went about fixing me a drink.

She remembered, that much I could tell. Amaretto liqueur. Scotch whisky. Cara thought she was funny, dredging up the past, making a “Godfather” because I used to do it for her. It had been a joke about her father and the dirty business he did.

“To old times,” she said, offering me the glass as she held hers in her free hand. When I didn’t take it, Cara tilted her head, blowing out a slow breath before she amended. She frowned, as though she’d just remembered something that irritated her. “To you almost fucking my slutty cousin Antonia at the airport.” She didn’t like the way I laughed at her, or how I still hadn’t taken the glass to toast with her. “Fine, then. To whatever the hell you want to toast to. That better?”

I didn’t answer, but I took the tumbler and closed my eyes when that bitter almond flavor hit my tongue. “So,” I said, nodding to the ottoman in front of me. “What the hell do you want?”

Cara sat, resting her elbows on her knees, legs crossed at the ankles. She cupped the tumbler between her fingers and looked into the glass, like she hadn’t figured out if she wanted to try staring at me or straight ahead.

“I can offer you half a million and a permanent position at The Daily.”

This turned out to be one of those rare, fuck-me moments that had me stunned stupid. Cara shifted her gaze, breath held, chin uplifted as she watched me, but she didn’t speak.

When she kept on watching me, not delivering the punch line, I slammed back my drink and deposited the empty tumbler on the end table to my right.

“The hell did you say?”

Cara sat up, lifting the tumbler toward her mouth, then seemed to change her mind about drinking, setting it on the floor next to her heels. “You heard me.”

“Jesus, Cara, what the hell do you want? Really.”

“The details aren’t important enough to—”

“Nah. It doesn’t work like that.” I scrubbed my head as she went on watching me. “You don’t get to kidnap me from the airport, throw a bunch of money at me, put me up in a luxury hotel, and then be all vague about why you want me here.”

“Maybe I missed you.”

“Try again,” I said, not missing a beat.

She exhaled. Her bottom lip moved from the sigh and she lowered her shoulders, seeming to give up the non-disclosures. “Vinnie Marino is a forty-five-year-old expat from Sovano. My father thinks that tying his family in Tuscany to ours here will open up the doors for certain…imports. I don’t happen to share my father’s enthusiasm for how to get those doors open.”

I leaned back, relaxing against the leather chair and watching Cara closely. She had tells, but not many. I’d managed to pick up on them while we were together. I didn’t see even one of them as she spoke. No rapid blinks. No shoulder stretching or tapping her heel against the floor. Whatever Cara wanted made her desperate enough not to lie. That was deep shit for her.

“He wants you to marry this guy?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale, picking up her tumbler and downing half the drink.

“And that has what to do with me?”

She held the glass in front of her mouth, eyes sharp as she stared at me. I thought there might be something there, a quick blink that had me turning my head and focusing on her expression. Cara continued to drink, downing the rest of the Godfather before she set the glass down again, rubbing her fingers together. She took her time, seeming to consider her answer, calculate her response. That was new and unlike how she’d been when I knew her.

“Well,” she started, adjusting herself on the ottoman. “We’re still married. It’s illegal for me to marry anyone.”

My laugh was loud, sharp. I couldn’t find it in me to care how rude it sounded. “Hand over the papers. I won’t even ask for alimony.”

“I…don’t want to divorce you.”

It felt like the air had gone out of the room. It was just then, with Cara’s admission and the slip of calm that moved from her as she flexed her fingers into a fist, I realized how desperate she was.

I’d left New York bloodied and bruised, intending never to tie myself to a woman again. The Carellis had scared the hell out of me. I’d never wanted to fuck with any of them again. Didn’t much care about still being tied legally to them. It just wasn’t worth the hassle of going through with a divorce. Besides, her father didn’t even know we were married. God knew what a shitstorm that would’ve caused if divorce papers had shown up with Cara’s name on them.

But Cara, staring at me the way she did, looking annoyed and a little hopeful, had me wondering what angle she was playing here. “Why the hell not?”

“Because as long as I’m married to you, I cannot marry Vinnie.”

This time when I laughed, it was on purpose, the sound biting and intentionally obnoxious. “Again, what’s that got to do with me?”

“Kiel…please…”

I ignored her plea, still laughing as I grabbed my tumbler and stood in front of the sink at the wet bar. I swished water in the glass and filled it with two thick ice cubes and three fingers of bourbon. Fuck the memory lane drinks.

“He’s bald,” Cara said behind me as I downed my drink. Her voice was relaxed, but she still sounded irritated.

“Tell him to wear a hat.” I shrugged, topping up my glass before I sat back down on the leather chair, knees apart with the tumbler resting on my thigh.

Cara ignored me, folding her arms as she leaned forward. “And he has horrible breath. He…slurps when he drinks and…” She paused when I laughed into my glass but didn’t stop with explanations I guessed she thought I’d give a shit about. “Besides, he already has a girlfriend here. Johnny told me.”

At the mention of her older brother, I glanced at her, unable to keep the glare from my face or calm the twitch I felt pulsing over my top lip.

Stay the fuck away from my little sister, he’d told me as he and his muscle bashed in my ribs.

Cara shook her head and pulled her attention to the large emerald on her right hand. A gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday. That downcast look was a distraction, something I knew she did because she wanted me to think she felt like shit for the beating I took.

“I…I don’t want to marry someone who fucks other women.” She took a breath, swallowing hard before she admitted, “God, I don’t want to marry him at all.”

The wet tumbler left a ring of moisture on my pants when I rested it there. It didn’t matter. My focus was on Cara, my apparent wife, and the bullshit she wanted me to get tangled up in again.

Done that once.

Wasn’t eager to do it again.

“Hate to break it to you, but your father thinks I’m a psycho stalker.” I nodded at her, and the gesture brought her gaze back to me. “He’s not likely to forget that shit.”

“I’m going to tell him I lied.” She shrugged when I squinted at her, scrutinizing her expression, not remotely convinced how that shit was supposed to work. Cara continued, seemingly unfazed by her father’s temper or potential reaction. “I…already told Johnny.”

A low, rumbling grunt vibrated in my throat. I took a drink, trying to clear it away. “And yet I still don’t have an apology from that asshole.”

Cara tapped her foot, looking nervous and irritated all at the same time. She seemed to hate the need to ask me for a favor, especially one this damn big.

“Johnny was doing what he was told.”

“Maybe you should too,” I told her.

“Kiel, please…”

I’d expected more whining, maybe a slip of control as she tried to keep herself in check. I was actually impressed she hadn’t stomped her foot and pitched a fit when I laughed the first time, but the years appeared to have matured her. They seemed, at least, to have taught her patience. What I hadn’t expected was that slow exhale of hers twisting into a groan of frustration and then a low, purring sound that I’d heard from her before.

When she played dirty.

Cara slid to the floor on her knees, inclining that long, lithe body toward me. She rested her arms against my thighs and lowered her voice. “Would it be so bad? Pretending to still love me?”

“That’s what you want?” I dipped my head, pressing my palm into my eye before I groaned, staggered at the monumental shit she wanted from me. “God, Cara, I’m a good liar, but that requires some Oscar-caliber acting. I don’t have those kinds of chops.”

She moved slowly, leaning to the right, and I caught the curve of her breast and the way her silver chain and crucifix pendant flirted in the tempting depths of her cleavage.

“My father… He’s…sick, Kiel.” That she said in a whisper, low enough that I had to really listen to make out what she said.

“How sick?”

She didn’t need to answer. The quick stab of pain shot across her face. A rare slip of emotion pulling down her mouth before she lifted her chin, eyes soft, tempting again as she watched me. She wanted this badly. She wanted this enough that she pushed back the hurt she felt at what would end it.

She was desperate.

“Why not just wait until he kicks it?” Cara frowned, and I held up my hands. “Hold out until he’s gone. Johnny will take over, and you’ll go about your business… And I’ll try to salvage what’s left of my reputation in New York.”

The slow descent of her arms inching toward my thighs halted then, and Cara tilted her head, killing the sex kitten half lilt of her eyes completely. “You’re staying? I mean, even if you say no, you’re still staying?”

“Yeah.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of her expression. Surprise, for sure, maybe a little pleasure, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Cara was the best actress I knew. She lied like a gambler with nothing in his hand and a million-dollar pot in front of him.

“My father isn’t backing down. He’s got it in his head that I need a husband before he dies. If he knows about us…”

“He did know about us, remember?” She went silent at my interruption, watching me as I sat up, forcing her back when I leaned again the armrest. “You lied to him. He had Johnny and his meatheads beat me to a pulp.”

“That’s because he thought you were bothering me.”

“Got that backward.”

“I’ll tell him the truth.” The purr was back, and for the first time, Cara added a sweet half smile to her seduction. It was as beautiful, as fucking tempting as it always had been, and the little shit knew it. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. She had a multitude of tools in her arsenal. All seductive and lethal. Every single one of them I’d seen and loved.

“All you have to do is tell him that you didn’t want there to be problems between me and my father, so you decided to leave me. I’ll say, when you told me you were leaving, I got mad at you and lied about who you really were.”

It wasn’t unbelievable. Cara had been a brat back then. Maybe she still was, but her father wouldn’t doubt that maneuver. It was one she practiced often, and it always got her what she wanted.

“I’ll take all the blame, I promise, and after my father… After it’s over, you’ll have half a million dollars and your dream job. Raquel is a friend. She knows how good you are. You impressed her in that interview. It isn’t an empty position. You’ll get the money and the job, and when it’s done, you can walk away.”

“I already walked away.”

“Kiel, please help me.”

Cara never begged.

She never pleaded.

I just watched her, and the woman came closer, resting her palms on my thighs, gaze penetrating now. Serious. “It wasn’t all bad between us, remember?”

I made a noise, little more than a grunt. My stomach tightened, my throat felt thick, but I was stunned quiet as Cara turned on the charm.

Fuck me, she was good at this shit.

“You always liked the way I touched you.” She moved her fingers down, rubbing her palms against the sides of my legs. Her thumbs moved over the muscle of my thighs.

Her perfume wafted again when she leaned forward. My pulse quickened, seeing how sweet she could be. How that perfect face and alluring mouth moved closer and closer.

“They beat me and left me on the wet sidewalk,” I told her, leaning against the headrest behind me.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing at my words, but Cara didn’t stop touching me. She came nearer still, leaning close enough now that I could make out the curve of her breasts against my arm. I froze when she kissed my neck. Her hot breath shot prickles of raised skin over my body.

“And…they broke two of my ribs.”

She paused, taking her mouth from my neck. She kept her gaze on my face as she lowered, moving slowly, touch soft and teasing against my shirt.

One button and she gave me her lips, right against my chest.

Two, and I watched, shocked, helpless, and stupid as she moved her head lower.

Three buttons now and a fourth, then Cara pressed her lips to my stomach, arching up to curve her hands against my back and kiss each rib on my right side.

Hot, wicked heat filled me. She worked a spell over me. Those full, perfect lips burned each inch of skin they touched, and her hair felt silky skimming against my naked chest. Her fingers teasing my back, then slipping to the front of my stomach as she watched me was the sweetest kind of torture.

“Cara,” I said through a grunt. My common sense and reason vied for control over my weak will.

“You always liked how slow I was, Kiel.” She demonstrated, nibbling on one of my nipples, tugging it between her teeth. A quick hiss left my mouth, and I felt Cara smile against my skin. “Slow and sweet and so fucking hot.” She licked me then, the flat of her tongue against my nipple, sliding down my chest as she pushed open my shirt. She wanted at my stomach. It was what I loved best, and she fucking knew it.

“This…it’s not gonna work…”

“No?” she asked through a laugh, watching me as she kissed my stomach. Her gaze focused on me as she slipped her fingers into my waistband. She hadn’t touched my cock. Not yet. But the graze of her fingertips teased me, my pants feeling tight, and it was enough to let Cara know the effect she had on me.

“This…this is how desperate you are?” I asked, slipping farther into the chair, groaning when she popped open my button and lowered my zipper.

“No, ciccino,” she said, a laugh in her tone I knew should have insulted me. Then she took me in her hand, rubbing her thumb along the base, slipping it over the head. “This is how desperate I am.” Then Cara took me into her hot mouth. “Shit, bello, I’ve missed this…” Then Cara showed me how much she missed me with her mouth, tongue, and the sure grip of her hand.

Fire ignited around me. My skin felt tight, unbelievably searing. And that inside-knowing that had niggled and nagged me this entire trip screamed at me to pull her off my cock. But God, it had been a long time since Cara last touched me. Years. Too long and no one had ever ripped me up inside, made me feel turned out and put together again like this woman. She touched me like she knew my body, like she remembered every inch of it. She took and sucked and gave me her mouth like she still owned it.

“Cara…” I tried, fighting the need she stoked in me. I should tell her to fuck off. I should remind her that all this was her problem. It had nothing to do with me. Cara read the tension in my arms and the tightening of my body as she redoubled her efforts.

I went stupid then, moaning like an idiot, arching against the headrest, fingers digging into the arms of the chair. She took me in deep, my dick at the back of her throat. Her soft, delicate fingers cupped my sac until I thought I might explode right there in her mouth after just a few minutes of her attention.

Stay the fuck out of New York.

It hadn’t been a request Johnny made, and I guessed it hadn’t come from him alone.

And stay the fuck away from my little sister, or I will fucking slit your throat.

Then the asshole laughed as he and his boys took turns beating on me.

“Stop,” I told Cara, shaking my head, pushing against her shoulders. She wouldn’t move and went down on me faster, sucking harder, using her fist to stroke. It took effort, more self-control than I thought I had. “Fucking stop!” My voice was loud, my grip tight.

Cara stopped, eyes rounded and wide as she looked up at me. She still had my cock in her mouth, but I made out the frown.

“Get up,” I told her, grabbing her by the arm.

“Didn’t you like—”

“No,” I lied, not watching her as I tucked myself back into my pants.

“Kiel, I can finish you…”

Nostrils wide, I inhaled, biting back the lust that sent fire through my veins before I managed to look at her again. “Get out.”

“What did you…”

Cara didn’t respond to requests. I suspected that shit hadn’t changed. It would have been easy to sit there and let her suck my dick. Let me come in her mouth. Let her take everything I gave her without any complaint. If I’d asked, she probably would have let me fuck her. It would have been good. It always had been with us. But then she’d have the upper hand. Then she’d have control and say-so in what I did and how I did it.

That shit wasn’t going to happen.

Not the way she wanted.

Not until I had a second to weigh my options.

“Wipe your mouth,” I told her, grabbing a linen napkin from the drawer in the kitchen. She stared at me when I offered it to her but didn’t refuse it. Instead, Cara dried her full lips, rubbing away any trace of me. “I don’t need a pity fuck or you sucking my cock to get your way. I told you, we don’t work like that.”

“We used to,” she said, frowning as I walked to the door.

“Yeah, well, I’m not some asshole kid chasing after a sweet piece of ass.”

Cara’s face went red, and I saw a spark of the girl I knew in the anger that swelled in her eyes. Couldn’t help thinking it made her look fucking gorgeous too.

I opened the door, waiting for her to leave, but she slammed it shut again, holding her hand against the knob. “You’re my husband—”

“Saying it enough times won’t make it real. You got a license. You got a memory, but fuck, Cara, that’s all you’re gonna get from me.”

She stepped back when I grabbed the knob, looking at me like she had no idea who I was or where the hell I got the nerve to turn her down. “You want that job, and you want me.” She stared at my still hard cock, grinning as she stepped close. “I know you do.”

“Maybe,” I said, pulling the door open again. “But maybes aren’t enough for me to step back into the lion’s den.”

Cara laughed until I grabbed her arm and moved her into the hall. “My father isn’t a lion.”

“No, but you are.”

There was a small whoosh of air moving her hair off her shoulder, then the low grunt of irritation as I cut her off and slammed the door in my wife’s face.