“Tell me something about yourself and I’ll stop asking, I swear it.”

“Be truthful, my angel,” Dante scoffs. “You’re far too inquisitive to stop at a single question.”

“Try me.”

He smirks and eases out of me slowly, rolling onto his back and folding his arm between his head and the pillow. I feel his loss immediately. I should have kept my mouth shut. He’s too glorious to surrender when he’s relaxed like this. Every tan, muscular inch of him is dominating this bed, his stubble has darkened to a color I like to call ‘bandit black’ and his hair is a damp, disheveled mess. It’s 10am. We’ve been naked like this since yesterday morning, for over twenty-fours hours now. It’s like we’ve cocooned ourselves against the world, our warring realities and my conscience. Nothing can break us so long as we never leave each other’s side.

“Just your surname then,” I prompt. “I can’t keep calling you Dante ‘The Enigma’ forever.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s an improvement.”

“Give me something, please,” I beg him, my frustration spilling over the brim. “I feel like I’m constantly stumbling around in the dark with you.”

“Calm yourself… Why must my angel be so persistent?”

He’s laughing at me now. I’ve never once seen this man give a genuine smile but I’ve learnt to read the inflections in his tone.

“It’s not fair, Dante. You know everything about me and I know nothing of you.”

“Don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Along with sarcasm, swearing and whatever else doesn’t meet Mr. Dante ‘The Enigma’s’ tick box criteria for women.” I’m feeling irritable now. I sit up and wrap the white sheet around my naked breasts. If he’s denying me his name then I’ll deny him the pleasure of my body again.

“What else is on this list?” he says, reaching out to push a lock of my dark hair away from my face. It’s a conciliatory gesture and I’m momentarily sidetracked by the tenderness in his touch.

“What list?”

“This criteria for women you speak of.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” I say exasperatedly. “Didn’t they teach you stuff like that at your fancy American college?”

“I learned how to drink warm beer and seduce women. The idiosyncrasies of the English language may have escaped my attention.”

Smartass.

“Tell me about yours scars then,” I say, running a finger along the blemish staining the underside of his left rib cage. “Did you anger the wrong woman or the wrong cartel?”

“If I said the former would you be jealous?”

“I’d feel respect more then anything else. You’re not easy to wound.”

He smirks. “I’m not easy to catch, and I never fight fair when I am.” He rears up and presses his lips against my own, catching me off guard, trapping me with his raw magnetism until I pull away breathing hard.

“Is that why you hide away in Africa?”

I watch him sink back down to the bed with a sigh. “I don’t hide from anyone, my angel. I’m strategic as to where I conduct my business from.”

“But you’re a mercenary. You go where the business is. You’re a rent-a-kill for the cartels.”

There’s a pause. “And you came to this conclusion… how?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Hush, Eve. You’re spoiling for a fight again and I have no wish to give you one.”

“But am I wrong?” I say, my determination winning through.

“Afghanistan,” he says abruptly. “That’s where I got the scar.”

“Afghanistan?” I’m shocked by his honesty. I had a hunch he may have served but I never expected him to confirm it. “What were you doing out there? Where were you based?”

His cell starts beeping. Ignoring my question, he reads the incoming message and curses softly. I watch him swing his long legs out of bed.

“What is it?”

“Someone blowing up the rent-a-kill hotline,” he drawls, shooting me a look. He re-reads the message before deleting it.

I wish it was a joke. I wish so many things were different between us. I kneel behind him and slide my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts again the burning skin of his back, filling my nostrils with his rich, masculine scent – the one I’d drown in if I could. He quickly turns his cell phone screen away so I can’t read it over his shoulder.

“It must have been quite a change for you,” I pout, dropping my arms and flopping back down onto the bed, “demoting yourself from such an honorable profession to such a unprincipled one.”

“The lines are never as clear cut as you think.” He slaps his phone back on the nightstand. His mood has soured. He seems distracted, preoccupied.

“I’d hardly call the narcotics industry−”

“Drop it,” he says sharply, standing up and shrugging into his jeans. No underwear as usual.

“Dante−”

“Take a shower and get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like to ask twice, and because I want to show you something.”

He takes my arm as we exit the house and steers me in the direction of the black Ferrari parked in the driveway. His cell beeps twice more but he ignores it both times.

“This is quite a set of wheels,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Impressed, are we?”

“Nope.” I shake my head firmly. “Fast cars have never turned me on. They always strike me as an over-compensation for something.”

A wicked gleam appears in his eyes. “The devil is in the detail, my angel.” He crouches down to my level as I swivel sideways into the seat. “Have you seen how wide that bonnet is? Right now I want nothing more than to bend you over it, kick your legs apart and fill you up with my cock.”

Bam. There’s an instinct reaction in my groin. I stare at him, speechless, whilst squeezing the tops of my thighs together to try and dull the beat. It’s a futile task. Dirty talk was never my thing before I met him and now I can’t seem to get enough.

“I’m sure your men would you enjoy the show,” I mutter, trying to distract myself from my lust. It’s embarrassing how easily he turns me on.

The playful gleam is gone in an instant, replaced with something far, far darker. “For my eyes only, Eve Miller,” he growls, rising to his feet and slamming the door on me so hard it makes the whole car rattle. I watch him warily as his makes his way round to his side and slides in next to me. His own door receives the same treatment.

“This car suits you,” I blurt out, trying to ease the tension.

He frowns. “How so?”

“It emphasizes the whole dark and dangerous vibe. Santiagos, eat your cold, black hearts out.”

His hands convulse around the steering wheel. “I better swap it for a sedan then.”

He could swap it for a Mini and he’d still put the fear of god into me.

I sigh and stare out the window. I’m still hoping that Dante will slip up one day so I can justify this whole, twisted mess to myself but he never does. He never mentions the Santiagos unless I do. I know he suspects I have ulterior motives for all my questions and that’s why he keeps his business so separate. He tells me next to nothing about the operation here. I see men training and I hear the continuous jar of gunfire from his shooting range but that’s all. I’ll never be able to track this place down if I leave. I have no location coordinates, nothing. Is it west… east? There must be thousands of private estates like these off the coast of Africa.

“Are you still taking your antimalarials like I told you?”

How does he do that? How does he always seem to know which direction my brain is taking me?

I nod.

“Any side effects?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He flicks a switch and the powerful engine roars into life. The vibrations start pulsating up through my seat, escalating the drama between my legs. Maybe I’m coming round to fast cars after all.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You wanted to see more of my compound, my angel.” He eases off the clutch and the car starts to roll forward.

“Why do you call me that?” I ask curiously. “I’m no angel, Dante. I’ve done things in my life that are undeserving of that endearment. Things I’m not proud of.” I think about Ryan and then I think about his former housemaid, Valentina.

Without warning he slams on the breaks, pitching me forward into the dashboard.

“Shit!” The top of the seatbelt slices painfully into my shoulder. We can’t have been doing more that 5mph but it hurts like hell.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snarls, turning to face me, his brown eyes blazing into mine. “You’re the light to my darkness, Eve. You’re the one good, true thing in my life that hasn’t been broken or corrupted by this whole fucking business.”

I forget the pain in an instant. I’m stunned by his declaration, mesmerized by the passion in his voice. How can a man like him produce words of such depth and honesty? For the first time I see whisper-thin rays of sunshine breaking through the rain clouds. This man isn’t as depraved as he thinks he is. There’s a light in the shadows. There’s goodness in him somewhere I can sense it.

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of corrupting me all by yourself,” I say shakily.

“That’s different,” he mutters, looking away. “I’m awakening something in you, Eve, something that’s been there all along.”

I’m struck by a fierce hunger for him then. Before I can stop myself I’ve unclipped my seatbelt, scrambled onto his lap, and I’m smashing my lips against his. A split-second later he’s kissing me back with the same level of violence, thrusting his tongue into my mouth like he’s fucking it, groaning out his desire, tugging up the hem of my dress and digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my ass.

“You drive me fucking crazy, Eve Miller!”

“I don’t want you to ask nicely,” I cry, ripping my mouth away from his. “Take whatever you want from me. I need you to corrupt me over and over again.”

His hands are everywhere now, tearing at my clothes, grasping my breasts, yanking my head to one side to deepen our connection. “I’ve never fucked in this car before.”

“Maybe it’s time to change that,” I gasp, tipping my head back and reveling in his touch.

“You’re breaching my defenses, Eve.”

“Maybe your reactions are slowing?” I reach down to rip open his belt and zipper. He’s rock hard already and I let out a moan of lust. “Two weeks ago I never would have gotten this close to you without a broken neck.”

“Too many maybes… I need certainly now, my angel,” he groans, shredding my underwear, balling up the ruined scrap of material and tossing it onto the back seat. “Tell me you’ll never unshackle these chains that bind us.”

“Dante…”

“Say it!” he roars, taking my jaw between his hands. He looks so powerful, so hungry, so goddamn beautiful.

“I’ll never unshackle them,” I whisper. We’re bound by something far greater than the sum of either one of us now. He understands me like no one else. From the moment he held a gun to my head he’s known exactly what my body craves.

“No matter what happens?”

“I promise.”

Some of the tension seems to leaves his face. He opens his mouth to say something else but he never gets the chance. A loud bang on the boot of the car makes us both jump.

“What the hell?” Refastening his jeans, he jerks my dress down and pivots me back to my seat. A second later his door is wrenched open. It’s that man Grayson, the American. He’s not wearing his army fatigues today, just black jeans and a t-shirt. The color seems to match the bleak expression on his face. He doesn’t even glance at me.

“Jesus, Dante, where the fuck have you been?”

“Can’t it wait?” Dante’s expression is a mask of calm but I know that look. A serene surface barely conceals the thunderstorm that’s raging beneath it. Grayson must have a death wish. Dante’s nuance of violence is terrifying when he’s like this.

“I tried calling. You should learn to answer your phone once in a while.”

I cringe backwards into my seat and wait for the explosion. I’ve never heard anyone speak to Dante like that.

“If this is about that fucking manifesto again…”

Grayson doesn’t even blanche. “Gomez is dead. They pulled his body from a restaurant in Cartagena last night. Sanders is off the grid.”

Dante goes very still. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Emilio keeps calling. He wants you back in South America. I presumed you’d want to leave right away. The jet’s fueling up right now.”

Who’s Emilio?

“Hang on a minute.” Dante jerks his head my way and switches off the engine. He exits the car, slamming the door behind him. Through the window I watch him snap his belt together and rearrange his shirt but I can’t hear what’s being said, their voices are too muffled by the glass. Dante doesn’t look happy though.

He doesn’t look happy at all.