There were two cars, both S-Class Mercedes, black, and not remotely subtle. One dipped with the combined weight of the two meatheads when they ambled inside. Cara sat next to me in a Benz that matched the one in front of us. At least she hadn’t used the limos. That would have gotten us more attention than the quick escape we were able to make from the airport with those grunting assholes clearing a path for us.

She didn’t ask where I was staying. Didn’t say much at all as we pulled away from the airport and the stone-faced driver navigating the ridiculous sedan slipped into traffic, following the lead of the car ahead of us. Cara didn’t speak, and I damn sure wouldn’t. But I couldn’t ignore the sweet, seductive whiff of her perfume filling the cab of the car. Chanel. Rich. Tempting. A scent that had distracted me the first time I met her. The first time I’d hassled her into giving me a lead on the story I was chasing.

Outside the window, New York went by in a blur of sound and light. So much was familiar to me. So much of it made me feel like a stranger to the city I’d called home. I’d been a kid the last time I was here. I’d been a kid in love with a girl who was no good for me.

The same girl who turned her back on me and let her father send me packing, running for home like a dog with a limp. But some things hadn’t changed, like the slip of the sun sinking into the river and the dance of light that reminded me of the clear, inky black night back home in Seattle. Here, you couldn’t make out the stars, not like you could back home, but the skyscrapers and buildings peppered all over the city created its own kind of universe. In the center of it was that smell and the woman next to me. I told myself I hated both, and maybe, deep down, I did. But something inside me stirred and warmed when Cara shifted in her seat, leaning to her side as she did. She wore a fitted dress and three-inch heels that made those toned calves of hers flex when she stretched her feet.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore that intense feeling that rattled my insides. It was lust, pure and simple. Cara wasn’t some typical mafia princess. She fit no stereotype. She was smart, she was ruthless, and my God, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Kane had done well for himself. Kit was fucking stunning. Talented. Smart. But Cara was the kind of woman that made a man wish he were alone with her in the world. No woman’s looks could compare to the slope of her small nose and the perpetual twist of her thick lips. She wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t cute. Cara was radiant, all woman, and she looked the part. She had grace. She had confidence and could lift a man up with a smile and crush him with the hint of a frown.

Little Goddess. She’d hated it when I called her that, but it was a fitting description. One I tried like hell to keep to myself.

I didn’t look. Didn’t acknowledge the way she leaned against her elbow, gaze moving over my profile, then down to my shoulders and chest. She was inspecting, and while she did, that sweet, fuck me scent came at me thicker and richer, more tempting than warm, sweet cookies from the oven.

Fuck me if I didn’t want a bite.

“You look good, Kiel.”

“Good” was drawn out, like Cara wasn’t sure she wanted the syllables to leave her mouth, and I glanced at her, keeping silent as I threw a look her way and cocked my eyebrow up.

She exhaled, head shaking. “What? I can’t compliment you?”

She wanted to keep my attention, that much I knew. Cara liked to hold center court, especially when she bothered to address you. She hated being ignored, so when I directed my focus back on the window and the city zooming by, the small grumble she released didn’t surprise me.

“The last time I saw you, you looked straight in my face and told the cops I was the asshole who’d stalked you for six months.” I stretched out my legs, resting an elbow on the door. “A stalker you married—”

“Kiel…”

“And fucked on the trunk of your father’s limo not two hours before.”

She didn’t gasp or shoot a look at the driver, something that surprised me. That meant she didn’t care what the man thought. That meant he wasn’t her father’s man.

Interesting.

“You let me come in your mouth, remember?”

That time she reacted, sitting up straight in her seat, but I knew my stroll down memory lane—and how public I made it—was pissing her off.

“It got in your hair and ended up all down your neck and—”

“Fuck’s sake, Kiel, enough.” Cara’s shout was loud, sharp enough that it came out as a piercing echo against the windows. That small slip of composure had her face reddening, and I grinned, not hiding the small chuckle that rumbled in my throat.

Cara ignored me, leaning a little to catch the driver’s attention. She gave him directions, something spoken in perfect Italian. I only recognized some of the words—park and wait—before the man pulled up in front of the hotel. My hotel. The hotel I knew my new job wouldn’t have set me up in.

I whistled, the sound low. A little impressed as I stretched to the right, looking out of Cara’s window and up at the building with the wavy awning lit up like New Year’s Eve.

“Wow.” She watched me as I sat back, ignoring her goons as they stood on either side of the car waiting, I assumed, for her signal. “Does your papa know you’re dropping a grand a night on me?” She glared, nostrils flaring, and I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fuck, Cara, you orchestrated all this shit?” When she didn’t answer, I dropped my hand and glared at her. “Was that interview I did all bullshit? Is the fucking job even real?”

“It could be,” she promised, watching me. Waiting, I guessed, to see what other insults I had for her. When none came, she fastened the top button on her jacket and sat up, slipping off the seat belt. “Let’s go inside, and we’ll have a conversation. I’m not asking for a lot, Kiel, and I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

“That,” I started as she tapped the window with a knuckle, “is very fucking unlikely.”