Page 17 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

Heat wrapped around my waist, pulling me into something solid and steady.

I pressed back into it without thinking, my body chasing the warmth like it was a lifeline.

The thick, hot press against the curve of my ass made my breath catch, a broken moan slipping free as my hips rolled back instinctively.

A rough groan answered, low and tight, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

Fuck.

My eyes shot open, breath lodging somewhere high and sharp in my throat.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was Luca.

I shoved the covers off and ran, fast enough to stumble. The panic was so loud in my head that the door slamming behind me barely even registered.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t think.

I splashed water over my face and still—still—I burned. The woman in the mirror was desperate. And worst of all, she wasn’t sorry.

Fantastic. Not a pep talk. Not a deep breath. I needed therapy, a miracle, and a lobotomy.

But for now? Had to fake calm like my life depended on it. Because it kind of did .

When I opened the door, Luca’s gaze locked onto mine instantly, his body relaxed against the headboard, his mouth pulling into that smirk that made it impossible to breathe steadily.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just needed a moment.”

A moment to re-evaluate my entire existence.

He just lifted a brow, amused, but didn’t push.

I marched into the closet like I had urgent business, shuffling my clothes around as if it mattered.

Movement flickered in the mirror, and I looked before I could stop myself. He was getting out of bed, his briefs doing a terrible job of hiding just how hard he still was.

He strolled over, planting himself at the closet entry like he owned the damn place, shoulder against the wall, arms crossed like he had every right to look that good.

“I was knocked out cold—until you made it impossible to stay that way,” he said, grinning. “You were in it deep. No way was I interrupting that.”

The flush was instant, burning all the way down to my chest. I made a point of looking anywhere else, refusing to give him the satisfaction he clearly lived for.

Like hell I’d let him win this round.

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Plenty. None half as fun as this.”

Seriously? Am I cursed to bring out the worst levels of cocky in him?

“Go do them, then,” I said, my voice cracking like a traitor halfway through.

I kept my eyes trained on the floor, as if it would give me a goddamn script for handling him.

He laughed quietly, collected his things, and vanished into the bathroom, seemingly unfazed by it all .

I caught the soft shuffle of his movements and, foolishly, I shifted, peeking just enough to catch a glimpse.

There he was—barefoot, chest bare, swim trunks slung low enough to be a crime. He crossed the room and closed the door behind him like he didn’t just wreck my entire morning.

I let out a slow breath. No big deal. Not that I noticed how those trunks rode low on his hips, all casual temptation. Or the way his back muscles flexed when he reached for his phone. Nope. Not at all.

I glanced down at the ottoman in the middle of the room—two rejected outfits already in a heap, taunting me as if they had something to say about my decision-making skills. I exhaled and smoothed my hands over the puff-sleeve top I’d finally settled on.

Sheer, but not obvious. Light enough to look effortless, paired with denim shorts that said, “This? Oh, I just threw it on.”

Which was a lie.

I’d been standing here for fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, changing out of one thing and into another. But it wasn’t about impressing him.

Definitely not.

And if he noticed? That was on him.

I made my way to the kitchen, desperate for coffee but seriously considering skipping it. Because nothing says “start the day right” like disappointment in a cup.

I wasn’t a picky eater, but when it came to coffee, I had standards.

Espresso with vanilla almond milk was my go-to, and nothing else ever quite hit the mark.

Yesterday, when Nina had gone out to grab coffee for everyone, I didn’t want to be that person with the fancy order, so I forced down a cappuccino.

The caffeine did its job, but the taste?

Let’s just say I wouldn’t write home about it.

My brain short-circuited the second I saw it—

Vanilla almond milk. Just… sitting there, as if it belonged.

I froze, fingers hovering like maybe I was dreaming .

Luca strolled inside, dripping wet from the pool, towel in his hand, somehow looking smug even without trying.

Confusion and surprise must’ve been written all over my face because he met my gaze with a knowing smirk.

Did he…?

No, there was no way. I hadn’t mentioned it to him, and I sure as hell hadn’t told Sally, the housekeeper he introduced yesterday. But there it was—vanilla almond milk, delivered straight from heaven.

He raised an eyebrow. “You good over there?”

I shook my head, still processing. “How did you know?”

Luca’s smirk deepened. “I noticed you weren’t exactly thrilled with the coffee. Figured you might want something this morning you actually like.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, completely thrown off. Because it wasn’t about almond milk. It was about him paying attention. Was this the same man who casually threatens people?

The fact that he’d noticed something so small made me pause. Just how much did Luca know? How many little details had he quietly filed away without me noticing? How did he even know how I liked my coffee?

The unease crept in before I could stop it.

Luca didn’t just notice things. He studied them, absorbed them, figured out how to use them long before anyone else caught on.

“Thank you,” I finally managed, trying not to sound as stunned as I felt. I grabbed the box and got my coffee going. Whatever he had in store for today, I’d need the energy boost.

He disappeared without a word, and by the time I finished my cup, he was back, arms crossed, casual as hell in the doorway.

The swim shorts were gone, swapped for a clean white polo and navy trousers that fit like a sin.

White sneakers completed the look, making him seem almost casual—except nothing about Luca ever really was .

His tone shifted, all business. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

I followed, my thoughts still spinning from that stupid almond milk.

He opened a panel I hadn’t even realized was a door, and stairs came into view.

Great. Just where every mafia movie starts getting real.

Luca stopped at the bottom, one hand on a door that looked solid enough to keep secrets locked in forever. He tossed a quick look over his shoulder.

“This is yours for the time being,” he said, opening it without another word.

I stepped in and forgot where I was.

The room was bright, wide, too polished and sharp to be anything like a real basement.

A huge table sat in the center, surrounded by shelves lined with thick books and carefully chosen decor.

Off to one side, a long desk waited, a sleek computer already up and running, shelves hovering above it.

Muted tones, clean lines, plush seating—the whole thing was built like someone expected it to hold more than work.

“It’s locked down, private, and ready for you,” he said, as if I should thank him for this favor.

“This setup’s perfect, but it doesn’t mean I’m forgetting the train wreck you handed me.”

“Good. You’re with me now, like it or not.”

I leveled him with a look. “Just don’t expect me to roll over for you.”

“Wouldn’t suit you anyway.” His lips curved slightly, his tone daring me to push him.

Part of me wanted to do so—the part that hated being pulled into his world. But I didn’t. Because the other part couldn’t deny the pull, the sheer force of it, of him .

We spent the morning in my new office, with Luca giving me all the information he’d gathered—probably through means I’d rather not know about—before I finally found myself alone.

I was ready to dive into the terrifyingly large task of unraveling Parker’s connections. Sitting at the oversized conference table, surrounded by papers, files, and my laptop, the weight of this nightmare pressed down on me. This is what I got for being too good at my job.

Using the files Luca gave me, I began piecing together the puzzle.

Every document, every note, was like a breadcrumb leading me deeper into this rabbit hole.

As I sifted through the data, it became depressingly clear just how deep this conspiracy ran.

Parker wasn’t just in bed with corruption; he was rolling around in the sheets.

The shell companies, shadowy donations—everything started to click into place in a way that made me want to scream.

I couldn’t deny how sharp Luca was, and without his insight, I probably would’ve missed half the connections.

As much as it killed me, I had to admit he wasn’t just intimidation in a suit.

After discussing my findings with him, we agreed that we needed more eyes on this.

I didn’t want to drag Chrissy into this mess, but she was the best at navigating legal loopholes and corporate smoke screens. So, with a mix of reluctance and desperation, I called her, trusting that together we could untangle the web Parker had spun.

? ? ?

As the weeks dragged on, I fell into a new rhythm—if you could call juggling lies, a crime boss, and office politics a “rhythm.”

I worked for the DA’s office, spoon-feeding them just enough information to keep the charade alive while nudging things in the right direction.

Being a remote consultant was a blessing in disguise.

With my “marriage” now the office’s favorite gossip topic, dodging the curious stares and whispered rumors was like winning the lottery.