Page 38 of Sweet Deception

What does Las Vegas and stealing data off my phone have to do with her friend and a missing girl? The pieces don’t fit together at all.

I also really don’t like that she mentioned the Kings and Red Hill back-to-back. The idea that she’s conning both of us hovers, irritatingly, in the corner of my mind. I was there to get some answers, and maybe Troy was too.

What the fuck is she after?

Before, I wasn’t convinced that Troy’s presence at her apartment was about a meeting. Now, I can’t rule that out completely. She may not be working for him, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t crossed paths.

In my mind, I replay the night we met for the hundredth time, only during this iteration, everywhere I appear, Troy’s ugly face replaces mine. Did she infiltrate a Red Hill event as well? Cozy up to Troy and allow him to pound her all night so she could steal his phone and disappear with top-secret information?

The thought skyrockets my pulse, enraging me enough to nearly crack the steering wheel in two.

I’ve been observing her for hours, and all I’ve concluded about Veronika Kotova is that she’s a total conundrum. Her purposes, her ultimate goals remain completely opaque. And the sensation of time running out sits deep in my bones.

If I don’t break through her cool composure and find some answers soon, this entire matter will be out of my hands. Whether she’s tortured, raped, maimed, or left for dead will be up to someone else. It’s weird for me to care about that.

All the possible scenarios flit through my mind, and the visceral rage that erupts in my chest in response destabilizes me.

It’s your own fault, you know. For assuming any woman who comes up to you at a wedding wants to screw you.

Slamming my palm against the steering wheel, I accelerate until the number on the dash flies past one hundred.

This is why I left so abruptly.

Fledis more like it.

My usual M.O. generally involves destroying things that don’t cooperate, but I can’t destroy Veronika. Not yet. I need information. Unfortunately, I can’t even focus on that at the moment because she won’t answer any of my questions, andthe questions she asks infuriate me to the point of irrational arousal.

How am I supposed to unsee her stripping like that?

I could’ve taken her right then and there. All over again.

My cock is angry at my resistance.

Meanwhile, my mind is pissed that I’m so close to succumbing to temptation.

All I had to do was walk away at the wedding reception. Now that I know she wanted my phone all along, it’s obvious that I got myself into this mess.

I didn’t have to dance with her or touch her or hold her close or sink into her tight pussy. None of that was part of her plan.

Or was it?

Who am I kidding? She was just as composed and unyielding then as she was today. She’s like a Christmas tree to a cat, so beautiful and pristine that I just want to fuck her up. This woman is a cock-ache and a half.

Not to mention a problem the size of the Eastern Seaboard.

She played me. The only thoughts I have about her should involve violence, but instead…the mere idea of someone attacking her floods my head with fantasies of vehicular manslaughter. Is that wrong?

Instead of destroying her, I want to destroy anyone who might try.

Damn, I’m off tonight.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the revelation that I don’t want to hurt her despite everything she’s done. I find this realization deeply unsettling.

Definitely doesn’t help that her scent is all over my passenger seat. What the hell does she put on that lingers like this? Is that her shampoo or perfume? Body oil? What?

The smell is soaked in the leather. I might get drunk just on the thought of her.

I roll down all my windows so the autumn air can whip through the car and lift my hair off my forehead.