Page 9 of Sweet Deception

Leaving the reception with Darren Kelly has got to be on par with leaving a zoo with a mountain lion.

I’m barely breathing as we stand before a set of gold-embossed elevator doors. He’s keeping me close, his hand still planted on my lower back.

The elevator arrives. I know I’m on the cusp of another terrible mistake the second the doors close and Darren’s lethal fingers trail up my spine, settling on the back of my neck.

Something low in my belly trembles at the contact.

Bozhe moy, what the hell am I doing right now?

To calm my thundering heart, I watch the numbers on the elevator monitor climb up to the top floor of this whole hotel. Thirty-five.

I only agreed to come with him for another opportunity to clone his phone, but knowing the kind of effect he has on me? I’m self-destructive at best, fatally idiotic at worst.

Pushing a languid, silent breath past my lips, I will my body to chill.

I amnotscrewing Darren Kelly. Not happening.

No matter what, I will not do it.

I’ve only come up here to trick him. I’ll go along with whatever he’s got planned, then I’ll get him to shower first. And while he’s showering, I’ll nab his phone and run.

Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Tread water in this lake of lust brewing between us long enough to snatch that phone and hightail it out of this hotel.

The elevator doors open with ading, and Darren guides me along a lonely, pin-drop-quiet corridor to the last door in a line of a few. And then he proceeds to key into the fanciest hotel suite I’ve ever seen.

This would be a three-million-dollar apartment in New York City. Easy.

Sprawling floor plan, multiple rooms, a balcony, a kitchen with a breakfast bar…

Marble columns hold the place up at random intervals. It’s as though we’ve entered a fresco from ancient Greece.

Plush furniture upholstered in ivory leather breaks up the space. One seating group faces an absolutely massive flat-screen television that probably cost more than a new car.

I turn toward the tranquil trickling of water tickling my senses and find, rather than an expensive painting adorning the wall, a ceiling-to-floor water display lit by recessed lighting. Tendrils trail from the top of the wall into the bottom, where all the drops are recycled into fresh falls.

It’s not the kind of luxury I ever expected to see in my lifetime. I can’t help but feast on the sight for a few moments.

My, how the rich live…

Crime really does pay.

Darren’s hand disappears from my neck as he strides into the suite like a king introducing me to his kingdom. I expect him to stop and swing back to face me, but he doesn’t. He walks clear across the room toward the balcony doors. Gossamer curtains obscure the view.

He pauses, peeling himself out of his tuxedo jacket and snatching the bow tie from his strapping neck. After undoing a few buttons at the top of his shirt, his hand descends to his wrist and unfastens the cuff links.

Honestly, the man looks like aGQspread in motion.

I’m trying not to stare, but when you’re trapped in a palatial suite with a mountain lion, you’d be a fool to avert your eyes. Not unless youwantto become that predator’s next meal.

Dropping his discarded clothing on a beige, low-to-the-ground leather sofa, he straightens up and faces me, something raw and powerful glowing in his eyes. “Want something to drink?”

His words startle me. Once I absorb the question, I summon a smile. “Some water might be nice.”

He steps into the shadowy kitchen and returns with a clear glass, ice tinkling against the sides. Our fingers brush as he passes me the drink. I turn away and allow the cool water to soothe my parched throat.

Who knew a mobster could be considerate toward his nightly conquest?