Lorenzo swept his hand over my cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth across my lip. "Sierra, make no mistake. I own you. While we can't be together at this point in time, there will come a day that I will have you and trust me, Sierra, you will never leave my sight again. You are my possession and when I do see you again, you will surrender to me body and soul. That is a promise I make to you and trust me, I always make good on my promises."
"Yes. Sir."
I'd never forget those words, but I'd known even then that I couldn't lose myself in him. Not then. Not now.
Not ever.
Was fate intervening? I was sick at the thought. I was no man's possession.
I would never allow him to own me, use me.
He was wrong. I could figure something out. I would. The promise made, I was determined to think of a story that sounded plausible. Somehow. Some way.
I found the clothes on the massive king-sized bed and I was able to gather the scent of him; raw and masculine, the fragrance of the forest mixed with testosterone. I was shaking as I sat on the bed, angrier than ever with myself for coming here. It had been a reflex action and nothing more. I quickly jerked on the clothes, still shivering. Still furious.
I bolstered my courage once again, moving toward the set of stairs, my grip on the bannister firm, even white-knuckled. I heard music coming from somewhere in the house. I knew Lorenzo lived alone, the five thousand square foot mansion befitting his stature but not the man I'd known four years before. Things changed. People changed. I certainly had. There was little of the person I remembered, his on-edge personality hard and cold. All businesslike.
I could certainly be that way as well.
I ventured down the stairs, studying the architecture as I headed toward the music. Every aspect of his house seemed surreal, expensive in detail but cold in design. Even his impressive kitchen held no life, stainless steel appliances and dark gray granite countertops devoid of any warmth.
Or love.
I hadn't realized I'd walked in until I felt his presence.
"Why are you awake? Is there something wrong?" he asked casually, the demanding tone missing.
"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted you to know that I'll get out of your hair in the morning. I appreciate your hospitality, but I definitely shouldn't have come here."
He studied me as someone would a specimen, lifting a single eyebrow. "Why were you handling an investigation by yourself in the middle of the night?"
"Because I was onto something. I had a story."
The near arrogance returned as he walked closer. "I took the liberty of doing some research while you were finishing your bath."
"O-kay."
"You are an award-winning criminal investigative reporter with a solid reputation, including getting yourself in difficult situations."
"I'm very proud of my work."
"I can tell. However, whatever you've gotten yourself in the middle of has certainly placed you in danger." His eyes were burning as he inched even closer, the electricity soaring between us. "Your father is David Fox, a veteran FBI agent."
Of course, I'd realized he would make the connection. My father had set his sights on taking down the Francesco family years before. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"
"You mean other than trust? As I told you before, I'm not a good man, Sierra, and I certainly don't appreciate whatever game you're playing."
"I'm not playing a game!" I heard the shrill sound in my voice, the utter conviction. How dare he question me?
Because you're asking for a mobster's help.
He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. "Are you aware of who was murdered tonight in a back alley in Fuller Park?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," he said in a hushed voice. "In fact, my belief is that the man you witnessed being murdered was the very same person."
"I didn't catch his real name as he was writhing on the pavement. He was my informant and I knew little about him. I ran, getting as far away as I could." Lorenzo was so damn accusatory.
"Then allow me to help you. The man whose throat was cut was the son of one of the state senators. Lucas Spalding was only twenty-two years old. Ring a bell?"
I was shocked at how he'd gathered the information so quickly. I doubted the police had even been informed. I sidestepped him, folding my arms. "How do you know that?"
"That's big news, doll, and I have people in the streets everywhere. Besides, the kid was basically a celebrity in this town. News of that nature travels fast, and my guess is that every reporter is trying to grab onto the story for the early morning news." He cocked his head, his lip curling as he jerked my arm, pulling me closer. "The question is, do you have any idea of the identity of the person who killed him?"
"I'm not certain."
"You're lying. I can tell that easily." His fingers dug into my arm. "Allow me to give you a hint. While Lucas was an important man's son, the kid was reported to be in over his head with what some call a rival mafia family in town, the leader a true barbarian. If he or his soldiers were responsible for the kill, then you are absolutely in danger. The question is, what prompted you to place yourself in such direct risk?"
"I told you. I was on a story," I insisted, struggling to get out of his grasp.
Lorenzo lowered his head until I could feel his hot breath cascading across my face. Goosebumps immediately popped up on my skin. "Lucas was your informant. Don't even bother lying."
"Fine. He had important information for me. He's been... He was invaluable for months." I shuddered from his touch, the same old longing nearly shutting down my system. How could I still crave this monster?
"Important information."