Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) - Rina Kent Page 0,18

but the undertone is far from it. If anything, it’s charged, dark, stifling.

“Then don’t make me into yours.”

“How— Mmmm.” My question is interrupted when he crashes his lips to mine.

His hand holds my face in place as his tongue forces its way inside my mouth. I place my palms on his chest, intent on pushing him, on slapping him, but instead, my fingers curl into his coat as a helpless sound escapes my throat. His tongue invades my mouth, conquering it, then swirls against mine with a feral need.

The man kisses as confidently as he walks and talks, but there’s none of his calm behind it. Nothing to hold his stoic face in place. He gives as hard as he takes, tilting my head back so he can deepen the full invasion.

I’m no virgin. But this kiss alone is more intense than any sex I’ve ever had.

More claiming, too.

When he pulls back, a desperate moan echoes in the air.

Mine.

Staring into his shadowed eyes in the dark, I’m fully aware that things have shifted between us after that kiss.

I just signed away something else. No idea what, but it’s now in his hands and there’s no way I’ll be able to get it back.

Just like my fate and my death.

6

Adrian

Lia tries to remain awake.

She fights tooth and nail for it by shaking her head, pinching herself, and eventually tapping her cheeks.

But it’s useless.

She falls asleep against the car door because, in her attempt to remain awake, she was also religious about keeping her distance from me.

I watched her entire struggle from my position with my forefinger tapping against my thigh. I didn’t have to do anything except wait for the inevitable.

People, in general, think they can change things with the sheer force of their determination. That the danger signals would push their brain and it’s enough to propel their system forward. What they fail to understand is that the brain can contradict itself and send different signals. After all, the body’s exhaustion can and will overrule the brain’s plots.

I grab Lia by the elbow and pull her close. She doesn’t even stir as her head lolls down on her chest in what has to be an uncomfortable position. I maneuver her so that her head is resting against my thigh.

The scent of roses fills my nostrils. She doesn’t only smell like them, she feels like them, too. Beautiful, small, and able to be plucked away by any passer-by. They bloom fast and die just as fast.

Unlucky for her, this passer-by is none other than her worst nightmare.

A small sigh leaves her lips and I want to reach out to my guards, Kolya and Yan, and erase that sound from their heads. I don’t like that they can hear or see her like this.

Though I shouldn’t particularly care, something has changed. I don’t know whether it started when I saw her that night or after her performance today, or if the deal was sealed when she moaned in my mouth as I devoured her lips.

They’re red now, a bit bruised, a bit broken, just like her.

Lia Morelli is a lot more than what her file contains. The pictures in it show a petite woman with angelic features, but none of them display the haunting look in her blue eyes or the loneliness eating at her soul.

There’s a certain fractured quality about her, a wound she’s hiding away from watchful eyes. But she’s been blinded to the reality that untreated wounds decay and rot.

Taking advantage of people’s wounds is my specialty. Smashing them in is what I do best.

My parents’ son through and through.

However, I shouldn’t want to get involved with Lia. Could it be because we share a trait? Or because she’s hiding her broken nature with a fragile façade?

When I watched her dance, shining under the spotlight, I didn’t see her ethereal beauty or angelic face. I didn’t see her elegance or her perfect technique.

I saw darkness attempting to fester in light. I saw a person trying their hardest to escape who they truly are.

And that’s what led to a chain of consecutive events.

“Are you sure you want to go to her place, sir?” Kolya meets my gaze from the driver’s seat, speaking in Russian.

“Wouldn’t it be better to take her with us?” Yan agrees.

“And do what? Torture her?” I speak in the same language.

I stroke a stray strand out of her face and keep my fingers in her soft hair that’s the color of dark honey. She shivers as if