And not caring nearly enough to try.
CHAPTER 8: SANDRO
EMILIO STOOD INmy foyer looking overwhelmed and trying to hide it. I watched him take in the space—the vaulted ceilings, the modern art worth more than most people's houses, the Italian marble floors that cost six figures to install. Cataloguing. Assessing. Trying to understand the man who lived here.
Good luck. I barely understood myself most days.
"Your home is..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Excessive?" I offered. "Ostentatious? A monument to wealth and ego? Obscene, like the penthouse?"
"Beautiful." He met my eyes. "I was going to say beautiful."
Something warm moved through my chest. Dangerous. I pushed it aside and gestured toward the hallway. "My study is this way. We should start working while we still have the self-control to focus on financial records."
His breath caught audibly. I smiled and led him through the house, hyperaware of his presence behind me. He'd worn jeans and a button-down like I'd suggested. Casual. Comfortable. The kind of clothes that would be easy to remove later when I finally got my hands on him properly.
The study was my favorite room—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds, custom bookshelves filled with first editions and legal texts, a desk large enough to work on or fuck on depending on the need. I'd chosen this room deliberately. Neutral territory. Professional enough to ease Emilio's conscience about what we were doing.
At least until I destroyed that conscience completely.
"Sit." I gestured to the couch rather than the desk chairs. More comfortable. Less formal. "Wine?"
"I probably shouldn't—"
"One glass won't impair your judgment. Though I'm hoping to impair it in other ways later." I poured two glasses of Brunello without waiting for his agreement. Handed him one and settled beside him on the couch. Close enough that our thighs touched. "To thorough attorneys who find embezzlement patterns their clients already knew about."
He took the glass but didn't drink. "You enjoyed that. Testing me."
"I did. You're fascinating to watch when you're focused. All that brilliant intensity directed at solving problems." I sipped my wine. "I want to see what you look like when that intensity is directed at me."
Color rose in his cheeks. "We're supposed to be working."
"We will. But first I want to establish something." I set down my wine and took his glass, placing it beside mine on the side table. Turned to face him fully. "What happens tonight—after the work is done—is your choice, Emilio. I won't pressure you. Won't manipulate you into my bed. If you want to leave, I'll have Thomas drive you home. No consequences. No judgment."
"But?" He knew there was a but. Smart man.
"But if you stay—if you choose this—I'm going to take you apart. Learn every sound you make, every place that makes you gasp, exactly how you look when you come undone. I'm going to be very thorough about it." I traced his jaw with my fingertips. "So decide now, before we start working. Before the wine and the late hour and the intimacy of being alone here together make the decision for you."
He was breathing faster. I could see his pulse hammering in his throat. "What if I want both? The work and the rest?"
"Then you'll get both. But I need you to say it clearly. Tell me what you want."
"I want..." He swallowed hard. "I want to stay. I want everything you're offering. I want you."
Satisfaction flooded through me, dark and possessive. "Good. Now let's work. The anticipation will make it better."
I retrieved my laptop and the financial files I'd prepared. Settled beside him close enough that our shoulders touched. Opened the documents and began walking him through the real financial structure of my operations.
It was a seduction of a different kind. Showing him the empire I'd built. The shell companies and offshore accounts and carefully structured transactions that kept everything legal on paper while serving purposes that definitely weren't. Trusting him with information that could destroy me if he ever chose to use it.
Emilio absorbed it all with focused intensity. Asked intelligent questions. Made notes. Understood the complexity in ways most attorneys wouldn't. His mind was beautiful—sharp and analytical and completely engaged.
I found myself getting hard just watching him work.
"Here." He pointed to a transaction I'd flagged. "This shell account—it's one of the ones being used for the embezzlement. But the creation date is three months ago. If Vincent is your mole, he's been planning this for a while."
"Or someone's been planning it for him." I pulled up the access logs. "These accounts require authorization codes that only five people have. Myself, my three partners, and Vincent."
