My suppressants slip, and his scent hits me full force. Smoky cedar and expensive whiskey. And pure alpha dominance.
Purefuckingdanger.
Heat sparks through me again, and I want to put my fist through the nearest wall. Either my suppressants are the worst brand ever or Valerio is the most potent alpha I’ve ever met, because dammit, these frequent slips cannot keep happening.
Or maybe I just need to get laid. It’s been three years since I’ve let anyone in my bed, and my body’s so starved for it that it’s latching onto the first powerful alpha in close range.
A good, hard fuck will fix whatever fuckery in my head that’s making me feel like some desperate omega in a bad boss-employee porno every time Enzo Valerio looks at me too long.
God, if Marco could see me now. He’d be horrified.
Or maybe he’d laugh, shake his head and tell me I always had shit taste in alphas. Just like that time I brought home the bouncer from Rossi’s who turned out to have a wife and three kids in Queens. Marco had laughed until he cried, then made me promise to vet my hookups better.
The memory makes my throat tighten, and I have to blink hard to keep my eyes dry.
I snap back to the present as Valerio circles the table and starts closing the distance between us.
“You’re very good at your job, Mr. DaCosta.” His voice is silk over steel. “Almost too good. Most consultants take weeks to map a system this complex. You’ve done it in one.”
Fuck. I’ve been too efficient, showed too much competence too quickly. I let my desperation to find evidence make me sloppy.
“I’m motivated by money,” I say simply, keeping my voice level. “The faster I work, the faster I can move to the next contract.”
“Mmm.” He stops two chairs away from me. “And what’s your next contract?
“Whoever pays best.”
“Practical.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. The position pulls his shirt tight across his shoulders, and I hate that I notice how broad they are.
“I see from your work so far that you’ve been spending considerable time on historical data. Specifically shipment logs from six, seven months ago.” He leans back slightly, focusing those dark eyes on me, and suddenly I feel like a suspect in an interrogation room. “Any reason for that? Most security consultants focus on current cracks in the system. You seem interested in how they were exploited in the past.”
A cold chill runs down my spine. I thought I’d been careful covering my searches among routine checks. Should’ve known a man like him would be paying closer attention than I assumed. Though I wonder how much he knows. His expression gives nothing away.
I keep my composure neutral and pull the first believable explanation out of my ass.
“Understanding how a system was breached tells you more than looking at the system itself. Patterns repeat. People get comfortable using the same tricks.”
“Patterns.” He lets the word hang between us. His scent hits me again and my thoughts scatter for a beat. I drag them back through sheer will.Focus. He’s fishing. He has to be fishing.
“You think they’ve been using the same tricks for a while?” he asks.
“I think your internal threat has been operating longer than you realize. Whoever’s doing this isn’t new at it.”
A flicker of what might be satisfaction or approval crosses his face.
“Interesting theory.” He moves closer, and I have to fight the urge not to lean back. “We’ll discuss that in detail later.”
“Sure, we can—”
The hard edge in his expression dissolves into a smile I’m not prepared for.
“I’m having a dinner party tomorrow night. At my estate. Small group, just family and key associates. I’d like you to attend.”
The sudden pivot throws me, and my brain stutters for half a second.
He was just picking apart my work like he suspected something, and now he wants me at his dinner party?
“Y-you want me to attend a dinner party at your home?”
